[ Chapter One ]
Subj: Hi
Date: Monday, September 1, 1997
From: 01spatri@redrocks.edu (Sarah Patrick)
To: MassConfusion@vegasunderground.com
Todd,
Just wanted to write and let you know I'm alive. But just barely. Let me put it this way: during all of my freshman week activities, I think I was the only one wearing black. Anyway, I'll write some more later when i have more than 15 minutes of time together. How are things at home? Miss you bunches!
Lovies,
Sarah
Click.
Well. Shit. I feel really dumb. But I guess that's the point. I feel like I'm talking to an answering machine or something. Maybe I am. Maybe I'm answering to myself for later reference.
You are a tape recorder and I am Sarah Laura Patrick, speaking to you on a little patch of grass outside my dorm at school. The sun is high in the sky and I'm thinking about my parents for some odd reason. They thought I was going to go to college right after high school, but I decided that I wanted to take a year off and see what I could do with myself. I worked instead, saved a little money. That's all you-- I mean, I-- need to know right now.
Do I give my life story on these things? When I start a journal, or at least attempt to start one, I always feel obligated to relate my entire autobiography in the first few pages. Though how I could fit 19 years onto two mesasley pages-- or in this case, one side of a tape-- I couldn't tell you without taking a few liberties. But, I guess trying to tape record everything would make it easier to edit in my head. Or something.
Well. Since I'm only talking to myself, I'll only relate the relevant things. I'm 19, in my freshman year at this little college called Redrocks in southern California. My brother Jude lives alone not too far from my parent's house. My parents support me right now because they don't want me working while I'm schooling-- not my choice, by the way. Um. Las Vegas is my real home, born and raised there in fact, though I was not very reluctant to leave it to go to college. But. Being in another state does give you some kind of perspective, I guess. I found myself actually missing it. I'm really hating it here because it's a bunch of rich kids with no idea of how the world works-- okay, not that I do, but at least I know better than to sit here and say things are hard because I don't drive a Beamer. I don't want to drive a Beamer, and I don't ever want to take things for granted. Um. That was deep. I'll stop that for right now. But yeah, it's kinda hard when you aren't used to Polo shirts and Tommy Hilfiger jeans, in a place where blond seems to be the only hair color around and yours used to be black on a constant basis.
I have three best friends. Todd, whom I've known since second grade-- he was my next door neighbor until last year when his parents decided to move into a smaller house when his older sister moved out. His is a history which is long, complicated, and seems unreal to most people who don't really know us. Um. There's Dor who goes to school in Seattle-- she's an English major; I met her my freshman year of high school. And there's Kate, who goes to school out in San Diego for her Psych degree. Her I've known since I was a baby practically. Since I don't really talk to anyone at school, they are my link to some kind of sanity.
School. Acedemically I love it, but the people hate me there. I don't talk to anybody. I came in the first day into this little little school in Redrocks, California, and I'm the only one wearing a Cure t-shirt and ripped-up shorts. I feel like I'm back in my high school-- small school, big cars, even bigger egos. My roommate isn't even in our room half the time because she's scared of me. I overheard her whispering in the hall one night talking one of her sorority friends. I wish she'd just go and live in their dammed sorority house.
But I'm staying there. At school I mean. I'll just come home on the weekends, no big deal. My profs don't really care since I kick ass in their classes anyway. I actually have a pretty good relationship with them. Oh, I'm a creative writing major, by the way. From what I've seen of the skimpy campus, I'm the only artsy-fartsy kind of writer around. I'm still not sure if that's a good thing or not. Let me put it this way: when I came in with the first assignment for a poetry workshop class, everyone else had lyrics. I had a fucking sestina where the first sentence was, 'We are the ones who live with rape as an everyday vocabulary.' I thought I was supposed to feel something in poetry. I do when I'm not around other people, apparently. I'm really wondering what it's going to be like when I get into fiction workshop-- stories about witches and a little blood here and there might just be too confusing for some people.
So I write. Been writing since I was fifteen. I wanted to be a songwriter, I guess, just so I could stand on a stage in a huge stadium and yell out that I was tortured too, that everyone could like me for being in pain. But. Not wearing a size 9 and not being six feet tall can put an entire taunted childhood at a disadvantage. The good news is-- just not artistically.
