mp3: Always On My Mind - Willie Nelson.
tv: Star Trek: TOS.

I hate this. I am constantly weeping. Under the cover of dark light and locked rooms, I am constantly weeping. No one knows. Only Steven has a hint. I am sick of this heartbreak. It's like losing my best friend all over again, years later. I need to return to school. I need to get a job. I need to stay busy, so I don't have to think about it.

Because when I do think about it, I think I'm better off dead.

----

Steven took me to see Star Trek XI. (Ironically, it was on Father's Day. I learned that days afterward.) I LOVED IT. I cried at the beginning AND the end, when Spock started, "Space, the final frontier..." I really want to take my mom and brother to see it. It is possibly the best movie on Earth. Steven made fun of me for laughing and "getting" all the Trekkie inside jokes. But I don't care. I love Spock and Kirk and Uhura and Sulu. The Spork fandom makes me LOL.

I can't believe Michael Jackson died. It's almost hoax-like.

3 comments.

I want them back. I want those weekends back, where we'd all wake up around 10:00am, and watch reruns of M*A*S*H or Star Trek or NASCAR races. I want to watch MacGyver and Quantum Leap with you, like you did in the early nineties, when I was too young to remember anything but the theme songs. I want to cry with you when Henry Blake dies, or when we watch the very last episode of M*A*S*H, which we never did. I want to stay up late and watch the next episode of The Riches, or Buffy, or Enterprise with you, getting angry at cliffhangers.

I want you to wake me up every morning just to tell me in excitement that our triop doubled in size. I wish the new batch of eggs hadn't died--we gave them bad water, that's why they all died. We were supposed to give them deionized, like we did with the first egg, but we forgot, and they all died. The very last batch of eggs died.

I want you to tell me stories of your childhood, of your high school years, of fights you had, of how you broke your nose, of annoyances at work like Latoya Thompson, whose name I still remember after all these years, though I've never met her in my life. I want to follow you around just to listen to your voice when you talked to anyone on the telephone, until you got annoyed with me. I want to listen to the pride in your voice when you talked about my good grades, my acceptance into college, my small but surprising scholarship, to my relatives.

I want you to tell me stories of the music you liked, of what you were doing when you listened to it. I want you to tell me enthusiastically about your favorite movies and books you liked, and listen to you tell me what they're about.

I want you to take me camping and fishing, and we'd take pictures of the mountains and the trees, and you'd teach me how to use your Nikon camera and we'd go to Garden of the Gods and walk a long ways. I want to climb that impossible mountain again to that hidden lake where I caught the only fish I've ever caught before. I want to debone with and boil carrots and potatoes and sprinkle everything with seasonings with you. I want the tarp to fall again when it rains heavy in the last place we ever went camping together. I want to hear you talk with excitement about all the hiking trips you planned, about your new GPS, about your new creations for light backpacking, about sautering and HAM radio and Morse code.

I want to drive up to Denver with you and sit with you in the hospital for hours just sitting and talking to you. I want to drive the country back roads with you and look at the mountains and the fields and the cows and the grass.

I want you to scold me for drinking and getting drunk, to tell me that you don't like my piercings and to take them out, to be disappointed in me for getting my very first D, to throw and break something when you get angry.

But never again, never again can I do these things with you. Never again will I do them without thinking of you, therefore I can never do them again.

1 comments.

game: Final Fantasy XII.

I found out a old friend of mine from high school died last year. He was a sophomore when I was a senior. I lost touch with him when I went to college, like I did with everyone. I have pictures of him, you know, the ones I took when I still went to high school. Someone insensitively told me, "it was a long time ago." But it doesn't make it any less of a shock, doesn't make it less sad. Five months ago is not so long.

Rest in peace, Tony Dial.
199o.o6.27 - 2oo8.12.24.

I've been weaving in and out of paranoia, depression, and anxiety these past couple of weeks. My computer is one main cause. My father is another. My brother flying to Europe worries me. My D, though great relief when I finally learned of it, only makes me feel like I don't deserve this summer.

My mother planned a camping trip, which I refused to go. My brother was supposed to invite some of his friends, but either he didn't or they can't. So my mother once again asked me. I told her that I must sacrifice a lot to go. So buy me a PlayStation III. I'm scamming my own mother. I sound spoiled here. Spoiled, useless, and selfish. I know I'll pay for it. A PlayStation III is not worth the pain of going, because that pain will never end.

I have absolutely no obligations. None. But I still feel obligated. To check grades. To hang out with friends. To check my computer. I can't sleep at night sometimes, because there's too much swarming in my head. My sleep schedule is already extremely messed up. I stay up till 5:00am doing absolutely nothing.

When will relief come?

3 comments.

Listen. This song used to be so happy for me once.

1 comments.