So I talked to Ben tonight, and to Eben, and a little to Nick, and then I decided that I couldn't stand the pseudo-proximity anymore- I needed somebody, someone warm, to come to me and to hold me and believe, for me, that evferything would be alright. I put an away message up pleading that anyone readinbg it who could come to me would. I couldn't stand to be alone...or with just cathy and tony and austin in the house, oblivious to me.

I went downstairs and laid on the couch, upright, and watched the front door. Eventually I got up to get and orange. I brought it back to the couch and ate it piece by piece and it didn't taste very much, probably because my nose was all stuffed from the crying, and after there were no pieces left I picked at the white stuff leftover on the peel and took little bits of that to my mouth and ate it with very mechanical motions. Fifty times or so, I kept eating it and watching the door. I didn't want to stop eating because my body was telling me to slump down into the couch and rest, but I thought if I took my eyes off the door it would mean I had given up hope of somebody coming for me, and I needed someone to come, and to save me.

And while all this was happening I was concentrating very hard on the window-shaped headlight ghosts gliding against my wall, seeing where they stopped, thinking every car that stopped near my house was for me, my hero, whoever it was, and I kept hearing the stairs creaking, kept expecting the screen door to open and a knock to come. But it never came. And I thought for a while what it would be if I just sat there, on the couch, for days, no matter what anyone said to me, just watching the door and acting very much like I was oblivious to the real world, insane. And if they tried to move me by picking up the couch, I would simply ge off of it, when they had moved it, and go to sit on the exact same spot on the floor, as if nothing would happen. (I'm not sure if it dawned on me entirely that if they wanted to move me, it would be much more logical for them to pick me up than the couch, but what do you ask from me? I was, and am, in a delicate state.) I thought of how it would look if someone came in after I had fallen asleep to see me there, laying there, tear stained....it would look as though I had attempted suicide by trying to overdose on the white stuff on the inside ot the orange peels.

I don't remember throwing them away, but I'm devently sure that I did not justlet them fall off of me onto the couch when I got up. Tony and Cathy downstairs and Cathy suggested that I go to sleep upstairs- I had slumped down by then, one step along the way to giving up hope completely for the night, and I must have looked asleep, but thinking back on it now I'm indignant- she seemed offended that I would sleep on the couch, thus keeping her from using it loudly, but did she expect me to be able to sleep in my own room with the racket they were making upstairs? My sister, her son, and her fiancée are a force that have taken over this house rather as a tornado takes over a trailer park. I want them to leave, I cannot stand the way that they are constantly in every place at every time. I want to leave more though, I think. I cannot stand anything else here, either. At any rate, I left my vigil in the living room, and I went upstairs to find myself walking into rooms and realizing that no matter where I went, there was no reason for me to be there- nothing to do but wait. For a rescue that wouldn't, that won't come. I want to go to bed, but I can't, not now, not like this. I need something to save me a little before I can sleep on a night like tonight. I can't give up hope for tonight so entirely....I'm crying and speaking allowed as I right this, suddenly, except not really crying, just tearing up, and not loudly at all. Just my weak little voice that never seems to be for anyone but myself, for I am always alone when I cry.

I commit a little suicide everytime I go to bed as unfulfilled as I do.

Mr. Ladd has come online, and I IMed him instantly. Maybe he's what I was waiting for tonight....how discouraging. But he's the only thing coming for miles around that even looks like it could be anything at all. I am talking to him....and I'm back to this cursed fucking machine. My generation and it's capability to communicate.....ha.


My name is Linda, and I do not really consider this a life, do I? on with it~

My day was going to die, wrapped and suffocated in the arms of neglegance that I let in when I went to answer the door for him and he wasn't there.

But knowing beforehand that he wouldn't be coming, not believing, really, but know, I put in a movie that I had rented because I had seen it's name on the lists of movies that people find most depressing. I had hoped to become absorbed enough to forget....no, to convince myself that I wasn't expecting him. I didn't know, though, that the movie would make it impossble for me to cry about his absence.

Crying about him right now seems like crying for a grain of sand that gets caught in the wind in the desert. I cannot help myself now, I feel like I should cry....rather like I am still crying, in my own way, about my father, and Mr. Ladd, and....imaginary characters and real life situations and boating accidents and rape. I feel that I am still crying about how well the fiction blends into the fact, I feel that I have just watched some characters play out my life, and at the same time, something entirely foreign.

"Ordinairy People". The mother is my father, and she has no emotional connection with her son...the one that's still alive, anyway. His father is naive and loving, his father is my mother and neither understand what is going on.

His counselor called him Kiddo.....I'm sure Mr. Ladd called everyone that.....I don't let anyone call me that anymore.

My father calls everyone pet names, so do I. I didn't think I was taking after him, I thought I was taking after Diana McKeage....I remember how wonderful I thought it was that she called everyone "Babe" indiscriminately and I remember deciding to do that...and I do. I guess I didn't know then that my father does it. Maybe that's why I found it so wonderful. I don't know. I'm not sure I know anything anymore.