Not that I hate my body. At least, when I'm away from all of the anorexics and bulemics at school I don't hate it. I just try to think of it as adequate food storage. When Y2K comes, I'll be sittin' pretty with my fat cells for at least a month or two on just water, right? There are a lot of girls with significant others at school, and it makes me want to get an AK-47 and go up to the clock tower. At one point earlier this year I even deluded myself into contemplating I was a lesbian. But then I thought about it: I've kissed girls. It didn't do anything for me. So. That could cause problems. And no, living in southern California doesn't automatically make me some kind of alternative lifestyle. It's bad enough I have a lot of black in my closet and crazy curly hair and listen to Ani DiFranco and Jars of Clay on the same CD player. I'd be a really bad fem, I think. I couldn't wear dresses for the role, 'cause I don't have any.
Okay, so we've gone through home, and school, and writing, and sex. My parents are still married, so what? And I get along with my older brother, so what? What was it that Matt Damon said in that movie? 'I may be serving fries, but at least I won't be unoriginal.' Right?
Oh god. It's turning into a fucking self-help tape.
Click.
Subj: Re: Hi
Date: Tuesday, September 2, 1997
From: MassConfusion@vegasunderground.com (john do'h)
To: 01spatri@redrocks.edu
you're alive! (just kidding.)
you don't sound too hot. is everything okay? i don't want you going bezerker on me. heh. anyway, things here are cool. i've been up to the cafe a couple of times but since you guys aren't here copioh gets really boring. i got that job fixing computers in-house. you know, making house calls and shit. so far I haven't had any really stupid people sticking bologna in their CD-ROM drives. i guess that's a good thing, though I probably just jinxed myself. not much else going down.
Love,
Todd
Subj: Re: I'm alive!
Date: Monday, September 3, 1997
From: dvance@uwash.edu (Doreen Vance)
To: 01spatri@redrocks.edu
My dearest Sarah,
Wassup girl? Thanks for letting me know you're all alive and stuff (two words are better than none, I guess...) Anyway, what's up over there? Freshman week is fun and crazy. I hope. I know mine was.
So what's been going on up here in rain-drenched Washington? Starting sophomore year, and it's a really fucking hectic one. You remember how out counselors in high school would tell us to plan ahead? Well, it's a repeat here, except now it's all about grad schools and all that shit. I mean, what if I don't *want* to go to grad school? (I probably will, but that's beside the point.) I don't know. It's way too far into the future for me. It's two years, for chrissakes.
I'll stop rambling, gotta go eat. Hey, lemme know how you're doing, k? Love you and miss you bunches!
Love,
Dor
Subj: Okay, so you're gonna get dumped on...
Date: Wednesday, September 10, 1997
From: 01spatri@redrocks.edu (Sarah Patrick)
To: MassConfusion@vegasunderground.com
Just to warn you... I'm on the brink of taking back my acceptance forms over here. But I'm hoping either a) I'm just starting in a new environment and I have to adjust still; b) I'm not used to the college schedule yet; c) writing this to you will help me feel like *not* killing someone; d) all of the above...
So, why do I feel like going up to the top of the clock tower and mowing down everyone? Let me just try and coherently spell out my week for you:
Remember how I told you I was probably the only one wearing black freshman week? Well, more than likely I probably was, because after starting classes this week, I can tell you that I was the only one wearing *anything* resembling black/gray/*any* kind of dark color. You know, I'm beginning to wonder whether or not I should go back to being quasi-Goth just to scare the hell out of all these people.
Oh yeah, and there's my roommate. Ahn-dre-a. You know, how like they pronounced it on 90210? Exactly. And she acts like her name sounds when you say it-- snootier than a Buffy at a tennis game. It's like she's my exact opposite in every single way. And I can tell that she's not too keen on me being a roommate. They have single rooms here, but since they're all filled up right now, that is totally *not* an option. I try to keep out of the room, go to the cafe they have on campus (in other words, the place where they serve shitty coffee and really non-appealing food), and read. Recently, I just finished a book called _A Severed Head_ by Iris Murdoch. I think the title speaks for how I'm feeling. Butcher knife, anyone?
At least my classes are a bright spot-- World Religions, Poetry Workshop I, Intro to Race and Ethnic Studies, and Spanish II. I'll be busy with that stuff. And writing. It's what I came here for. And I'll be *trying* to learn some new shit.
I might just go out and do some driving, look around a little bit. The student newspaper had a list of places to go that was out of Redrocks-- some cafes, restaurants, movie theaters, etc. So I'll probably venture out one of these days.
