A waste of your time

DAY ONE -- Broke ground. Ate tuna sandwich.

DAY TWO -- Bought log.

DAY THREE -- Filled in previous two entries. Ate same tuna sandwich. Made hole in ground.

DAY FOUR -- Peed in hole in ground. Made another. Watched a sparrow land on tree and eat a branch.

DAY FIVE -- Masturbated to coworker while not looking. Played cards with coworker.

DAY SIX -- Dug hole deeper. Got tired.

DAY SEVEN -- Cried in front of fridge.

DAY EIGHT -- Watched ants walk in circles. Pondered meaninglessness of their existence with magnifying glass in hand.

DAY NINE -- Stood in center of circle. Though about digging hole deeper. Can't. I am the ant king. Responsibilities.

DAY TEN -- Read entirety of the works of Kurt Vonnegut.

DAY ELEVEN -- Tried to reason with squirrel. Masturbated to squirrel.

DAY TWELVE -- Went on ant killing spree. Thought about digging hole deeper. Can't. Wanted for murder.

DAY THIRTEEN -- Cried in front of hole. Asked coworker to dig another.

DAY FOURTEEN -- Tried to eat shoe. The seasoning was wrong.

DAY FIFTEEN -- Fell in coworkers hole, killing coworker who was in it.

DAY SIXTEEN -- Masturbated to coworker. Much easier now.

DAY SEVENTEEN -- Tried to eat coworker. Can't get out of hole. Threw coworker out of hole and asked coworker to get help.

DAY EIGHTEEN -- Help arrives. Help jumps into hole with rope.

DAY NINETEEN -- Help attempts to eat coworker. Got out of hole, but non left.

DAY TWENTY -- Pondered the meaning of life.

DAY TWENTY-ONE -- Asked god for reason to live.

DAY TWENTY-TWO -- Stared at hole. Decided to dig a little.

DAY TWENTY-THREE -- Struck chest. Contained sandwich. Went home. Mission accomplished.

In January I am hired as a number cruncher for a bank. The formalities kill me. Wearing only professional clothing, drinking coffee, not playing in the mud. All talk is small talk and small talk leads to no enlightening. My coworkers are happy and I musn't disturb their invisible order.


In February, I understand the system now. Everyone around me is happy because they understand it. Yet, what I know now makes me sad. I work at the pleasure of some unknown male, making him millions, receiving barely a thanks. It seems I am the only one disturbed by this. I lack aspirations, yet without them, I cannot be content. Work is work and work is my life--the rest of my life.


I go to a store and see a coworker. She is not cheerful like always she is when I see her. I know now that happiness at work is a mask. I crunch numbers knowing I'm not alone in my self-pity. But, again, everyone is happy and I do not understand it. Do they really NOT understand the system? Do they not care? Are they just simply content to be pawns?


In April, I begin going to beaches to eat copious amounts of sand. I drink alcohol until I puke. Someone from work will notice and we'll escape the system together. There is something not right with me, they'll think, and I'll laugh because there is something not right with the system. But, when I head into the office, I panic because there is sand on my shirt. I have to change quickly. I begin keeping spare clothing in my office. There is puke on my shoes. I have no extra shoes. But I do not give this much thought: I take them off and hide them behind a plant; it is casual Friday.


Life is slow. I do not know what to do. I am stuck in a perpetual routine that seems to be sucking any care or whim out of me. I listen in on the jokes told in the office--all politically correct--and try to find their humor. They laugh about joke portraying corporations as evil and treating employees like shit. They do not connect this to their own lives...or do they not care?


I open the office fridge and sprinkle small amounts of sand on my office mate's food. I put tooth picks in the treads of their tires hoping it's strong enough to poke a hole. I hope that something I do can shake the conformity out of them. I want them to do what they now consider crazy and see that this is more normal than their current life is natural. I want them to do this...and the come into my office...they give me paperwork I must go through and check... I see something wrong on the third paper. But, do I say anything?


