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March 02, 2007

Dear Dairy,
Today was a big fat day of nothing.

Tried to motivate myself to leave the house. It's such a commitment. It's a commitment I'd rather not make. I'd rather just be able to walk out like anyone else. No rituals. I'd like to know what it's like to be normal enough to walk out of the house, or have friends over, or be able to let them meet my parents. To be able to skip washing my hair or even showering if I didn't have time. Not that I like stinking. I'd just like the option. I'd like to leave without worrying about touching the walls.

I'm so angry. I'm intolerant of everyone and their opinions. I'm not sure when I should take something personally and when I shouldn't.

One friend was saying how Marilyn Manson wants to be G.G. Allin and is too derivative of Alice Cooper and too polished. My first reaction when people disagree with me is to be offended. I just get so pissed off about that. I could have made the point that Manson's polish is part of their appeal. They aren't sloppy, and they take the ugliness of something like a G.G. Allin performance, reinterpret it, and make it into something beautiful.

Beauty is subjective, however, and I don't think it's really worth arguing over. If they are capable of seeing the beauty beyond the spectacle, they probably will, somehow. Maybe they won't even see it as beauty. Maybe they'll disagree. I'm too immature and selfish to accept that. It really comes down to me feeling like I wish they could see this as I see it. Like an abusive boyfriend except Manson never punched me for giving him the wrong oatmeal.

I procrastinated all day. My friend called me. She seems to be an alcoholic.
I met her at the mall. She tends to make mini-commentaries on my life that offend me without fail. I don't know if I take it too personally or what.

I just made an offhand comment about how I am a winner who lives at home and goes to community college and is unemployed.
She said something like, "Are you realizing just now that might not be the best way to be?"
It never looks the way she said it when I type it. I wonder if that means I'm not remembering it properly or if I just took it in such a wrong way or other.

I told her that she is very critical of my life, or something, I don't know. I made the point that she doesn't really have a right to say anything unless she's willing to help. I need help so desperately. I'm alone in my head, and the judgments people give from their otherworld don't go with the life I've led. The judgments they place on me are on everyone else they've met who has shared my situation. Losers. We're all losers. But it's not fair to think of me as a loser without at least knowing my story. Hear me vent. Know the truth. And if you think I am still garbage, then I'll be bitter, and I'll hate you, but it will possibly be irrational. Maybe you're free to think I'm shit.

It bothered me so much, so I sat outside, messed around in Tetris on my phone, walked ahead of her when she came out, was cold when she said goodbye, and felt depressed the rest of the night.
In the end, I think there was only one appropriate response: "Are you really that much more happy than I am?" because I know she is not. And maybe both of us have made the wrong decisions.

I figured I should go to the gym. I looked grotesque in the DMV style lights at the store of RACKS and GOLD SPRAYED purses. I rushed. I didn't have a lot of time to stretch, but I had to be there. I had to have that time where it's just my body pressing against other forces of nature. Pressing against the big boom, pressing against the small sky, the big gravity, pressing against itself. And there is no justification except for that which is found within myself.

I turned off the bright lights because no one was there as it approached closing time. Why do people feel such a need to always turn on lights? They are pale imitations of sunlight, and I appreciate their commitment, I appreciate the ingenuity that went into making them, I appreciate mankind's ability to look at the very matter that we are composed of and put it toward fascinating things. I don't think it's necessary, though, to always have so many bright lights on. Why is Forever 21 so wrong?

I like my astronomy class so much. It's in a room with dim lights, a planetarium. A domed ceiling with blue flames lining the bottom, keeping us all from falling into our own chests, passeds out drooling. But some of us fall asleep anyway. And the computer screen is projected on the dome. Sometimes the lights change colors.

I was considering going to a planetarium thing tonight, but I didn't. My desire to go there prompted the initial response from my friend which prompted me to feel badly.

Another friend is being kicked out of her home. I told her this is the best thing for her, in the long run, and she won't feel that way for a while. I also mentioned that I'm afraid to leave comfort, and how everything, talking to people, getting a job, so on, is an ordeal. And she said how it is all up to me. I know it's true that leaving comfort is up to me. That is a decision I must make. But that initial instinctual fear I feel, that is so far out of my control. It is why living is an ordeal for me. The ordeal is not up to me. The ordeal is an amalgamation of the world outside and the fear in me. Perhaps one day, it will be up to me, I can say I will not be afraid. I try nowadays. But it is a process. It is an ordeal. It is not yet up to me.
I think she is fortunate because comfort has left her, and she is freed from that ordeal of running in place. If she experienced the crippling fear I felt, a huge roadblock would have been removed from her path. The fear would become secondary to the survival instinct.

Suicide is a more respectful choice than the ones I've made. When people see me, and when they see someone who has killed himself, they will see both as given up, but only one will be seen as suffering. And that suffering makes that dead person much more tolerable and much less detestable.