Well, I think I'm going to go see if I can write something for that poetry class. Sorry I dumped-- at least I don't have the urge to kill again. At least, not right now, anyway.
Lovies,
Sarah
Subj: My love, my love!
Date: Thursday, September 11, 1997
From: ILikeBlack@aol.com
To: 01spatri@redrocks.edu
Hi babe!
DUDE, you have to come visit me down here in San Diego... One of these weekends when you're not too busy, eh? I'll have to give you directions so you can come and visit me! You'd LOVE it down here...
It sucks to hear that your freshman week was shitty... I remember mine from last year being boring-- but once you get into a schedule it gets better... I swear... And besides, if you get really frustrated, you can come and visit me. :-)
Have you heard from Todd yet? I wrote to him and I haven't heard anything yet. How are things at home? Heard anything at all?
Sorry this is short but I gotta get to class. Love you!
Hugs,
Kate
Click.
I've always wondered about where I would be if I didn't choose the things I did. My childhood was pretty uneventful, although I do have my scars I guess; would you call taunts as a child because of being overweight traumatic? I don't know. It's made me leary towards other people, I think. I stay quiet so they won't get into my world and hurt me. Silence is my weapon, as they say. So do my actions really define me?
I mean, I've chosen California as my current state, and for the next three years I'll be here working my butt off for a piece of paper that in this country might not really mean very much. And on top of that, the desire to be a writer puts me straight in line for a managerial position at McDonald's. I've never lived anywhere else but Vegas and I'm starting to wonder if I really want to live anywhere else ever again. If all cities are supposed to be like this microcosm of a campus, I'd rather curl up in a ball and live with my parents for the rest of my life. At least they're considerate enough to talk to me on a regular basis.
So what does that mean, if I stay in Vegas after this? Am I being afraid? Is it cowardice not to want to live anywhere else? Traveling is a noble pastime. And as a writer, it's a romantic notion. The Hemmingway-ish life of adventure and really detailed scenes. Maybe. Maybe not.
I feel safe there. But as a writer I like to take risks. Emotional risks. But I don't want to regret anything later on though. I like Vegas. I thought I hated it, but ever since my senior year in high school, I had to admit that it held a certain muse-like quality for me. California doesn't really do that for me. It's like I'm forced to have a muse out here. How can you not be influenced by Southern California culture? It's not really a question of whether or not I'm influenced-- I know that I am and will be until I graduate, and probably even aftewards. But it's like, just because I decided to get educated out here, it means that I can't escape. As an artist L.A. is supposed to be the place to be. Having been there a couple of times already, I don't really think it is-- it's too... just... grrrr-- for me. A monster mentality. Grabbing for whatever fame you can. I just wanna write, man. I just wanna write.
Click.
Subj: Re: Okay, so you're gonna get dumped on...
Date: Friday, September 12, 1997
From: MassConfusion@vegasunderground.com (john d'oh)
To: 01spatri@redrocks.edu
first of all: calm down! second: don't break out the knives just yet. you're supposed to be saving them for me, remember?
look at it this way: you could, seriously, scare the shit out of them. really. be a witch. set up an altar in your room and start chanting. i'm serious! it'swhat i would do. i mean, think about it: warlock. does that not sound fucking cool or what? i'm almost 20-- i still have enough time to have another gothphase. oh shit. are you reading this? 20 in two months, and i can say i've had a goth phase. who the fuck has a *goth phase*? is it obvious that i've been tocopioh lately? all these little 15 year olds in black thinking marilyn manson's their god. it's bloody gothic day care now. it's funny. but scary at the same timebecause there are a lot of them, and they'll all be like us in a couple of years. we're supposed to be talking about *you* here. you *will* be okay, even if youdon't believe it, and even if *i* don't believe it. besides, i like hearing about how you're being tortured over there. it gives me a sadistic kind of pleasureknowing that we're both in shitty situations.
really. you should think about coming home for a weekend, get your mind off all that crap. you can get me away from all the scary people at copioh.
argh.
Love,
Todd
P.S.-- you could always kill your roommate and rig it to make it look like a suicide-- a 4.0 automatic for the semester... now, that would be interesting. heh heh.
Subj: So about that coming home thing...