July. I'm tired. I have no control over my life. I do what I am told as does everyone else. Now I'm like everyone else. I do their job. I don't complain. They have no control over their life; they do it without a thought. But is that life? Is this your whole life? And then you retire; what changes at that point? Without a job... but if your job is your life, you cannot be without one. But it IS my life--most of it. What is life? What is human? Why does this make sense?


I'm trying to concede. I'm trying to give in. Be part of the system. Be happy. A worker bee, working. A solid four walls of calm, I can carry out my task. I am not a worker bee. I wasn't designed as one. That doesn't mean I can't be one. I MUST be one. Bee one. Shit.


I get in every morning and say hi to Sue who always just smiles and waves back. You can see her teeth spilling out. I stop by my boss' office and say hi to him and Mark. Mark doesn't stop talking, in the middle of a conversation, every day, but my boss waves me away, every day. Siting at my desk, I wait for Palin--who's first name I do not know--to say hi. I log onto the network. Everything becomes fuzzy and I wake up at 5PM; time to leave. I don't remember what I've done or for how long. I don't care. I just try not to be seen on the way out, though I don't know why.


It's a Halloween costume party. I'm dressed as a happy person. No one gets it. I steal some candy and return to my desk. It's not like I'll do work, or am expected to, I just don't know where else to be. I can feel the profundities of life flying right above my head. This roof keeps me from seeing them. I have to... I must do something... something radical. But, I can't. I...


I showed up to work with a Molotov cocktail in hand.


In the face of conformity, I turn around, sigh, and get back to work. There is nothing I'm rebelling against, there are no battles to be won. My life is as expected and nothing is expected of me. There is safety in monotony. I'm not crazy--not anymore, I am not crazy anymore. That is what I am told and the pills are helping.

I saw her at the park three days ago. She was with someone. I think he had an orange T-shirt or something. I tensed up as I saw them talking. I fucking hope it wasn't serious. He's a dumb ass. She wouldn't be good with him. Maybe she can't see that. I don't blame her. I won't blame her. FUCK! Get away from her PLEASE. I was holding up the fountain. Shit... He's probably just a brother. Maybe. I hope.

I saw her earlier today. He wasn't there. Good. Maybe it wasn't serious. Just hello. But still... She looks so healthy right now. I don't remember too well. Maybe I was wrong.

I thought I saw her yesterday. And she was covered in blood! Fuck, he probably raped her! FUCK! There was blood fucking everywhere. I couldn't see clearly, I don't know. Shit, she looked so in need and I just stood there. Why'd she have to be under the bridge right at that one moment and he be there right then too?

Why'd I have to take a walk right that day.

But...damn, I saw her just this morning. She looked...fine... She was smiling... I actually haven't seen her smile in a long time. She always seemed so dead. Distant. I always want to be right next to her. In that distance we can share.

Shit! What the hell is happening? Is she okay?

Yestarday... Fuck, it's hard to remember. I was just taking my routine walk from the arcade—taking the usual rout... God, damn it! She was under the bridge with him and there was so much blood... I froze. I couldn't do anything else. It was like staring at a still picture, waiting for something to move. Then I ran. That's all I saw. I should have been there. Saved her, I could have saved her! Damn it!

She's at her locker. I have to talk to her. “Hi.”

She turns around. Cheery, I think. She's cheery? She's OK? “Oh, hi! Can't talk much. I have geometry next.” Wow, she seems almost stupidly happy. I'm so happy. There's nothing wrong. I try to muster “OK, see you later”, but instead I grab her arm and pull her in.

I remember...NO. I can't remember what happened. I'm just glad to see her safe. She's safe with me. We're safe. I'll protect her.

Last night was just a dream for tomarrow. I can forget it easily. I didn't see anything. Not her, not him...the knife... NO, I don't remember.

She pushes me away a little. I give. She's still so damn giddy; nothing could break this mood. But there's blood covering her face. Or last night there was. And the knife...in her hand...and that guy...

It's hard for me to admit. I don't think I can deny it. She wasn't the one who was hurt last night.

