and it's hard to be a human being

readin': Stranger than Fiction who wrote on Monday exactly what I've been thinking about lately with online journals. And who can make me cry more than anyone else.
eatin': George's Easter candy. Peanut butter M&M's dipped in more peanut butter.
avoiding: Still the math. That's what my computer's for, right? To give me "breaks" from studying?
conversin' about: asymptotical haircuts in Woodruff. (Talking about 'em in Woodruff, not talking about the hair that is in Woodruff.) It was inspired by Jenny's sine wave in her hair. Heh.

Thinking about lots of things lately. I felt like I had to get it down. What happens to those good thoughts when you forget them?

There are certain articles of clothing that I can't wear anymore without something between the fabric and my skin, for fear they'll burn me with their meaning. I think I let clothes mean too much to me. I still have the shirt I was wearing when Lindy Ryan asked me to the eighth grade prom. I still have a shirt that Elena gave me that smells like her, and I can't wear, because I want it to stay that way. I know exactly which sweatshirt I was wearing the night I finished Atlas Shrugged, cause it has tear stains on the sleeves. I have a star on a pair of jeans that I drew back in 11th grade, in American History. I also had written there, on my hip, "Beatings will continue until morale improves," which Dr. Boyd had posted on his door, but it's worn now. I can still tell what it says.

Pallavi asked what led me to start putting all my head out here online today. I've told her, I like drama, sometimes. I told someone else, web journalling is very passive-aggressive. One can whine and moan and bitch out that person that drives them up the wall, and act as if it's a secret. This is a diary; I'm pouring out the insides of my soul; who are you to tell me what I can or cannot write about? Much less whether or not you like my proclivity for semicolons (and parentheses). But when someone does that, he's secretly hoping that the person that stole his last red popsicle will read about it someday far far in the future, perhaps when they aren't even talking anymore. And feel really, really bad.

You know what's really weird? (Besides the fact that I keep reverting to the second person, one of my pet peeves?) Apparently, people back home are abuzz with the fact that I've been going to GALA meetings. Everyone in this picture, plus Beth, already knew that I was bisexual. Or have lesbian tendancies. Or whatever. It really wasn't even an issue. Elena and Amy probably are too. I really feel that sexuality is a very sliding scale kind of thing. Even people that are openly gay can be attracted to people of the opposite sex, and only the most repressed (or religious) straight people cannot admit to ever being attracted to someone of the same sex. Granted, most males don't ever want to admit it, and girls have the added bonus of it being "cool" to be a little bi, which makes it easier to realize, I still think that there are very few people in the whole that are 100% in either direction. Someone who's 100% would find it difficult to even be friends with the other gender. Oh, and don't even try to tell me that friendship doesn't have a little sexual attraction. (Beth, though, made it perfectly clear that she could never kiss any of us: "girls don't do it" for her.) But all of that is a story for another day. My original story involves the fact that Elena tells me that Okore came up to her the other night at a party, and asked, in that secretive CIA-like manner that he pulls off so well with those dark glasses: "So I hear Marilyn's been going to... meetings..." Where the hell would Okore have heard that from? And why is this a topic of conversation for these 240-miles-away-from-me people? Not that it bothers, it's actually a little flattering. I like my ears burning.