Date: Monday, September 15, 1997
From: 01spatri@redrocks.edu (Sarah Patrick)
To: MassConfusion@vegasunderground.com
Well, it looks like I *will* be coming home soon... it seems I have a four-day weekend the first week of October-- the 2nd or 3rd, I think. I guess they give us two days off for "reading days" or something-- you're supposed to study for midterms, but basically everybody bails campus for a couple of days. So yeah, I'll be home. Finally!
That was all-- class calls. Write more soon.
Lovies,
Sarah
Click.
I always have to leave the room when I'm doing this thing. Right now I'm just sitting on a patch of grass with the sun not quite hitting the horizon yet, with a notebook in my lap. Angst is providing me with a lot of ideas for poems and possible short stories. Angst is fun. I could talk a lot of shit about my roommate Ahn-dre-ah, but doing it to her face would be really rude. Well, talking shit about her in general would be rude. But it's just too easy. Maybe just writing about her in secret poems that would only be read by me would be the best thing to do. Ah, but then there's karma...
Click.
Subj: Re: Okay, so you're gonna get dumped on...
Date: Tuesday, September 16, 1997
From: 01spatri@redrocks.edu (Sarah Patrick)
To: MassConfusion@vegasunderground.com
So, now that I have more than 20 minutes to sit down and write to you...
I'm trying to be calm, by it's really fucking hard. I've been doing a lot of journal writing lately, but it seems that my brain is faster than my hand. I might just start tape recording and see how that feels. I dunno. I thought about grabbing my old Wicca books when I came back home and bringing them back and placing them in a really obvious spot... but alas, if I'm not really Wiccan, I can't really act like it without feeling really dumb.
We've all had out Goth phase, dearie. And we have Goth phases because we're abandoned kids who rely on Prozac to keep us feeling saucy. And hey, keep away from Copioh while I'm gone. You might end up turning into a pediphile. :-)
I've only been here a couple of weeks, but I miss everybody so much. If my trip home goes well, I might just make it a regular occurrence. I'm not sure yet. We'll see though. I should go before I get all sappy and crap and I end up hitting the computer and have all these preppie people look at me funny.
Lovies,
Sarah
Subj: Ouch...
Date: Wednesday, September 24, 1997
From: ILikeBlack@aol.com
To: 01spatri@redrocks.edu
Sarah my love,
I am soooo sorry that things are shitty right now. Of course, you were telling me the same thing last year with my shitty freshman week. Deja vu, huh? I hope that things get better... once you get more focused on what you're doing, you should be fine. I think of it as a creative opportunity: you could always write a story about it, right? I know, I know, it sounds like you'd be cashing in on your pain... but hey, money's money if you can get it, right? If I had anywhere near the talent you possess, you know I'd be making boo-coo bucks whoring myself for money. But alas, I'd rather make my money trying to help people talk out their demons. Don't ask me why I want to do this, but it's a living, I guess.
Things here are going okay. I guess there's a party this weekend in one of the dorms here on campus-- feel like making the drive down? I know if you feel like crap you won't want to, but the invitation's open. There's this one girl Eve in my hall who's a total trip-- yesterday she plastered the walls with pictures of Trent Reznor. I mean, like, everywhere. I think you'd like her. :-) Pleeeze come down if you can! Get away from the outer reaches of hell! And it's San Diego-- come on!
Anyway, I miss you guys bunches-- I hear Todd's dying without us back home, and Dor's still not sure if she likes Washington or not. She's never sure if she likes *anything*. You hear from her yet?
Please please write to me if things get shitty-- you know where to find me. Love you!!!
Love,
Kate
Subj: I just realized something.
Date: Friday, September 26, 1997
From: dvance@uwash.edu (Doreen Vance)
To: 01spatri@redrocks.edu
Hi love,
Now, I know that this is going to seem really weird. But it's all starting to make sense to me now. Maybe it's 3 in the morning and I'm just sleep deprived. I might end up changing my mind later, but I don't know. But I've realized: I'm not going to go to grad school. I think I'm not, anyway. I don't know. I mean, I'm getting my English degree, right? All I would need are credentials and I can teach, right? Right?!?
Am I dumb? Stupid? Suicidal? Misdirected? I know you probably have your own shit going on, and I don't want you to get worried about me. Do you think this is a good idea though?
Love,
Dor
Subj: So...
Date: Monday, September 29, 1997
From: MassConfusion@vegasunderground.com (john d'oh)
To: 01spatri@redrocks.edu
You're coming home this weekend. This is a good thing, considering I really want to buy a gun and shoot my parents who keep hinting that I should be moving out by now. You know what I mean. You've seen this scenario many many times.