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Also: Working on something at the moment. More of the extremely experimental, so prepare for it to either be awesome or terrible--still at least interesting, though. Good to be back.

Have you ever thought that every time you cry, someone might want to know why? Haven't you ever though that your tears and your anguish and all that anst meant something to someone other than yourself? Not me—I really couldn't give a fuck, but I know people. That's what I do, you see. I know people and I relay information.

Information is actually really interesting. We all hold it, yet it's a precious commodity. And it informs, but it can also affect. That's what I do. I affect people. I find the facts that affect them. I take your story. Or maybe I give you a story. Someone wants to hear what I know. There isn't a story out there that somebody doesn't want to hear.

They send me 'cause I remember, you see. Not takin' to fast am I? Well, I remember things. The stories. I don't really remember the whole thing, but I remember enough so I can reconstruct it, you see. It's easy. Every story just has four things: the climax, most important; why, second; what happened to lead to it and how does it end. Remember that and a story is easy to memorize. I'll remember any story. They say you can remember seven things at once, so I even can get a few details as well.

So you, I see you here and I wonder if you have a story. But I'd actually bet more you want to hear one. You don't quit think so, maybe. You probably don't think you'd care. And I charge, so that's probably a deterent. Well, do you read books? No one really does anymore. But it's kind of like that, but better. Books have no real presentation. Times New Roman, homogeneous text. Boring crap like that. But that's another reason they send me. Books don't come with an energetic guy like me. I have a presentation. The very fact you haven't asked me to leave yet speaks for this. Trust me. A story, you'd like.

But I do trade. You have a story to sell, I have one. I have many. You give me your story, I give you one, maybe you pay for one too. That's how it works. I eat this way. And they pay me. I eat anyway. I geuss I got enough food saved, I'd eat no matter what.

But the point of my being here...the stories. The question is, will you sell your tears. Will you make tears just so you can sell them. Truth is, I don't care. Maybe you don't. I'd pay you. My clients won't.

It's not really exploitation, you know. Well, it might be, but I'm not exploiting you. Stealing you story, that would be exploitation on my half, but I want YOU to exploit you. You see it on TV all the time. People will even make drama on those “reality” shows just to stay on. Would you make drama? Would you try hard to stay in the spot light? Would it be for the money or the fame? Most people are naïve enough to think of them as insepareble.

So how-a-bout it? Are you willing? Or do think that I'd eploit you? But as I said, it'd be you exploiting you.

DISCLAIMER: This is a partially pornographic story written as part of my side hobby: making partially pornographic stories. It's extremely graphic and you probably shouldn't read if you're not ... terribly demented or a HUGE philosophy buff.

“Pain is a fairy tale we're told as before we lay down to sleep and pray the lord our souls to keep. Stay out of the black forest. Don't trust the wolf. Stay healthy.” She's barely coming out of it, but I'm just so impatient to get going.

“Where am I?” God it's so cute how she slurs her speech when drugged. “Kasumi, why am I tied up?”

“I want to teach you things, of course.” She seems to be awake enough to be afraid. She's not awake enough to make out my knife yet, but I think I can still have some fun until then. “Think about it: All learning in modern society is in your head. Nothing to show for anything we know. Existentially, it doesn't even exist.”

Now she sees the knife and screams. Suddenly, what I've been saying makes sense in some light. Suddenly, what I'm about to do is known without words. “I want to warn you, this won't be short. But you should take solace, it means I won't kill you yet.” She doesn't take solace and I expected nothing less. “Shall we begin?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Didn't I already tell you?” I run the blade across her shivering, bound body. She tenses wherever the blade goes, readying herself to fight back when skin is pierced. Futile. “Pain is a fairy tail. Fairy tales are propaganda for children. Aren't you an adult now? Can't you make up your own mind?”

I allow the blade to make a long, superficial slice from the inside of her left breast diagonally down. She tries to kick away as her first tear comes out, but her legs are the only things keeping her up and they're bound together. She cries and lets her feet just drag on the floor. Defeat.

