March 13th, 2002

Charah coffee

everything i touch turns to stone

I got an email from The Friend, who is named in this diary, but I don't feel like naming her right now, and it's opened in another window. I don't know what to do. Content of email, in a nutshell: I should talk.

That probably wasn't very comprehensive, but I've always sucked at summaries. This is the whole problem with a public personal diary...I can't just say, "I got an email", and get on with the thoughts. I have to explain things so that whoever's reading can understand. But I have talked about breaking emotional ties from certain people, and it's about that. Like I said, I don't know what to do. I haven't replied, and the person in question will probably read this, but I don't know what to do. I look within myself, and am not really sure if I care anymore. Friends kick ass, but once you've been scalded more than 3 times, you just have to be on your guard.

And this guard of mine is not easy to get rid of. There's always going to be a certain air of discomfort. No matter what I type in here, because I can't type them to her, let alone say them, because that is just not what I do, things are always going to be like the way they are now. It's a major distance we'd be attempting to breach, and I don't think I have the energy or the time to do it anymore. A few months ago I think I'd welcome it, but not anymore. I want to laugh with you still and talk to you, but that's where I'll draw the line. I'm sorry things have reached the point they're at now, but people change. Things change. They do so all the time. The closeness that was once there isn't there anymore, and I'd like to keep things the way they are, because it makes me less confused. I am tired of writing depressing crap poetry. I am tired of writing depressing crap entries. I am tired of complaining day and night in my private diary. I just don't want to do it anymore.

And the best way to put an end to this crap is to be friends. Just friends. Don't add the 'best' in front, because too much expectations come along with that package, and it hurts so much when nothing ever happens. I'm not willing to go through the lengths and distances to get back that friendship, because to be honest, it's very emotionally-draining. I'm aware of how pretentious this must be sounding, but unless someone can provide another reason behind the poems I've written that start something like, "This space is empty/vast like the sky/when it does not rain/and the sun refuses to set", I don't see how pretention can figure into the whole picture. You know what I mean?

I'm probably going to regret all these when I click "done!", but I'm not going to erase them. I've been thinking about this for the past few days, and I have decided -- at least at this moment -- this is what I want. No more expectations, no more emotional crap. From now on, it's just gonna be fun, fun and more fun.

That should make life easier for the both of us.

On a different note. I started a letter to The Waiter, but stopped when I went to watch "Buffy". I'm never going to finish it, or to look at it again...unless someone out there thinks it would be a good method to, like, get to know him or something? Because my mouth does not function when he's around. Actually, my entire being shuts down when he's in the same room as I am. Stupid I know, and you just know that it truly sucks to be me.

That question is supposed to be answered, so please do.

12.37 a.m.

Short description from: Last song from Radiohead's "Pablo Honey" whose title I forget.

Charah coffee

i wish that something would happen

Spent the whole morning and early afternoon looking for places to host images. It pissed me off. Now it's 3.33 p.m., and I'm attempting to do my tuition calculus homework. I bloody HATE calculus. I used to read those teenage novels set in American high schools, and more often than not, at least one character would be complaining about how crap calculus is. I didn't know what it was then, but now that I know...I hate it. Absolutely hate it. I hate it so much, I'm very tempted to burn my textbook, but can't, 'cause I'd have to buy another one, which means I'd be wasting money, yeah?

I have torn out the two-paragraph long letter to The Waiter from the rest of my foolscap pad and chucked it between my Chinese dictionary (which has saved my arse many a times) where it shall lie forgotten for a million years. I'm not going to finish it, or look at it ever again.

I want to thank unchbunch again for leaving me those wonderful notes, particularly the one about The Waiter. Thanks so much. I really appreciated them.

Off to tackle more crapculus.

Short description from: "The Bends" by Radiohead.