Besides that, work's been good. It keeps me busy during the daylight hours instead of being at home, sitting around and... I don't know, masturbating or something. Don't ask. You know how my dating options get-- nothing, right hand, maybe left hand, back to nothing for awhile, maybe my right hand again.
Um, yeah. So how's about them Dodgers? Man, I hate football.
Love,
Todd
Click.
I've had people ask me if Todd is my boyfriend. He's not. "But he's such a nice sweet guy," blah blah blah. This I've heard many times before and have experienced in person.
There are some people you let in because you feel as if they know where you've been. I feel like that with Todd. It's like the two of you have this bond, and it's very delicate but very strong at the same time. You know each other's places of hurt and you're careful not to step on those places or peel back the scar tissue because sometimes it's just too much. I don't even know if I'm making sense or not. It's like sometimes you're too close to some people. I have this thing about people touching me, and especially now that I've had sex it's like I have this thing about knowing me in that realm. Maybe I can't let Todd into that realm. Maybe he doesn't want to be in that realm.
I can't explain this. It's like people say that they're friends, and when they're heterosexual and they havea friend who is the opposite sex and they know that they can stay friends with them and it's no big thing to them, even though everyone speculates that there's something behind it all, something going on in either person's mind. They can't be friends. It's not a question of it being like brother-sister kind of relationship, but it's like intimate overload, I think. It's like you don't want to know what's going on past what you know.
I don't even know if I'm making any sense to myself. I hope I am.
Click.
Subj: How was home?
Date: Friday, September 3, 1997
From: dvance@uwash.edu (Doreen Vance)
To: 01spatri@redrocks.edu
I wish I was there with you, but alas I am here trying to act like a college student. Not that I'm having much luck or anything. But seriously, I miss you guys. I'm trying to figure out when exactly I'm coming home for winter break-- I would try for Thanksgiving, but you know how my parents get about the money situation, plus I probably have to work-- granted, it's work study, and it's on campus, but you know how mean they can get sometimes. I'm sure that Redrocks is probably the same way, especially with that little student population down there. As opposed to here, where you're practically a number. Maybe that's why I feel disillusioned. I'm more like a number here and not a person. A little girl in a big school full of other kids my age who are more competitive than a vampire in a blood sucking contest. Am I even making any sense? I'm waffling on, aren't I?
I'm still trying to decide whether or not I want to be a teacher, or where I'm going to teach, or whatever. I don't know-- I think I'm too close from graduating high school to actually feel any desire to go back and try and teach it. Who knows.
Dammit, I dumped. I'm sorry. How were things at home? Good, I hope.
Love,
Dor
Subj: Argh! I wanted to go!
Date: Monday, October 6, 1997
From: ILikeBlack@aol.com
To: 01spatri@redrocks.edu
Hi lovely,
Dammit, I could've gone with you this weekend! Seems that I'd gotten all my work done and could've skipped a couple of days. Oh well. DAMMIT! If I woulda known *before* you left, grrr.... my sense of timing sucks so badly.
Anyway, how was going home for the first time? I've been away like a month now, and even though I know what it feels like to be here I miss being at home... But you needed to be there more than I do now. :-) How's Todd? He's very skimpy with his e-mails. Did y'all hang at Copioh? Was David there? Is it still Gothic Day Care? Actually, I wouldn't be surprsed-- it's been a month... How much really changes in a month? Heh. I kinda wish I was back home. If only I could move everything that's here to Vegas...
Am I whining? I tend to do that when I know I have class tomorrow at 9:30 in the morning. And no comments from the peanut gallery, thank you very much... I go now.
Love,
Kate
Subj: Don't even sweat it...
Date: Tuesday, October 7, 1997
From: 01spatri@redrocks.edu (Sarah Patrick)
To: dvance@uwash.edu
Well, home was okay... I mean, it's home. How exciting can it get? For real. Actually, I think that it was more surreal than anything else.
I drove up on Thursday morning-- it was a 3 hour drive, so if I end up going home on a regular basis, I'm hoping it won't be too boring. Or it could help me think, who knows. I need mass CD's for the trip, though. There's a lot of desery betewen here and Vegas, more than I realized when I was a kid on t rips to Disneyland or whatever. I like it though. I think I'm the only person who actually *likes* the desert. It's the writer in me, I guess.