“Why do you cry? You should be in extacy right now.” No effect. I love this woman. “Come on now, one day some fucking cave man got a booboo and looked down. You think he cried over it? To him, it was just a sensation. Another day he lost his foot and correlated the same thing he felt yesterday to bodily damage thus drawing the connection and dubbing it pain. Pain is only bad because we think it is. It's a sensation. We have a choice. Wasn't that what said? We have choices?”

THE DAY BEFORE
The weekly poker night was at Cleo's house this time. She played some music for us by some violinist. “She's very famous and for good reason,” she told us. Mike replied: “Don't give us that 'note's she's not playing' crap.” But she did. All through the game.

“The notes might clash sometimes, but the clashes only sound bad because we've trained our ears to look for harmony. We choose to dislike the sound. By choosing to like it, we can see its beauty. Many things are like this. We have choices.” I knew right then she was a kindred spirit.

TODAY
I set my incisors around her right nipple and bit down hard. She gives off a cute little squeal that drives me wild. “Look at how erect it's gotten. You're mind might be fighting it, but your body knows about the beauty of pain.” She doesn't try to deny it. I know in that pretty little head she's confused. I slide the knife softly across her neck.

“You can't get away with this. Every one fucks up!”

“What will I fuck up?”

“There will be your DNA all over me. It won't take long for them to know who did it.”

“So I'll kill you will I?” As I hug her she wriggles, trying to get away. I slid the knife along her spine, gently feeling the bumps. “How will I kill you? Let your imagination run wild!” I want this never to end.

“You fucking PIG!”

I feel her spine all the way down her back in push a little to make another line and bring it all the way around her body. A nice red skirt dripped all around her waist and down her legs. She whimpered a bit, shaking her entire body. I have to suppress the urge to just stick this blade straight through her. I have to remind myself to take it slow, but this girl just brings out all the right things in me.

My heart's racing and I can feel hers pumping as well. If I cut deeper I can watch blood escape to the beat of this heart, but in restraint I only swish the blade around her belly. I'm lovin' every minute of this.

“Cloe, I want you to come into the black forest. Trust the wolf. Be sick and like it!” I only just now notice her flushed face. I poke her left nipple with the knife and listen to that scream once more. Blood flows easily from such a small wound there. “What have you got to show for all that education they gave you? What have you got to show for your philosophy?”

No answer.

“This can be what you have to show. Physical proof!” I cut a small dash across her cheek. “What does this mark mean Cloe? What does it mean?” She whimpers and shivers, but I give her time to reply.

I expected nothing less than “I don't know?” and got nothing more. I urged her with a slice that crossed it and asked again. “I don't know. You're the crazy one, you tell me?”

“I can't give meaning to your body or anything. That's your responsibility. Your body represents your life. You can't keep your story in your head. We discussed this. It technically doesn't exist there. These marks: what do they mean to you, Cloe?” Her resistance to give an answer almost makes me take that throat and bit out her wind pipe. I'm running out of ideas to convince her. She seems absolutely set on her futile situation.

Freedom. I let the chains loose and untie her. She's too tired to fight me like I know she wants to. “I don't want to imprison you, I want to free you from your ideology. I want to show you the beauty of pain.”

I go in for a kiss. I've misjudged her. She grabs the knife from my hand and stabs me in the stomach.

Time goes by...

My blood on the floor, she arrives at the door. It's been an hour, but I know what in that pretty head. I wonder if she's OK. Did I hurt her? What if they catch me?

The blade had dodged my organs and now there's just a hole, just under my stomach and about my pancreas, and it isn't that deep. The pain is excruciatingly wonderful. I can feel the very essence of life through it. I name this wound “rebirth”.

She comes up to me. “I can never forget what you did to me here.” I can't help but giggle. “You psycho-maniac, you'll pay for what you did.” The first thing she did was she kicked me on to my back, leaving that beautiful hole for all to see.

“What have you learned, my dear?” I'm in a hysterical rage. This is all too great. “Was I right? Isn't the physical what's truly real?”

“You...” She blushes. “You were right.” I knew she'd come around. Kindred spirit. Philosophical twin. “That's why I will kill you now.”

She tenderly puts the knife to my throat, just letting the rage pool up in to one swift motion. Instead of letting this happen, though, I dip into that slit in my mid-section and smear it on her face. She doesn't expect me to be able to move so well and falls backwards, then slides out of my reach. She gets smart and goes for the ropes.

She kicks me back onto my stomach and over powers me with trying to tie my hands and legs together. She doesn't quite know how to do it so she just holds my limbs down. This is the first time since the stabbing I'm feeling fear again. I don't want to die.

“You bitch. I should just stab the back of your neck and parallelize you. I should just allow you to slowly suffocate that way. You'd like that, wouldn't you. You bitch! You'd like anything I do!” For the first time, I'm starting to admit I don't quite understand her. This is fucking scary.

She continues: “I guess for you there are two sides of life, pleasure and pain. You're happy on either side aren't you? I can't bash you're head in or give you a fucking massage!” I stop struggling. It's pointless. “I know what I'll do.”

She gets up quickly and left me there. She picks up the knife I had used off the floor, but decides it's not good enough. She sees my decorative machete. I could never think of using it in sex. There's no finesse with a weapon so large. But then again this girl isn't going for finesse nor is she participating in sex. I get on my back and try to push my body away from her.

Cloe walks over to me with a large sword in hangs it over her head. I haven't seen a smile this wide in my entire life.

She lets the weight carry it though my left arm. It hits bone and stops before dismembering.

“Tell me, Kasumi, what does that one mean to you? What story does your body tell?” I try to curl up to cry but my arm causes me pains I had never imagined. I puke, but being on my back, it only goes on my face.

She tries again to get my arm off, but she hits my shoulder instead. A rich red in carpeting my floor. “Kasumi, is this your fairy tale? Is this the fucking black forest?”

The tears flooding my eyes. I have to admit to her: “No.”

She holds the machete up high once more. The wolf dies in the end. The wolf is killed by the hunter.

All is equal. Doing a positive does not create a negative, nor the need to do a negative. Doing a negative does not create a positive, nor the need to do a positive.

All is equal. You owe no one anything and they owe you nothing.

A good deed is done; this is a positive. Does this put the one the deed was done to in the negative?

A fake positive is a good deed meant to put another into a negative. It is a cruel act to pretend to do a positive only to expect the other person to reciprocate and is actually a negative. The other person is assumed a to be negative meaning he or she must do a positive for redemption, however because a negative was done, by this logic it could be said that doing a negative creates a need for another negative. If one hits another, is the one hit in debt? A fake positive is done with the knowledge that debt is necessary for the trains to run on time.

A true negative is an act done out of hate, greed, or ignorance. True negatives are intentional acts and deserve no pity. When one does a true negative, it causes suffering. No one deserves to suffer artificially, thus a true negative can never have a justification. And after a true negative has been done, the one it was done to also has no right to commit one for this same reason. A true negative is done with the knowledge that all is negative.

A fake negative is a cruel act done out of sorrow, pain, or suffering. One can not be blamed for a negative done to end a suffering and possibly bring happiness. This is programmed into the human condition. It is the nature and right of all living animals to do what they must to survive and end pain; however this sometimes causes one to do evil things. These things are what anyone would do. A fake negative is not a positive, but it is not a negative. A fake negative is done in the knowledge that nothing is equal.

A true positive is an act done out of charity, good will, or friendship. When a true positive is done, a reciprocation may be accepted, but its intent was not to cause a negative. A true positive is done with the knowledge that all is equal.

All is equal. Doing a positive does not create a negative, nor the need to do a negative. Doing a negative does not create a positive, nor the need to do a positive.

Bright lights and long corridors seem to give the hospital this eerie feeling, especially looking outside at the pitch black sky. Nothing’s ever out there and nothing is even moving, and yet for some reason it’s more entertaining than doing the paperwork. Doing rounds has you meeting the same people with the same problems on different body parts and yet the empty black windows are less monotonous. I just have to get up. Walk around a little. Get some exercise, grab a smoke.