So of course mom and dad were more than excited to see me. Finally had some good real food. And, of course I didn't tell them hwo really crappy it is at school. How *could* I tell them? "Oh, thanks for supporting me at this expensive college. Guess what! I hate it!" That's dumb. The thing is that I love the academic part but just abhor the people. As long as I'm doing okay in my classes I won't tell them. Am I a bad girl? Please tell me no.
Anyway, Todd's... well, Todd. It's not like he's all that and a bag of chips-- you know how he gets about himself. Oddly enough he's more bitter now that all of us are gone. Funny that. Oh, and especially since I saw David at Copioh Saturday too-- just said hi, nothing else really. Oh yeah, and Copioh is still Gothic Day Care. What's the word. Pathetic, as ever. Lots of kids running around after dark, expousing on death, and then their parents pick them up at 11:00. It was nice to go and bitch to Todd in person about everything here, though.
Okay, so I've rambled. Hopefully, more later.
Lovies,
Sarah
Click.
I have this thing about my boyfriend. We had on pretty vague terms, a good breakup. He wanted to see other people and I, well, had to go to college.
Anyway, I'm never really sure where to classify him. I mean, I used to have sex with him, and that's some kind of bond, isn't it? But when I look at him or think about him and how sometimes I feel like he just doesn't get it-- life I mean-- I feel repulsed. He was only 3 years older than me, but you would think that's 3 years' worth of some kind of experience. Oh yeah, stupid me again. So we were close once, intimate. He's seen me in a realm where no one else has seen me and very few more probably ever will see. But, being that many have seen his realm-- and by this I mean he's done a lot more than I have in a sexual sense-- I guess that doesn't mean that much to him, because he really didn't consider it when we broke up. Apparently, I didn't mean that much to him. His name's David.
So I gave him a name. I guess that's some kind of classification. He's in a class of Davids. No. That's not right. He's in a class of assholes. No.
Okay, so I saw him this weekend, and it's like I have this double edged sword cutting me every which way through my heart when I see him. I hate him in some place inside me but I miss him so much sometimes and I'm reminded of when Kate asked me: do you want him or the thought of him? and I'm left wondering which one it really is. He's all I know, mentally and physically. I'm connected to him in that way, but I know that's not enough to let go. Or maybe it's too much.
There are times when I know I was wanted once and I can be wanted again, but whenI see all these people and how they look at each other when they're together I just feel this wind of just... blackness, blowing through my heart itno my blood. It's like this lonliness courses through me.
So yeah, I miss him in some ways. But sometimes I know it's because that's all I know. He's all I know. And then I think-- or, actually realize-- that it's just the fact that I could've put anyone else's face where his is and it would be the sane feeling. And then I realize how much I get nauseated when I remember him. Double edges.
Click.
Subj: okay, so some unmanly rambling
Date: Wednesday, October 8, 1997
From: MassConfusion@vegasunderground.com (john d'oh)
To: 01spatri@redrocks.edu
maybe it was your coming home, and seeing david freak out. or thinking that he should've freaked out. maybe i'm going through a slow psychosis. or maybe i've been thinking too much. of course, those could be the same thing.
so you're probably wondering if there's a point to this. maybe there is. hopefully there will be one at some point. i'll just talk about some random subjects and hope to get through some kind of labyrinth to my point.
i was just thinking about this today. how you look at some people and you know that it's going to fall apart. like, i went to go fix this computer today, at this apartment, and it's this couple that lives together. and i use this term *living* in an inexplicably loose sense. i got the distinct feeling that it was his apartment and she was just kinda hanging out there, maybe for the sex or something. i didn't want to ask, nor was it any of my business. and i was trying to get rid of this virus that they had in the computer and this girl was just going on about this guy. now i've heard you girls go on about this guy and that guy, and this chick was probably a little bit older than us. but i just wanted to tell her to leave him. i was this close, but i was doing work. she was all talking about marriage, this and that, and after awhile i just felt really dammed sorry for her. it was like he was just a body and she hadn't realized that this was all he felt.
it's like, what kind of happiness can these people know? all I know is, well, like my right hand and shit. what is this thing that drives them to their own little solo destiny? why are they being pulled together even though they're going in different directions? don't tell me it's love, because that kind of shit doesn't work that way, does it?
am i just being weird? let me rephrase that: am i being *too* weird? i was just doing some thinking. maybe i should start taking drugs. nah, already too fucked up for that.
Love,
Todd