The chair spins away as I leave the desk behind and remember...



“Pisiform, triquetrum, lunate, scaphoid…”

“Shut up.” She paused. I made her lose her place.

She put her left pointer back on her right palm and began again in counter-clockwise circles. “Pisiform, triquetrum…”

“Seriously! Take a break and let me watch TV.”

“There’s a test tomorrow. How the hell will you pass it?”

“With how much you chant the bones of your mother fucking hand, how the fuck can I fail?”

I’m sure she thought of leaving. I didn’t know why she didn’t but I was glad she stayed.


The bright light in the dead of night just feels fake. Like it just shouldn’t be this bright. The yellow umbrage of the lamp almost gives the impression of warmth. But surrounded by all that black…

I tug at the sleeves of my coat and begin my jog, thinking...


“So what after that?” She paused for a response. She'd obviously been downing the past few drinks to build up the courage to ask me.

“Nothing.” I waited for her to say more. She's thinking. “Well...” Thinking. “Nothing. We go there and that's it.” Thinking.

“So I'm supposed to leave med school for nothing and go nowhere for no reason?”
Thinking.


I have a decision to make. I couldn't do it last time, but I have to decide tonight. No, tonight won't be better. I'll never be able to make up my mind! I don't notice jabbing the lamp post on my passing until the pain interrupted my thought.

I'm stuck in a loop. I'll never get out.


She sat over the balcony, her tears falling seven stories. I couldn't say anything to stop her and knew she would jump. Yet, still her feet remained grounded precariously on the edge.

She was leaving behind her homework completely done and error-proof. An alphabetically organized collection of notes and flash cards. And centering her masterpiece of human perfection, she would leave behind her spell checked and well written suicide note.

I couldn't say anything to stop her. All I could do was stand at the door and watch in shock, looking for any possible rationalization. She turned her head and saw me. I don't know why she did it. I selfishly admired her beautiful face with all those tears on it.

She didn't jump. She cried instead.


I don't notice jabbing the brick wall until the pain interrupted my thought.

The coffee here is warm and even the tables are to my cold hands. Even my cold hands are warm to my frozen nose. Even this practically empty room seems full with its warm yellow-brown hue.

“What can I get for you?” His face almost tries to emulate a happiness to serve me. Open and alert eyes matching his humble grin. A scary level of servitude.

I shake the cold off my coat.

“Nothing yet.” The menu is cluttered with everything I'd ever want. Everything I don't need. All giving me the illusion that I can find anything in their selection.

He waits so patiently for me to make a decision. Like I'm the only thing on his mind and like he'd be just as happy if I never made my move. He'd make a great chess partner.

“Just a mocha.” He gets right on it. Emulating the idea of being just all too happy to offer my some coffee. I take it and we exchange cash. I know he'll have to frown the moment I turn around. “You scare me, old man.”

He simply responds, “check mate.”


There was a second suicide note when I got back, but she wasn't prepared to take the plunge yet. I didn't know what to say so I just sat next to her. We sat like that until she had gathered the strength.

“I hate you more every day.” That was all that needed to be said. The silence felt like static on a TV.

“I never loved you.” I felt cold. I wanted to say, I need you. I wanted to let her know that she was my support. She hated me and was all I had. But at least I knew I was all she had.

“C'mon, I need alcohol.”


I figure they'll kick us out of the internship if I don't return to my desk. Even so, I bet I don't have to.

The work will probably be done. I could continue this jog as long as I want, I guess. But I'm already near the building so it's as good as over.

There's no trash receptor for a few hallways. I wonder if anyone would care if I just threw it in a sleeping patient's room. The cup feels heavy in my hand, but it's all I want to think about. It's the more preferable topic. Yet at the same time, I saw a trash can and took my opportunity. Now there's only one topic left...

I walk back to the desk and she's there doing my papers and covering my ass. The ring in my pocket feels cold and I can't imagine putting it on her hand this way. She's probably noticed me, but doesn't care. Her head id down far enough that the braid on the back of her head is visible.

“Do you...” She looks up and stares so intently that it almost seems more worth it to shut up and walk away. “...ever wonder if bald used to be spelled B-A-L-L-E-D?” Intensity turns to annoyance. “Like maybe it originally meant like when your head becomes a ball...so balled, B-A-L-L-E-D?”

“No.” The ambiguous answer one can attach so much meaning to. “I never think of such silly things.”

Monday, November 5, 2007

I woke up and put on my bra then panties then shirt then pants. I had orange juice and Honey Bunches of Oats. The oats were to heavy, I threw away half the bowl. Then I went to school.

The drive was it's normal twenty-three minutes. However there was six roadkill sightings and four of them was within a mile of the school which is two more than usual and there was also a driver who didn't signal once.

I learned in biology 201 class about amoebas and it wasn't really interesting. My job at the cafeteria was canceled because because a spill in the kitchen had happened that was so catastrophic that the entire cafeteria was shut down. I offered to help clean, but Mrs. McCullin said they had all the help they needed and I think they wanted as few people there as possible so I walked around campus instead and I couldn't find a place to sit down because I was supposed to be in the cafeteria and I didn't want to be there. Pre-calculus was boring. I did most of my homework for pre-calculus in the library for one hour and then went to class and learned about the area of graphs and things.

Then I left and went to my car and there was a red sports car parked very close to mine so I had to get out very carefully.

I met July at the park near my house. I hate July now. She was sitting on top of a park table and it was next to a blue trash can and I asked her to get off the table and she did and I sat down on the bench under the table. July sat on the other side and we talked a really long time about stuff and needing to prove her sexuality and feeling left out by someone and stuff. July told me that she wanted to experiment and I don't remember her exact words and I don't know why. July seems like a blur to me. I hate her. She's ruining my perfect memory!

Something happened and we were alone near the bay where that trench is. We began kissing and she was trying to get under my shirt and I let her, but I was scared. She began licking me on the arm then chest then stomach then chest and then she went towards my crotch area. I was really scared, but I didn't want to stop her and I got confused and I grabbed her head and I tried to pull it up to me and I heard a cracking noise and then everything fell silent.

I yelled at her and told her I wasn't ready but she didn't respond and I got dressed quickly and ran off. July's a bitch. I hate her! Fuck July.

I went home and mom offered me some chicken stir fry but I wasn't hungry and I just went to bed.




Tuesday, November 6, 2007

I woke up and put on my bra then panties then shirt then pants. I made some oat meal, but I didn't feel like eating it. I just got my stuff and left.

I didn't go to anatomy 203 today. I went to the park and went to where July was and I tried to reason with her and I screamed at her more, but I tried to apologize and I just couldn't do it and it was so futile.

I went to the mall and tried to read some more of “The Great Gatsby”, but I couldn't get into it because I was supposed to be in anatomy 203 and I couldn't go there because I was late and I couldn't not be there because that's where I was supposed to be so I just walked around for a while. Karly saw me and I pretended not to see her and ducked out the exit and got in my car. I sat there for a really long time and couldn't think of anywhere else to go so I went back to July and really tried to apologize and it didn't feel like it was working. I even tried kissing her and I licked her on the arm then chest then stomach then chest and then crotch area just like she had done me. It was an act of love! Nothing to be afraid of. But it didn't seem to be working and I had to stop and I just screamed and her and ran away crying.

I hate July. I got in my car and drove home and cursed July and I hate her.

When I got home I bypassed my mom and went straight to bed, but it was only 3:00 PM. But I just laid there for a really long time.





Wednesday, November 7, 2007

I think July's dead

end of journal

Turns out in the future, I will post this again, forgetting that I posted it now. Funny, eh? So here in the past, I'm making it a blank post! Smart, huh?

This story has been removed for use in a larger story, also renamed "Love and Hate", and then renamed back to "Closer" (inspired by the song).