I want everything back that I once had, and I want......I don't know. I miss Mr. Ladd right now, I can't afford to miss my father. I am listening to "Hello Again". If you didn't or don't get the newsletter, the one serious issue was about my father, and the CRT coffee house, and his singing "Hello Again".

I think this is the third time in a row I'm listening to this. It might be the second.

I wonder what happened to Jeff tonight.


on with it~

.....jeremey's girlfriend likes ani.....

I smell sex and...cannnndy, yea-ah.


The reason why Emily and I don't get along about 80% of the time: The only thing I hate about her is the way she acts when she's all caught up in hating things about me. Nothing in the world makes me more frustrated and apathatetic towards everything about her.

Em and I come from very very different backgrounds- I'm cynical, she's uplifting, I'm easy to depress, she's easy to elate, I'm immoral, she's wholesome, I work very hard to define and understand things and she is disgusted by classifications and generalizations, and therefore everything I have just said.

I'm Freudian, she's humanist. And there's nothing in the world more annoying to a Freudian than Humanists- and, to be fair, nothing is more unnerving to Humanists than Freudians.

This is not to shit on Emily- like I said, the only thing that I can't stand about her at all is the way she acts when she's busy not being able to stand me. I prefer people who find fault with me to be seen and not heard, not to act like it's their quest to make me feel that things are simply my personality are my faults which I need to address. I don't find my argumentativeness, a particular pet peeve for her, a fault at all- I argue because I'm very verbal in my mode of thinking, it helps me to map out and understand what I think and feel. Emily says that I don't lose arguments, but the difference is that I don't lose arguments to her. There is something in the tone she assumes when we're arguing and she thinks I'm determined not to lose that fuels something in me- anger and conviction. If you want to win an argument with me, there are basically thee things you have to have: conviction, rationality, and the willingness to agree to disagree. Actually, there may be more than that, or maybe you only need some of those, and some others I haven't mentioned, I really haven't thought it out yet, but my point is generally just that Emily doesn't have any of those when she has a certain attitude about the way we argue- Firstly, she seldom thinks whatever she or I has to say is worth arguing about, secondly, she gets angry, frustrated, and defensive, probably fueled by the fact that the way I argue is something that she cannot stand- fair enough- and finally, either she doesn't believe in ending an argument with neither side's ideas changed and without anger towards each other, or she DOES NOT recognize it when that's what I'm trying to do.


A friend of mine, Jenn, previously unmentioned on this site I believe, wins fights against me pretty constantly. This is most likely because everything Jenn and I argue about can be proved- Jenn is not an emotional confidant, she is a social sidekick. We have a rather male relationship- we talk about what's immediately on our minds, we go places, we make each other laugh and generally have a good time together. We do not cry together- I have never seen Jenn cry. This isn't a defining diference between Jenn and Emily- I've only seen Emily cry once. I wrote a poem about it. It is, or will shortly be, on my section of Torrie's Site, which I haven't plugged nearly enough lately. Neither Emily nor Torrie is the subject of this paragraph- Jenn is. While I cannot think of a particular example, I am sure Jenn has won her share of arguments against me......this is generally because she's somewhat stubborn (conviction) and generally able to disregard my opinion rather than attempt to change it. It seems to me that she's not really rational during such an argument, but after her and I have such an argument, it no longer affects anything between us. So perhaps instead of rationality it should have been "the ability to return to a state of rationality quickly.....sans a major change of atmosphere or attitude." I have absolutely no idea what my point is, actually, but I really wish Jenn and I were doing something soon.

Mike won an argument against me in band today- he successfully changed my mind about Mr. Tibidou's (sp!) right to have the soda machines off during band. I lose arguments against guys all the time, though, because guys are generally more stubborn than females, and they are generally a lot more rational, and they are generally entirely willing to accept my beliefs as being mine. By making these generalizations, however, I've probably just pissed off Emily, though.


Another reason I lose to males more readily is probably that I respect them about sooooo much more. But I won't get into that, as Emily has posted a link on her diary to my blog, and I can only presume any anonymous diary surfers that may check this out....well, the type of people who would be drawn to Emily's page probably aren't the type of people who would agree with my assessment of men vs. women. But I wonder if they could respect it.


I
WANT TO ROCK AND ROLL ALL NIGHT!
AND PARTY EV-ER-Y DAY!

I really think the beginning "I" just lends itself to being it's own line, don't you?


Speaking of people who don't lose arguments, Aaron and Nick are battling it out on dysphorena about Aerosmith vs. Pink Floyd and Jethro Tull, respectively. While I've read compaitively few of Aaron's responses, I can only assume they're mostly based on his "I'm right and you're dumb" way of debating. Nick, very plainly, is willing to call it what it is, a matter of opinion, but Aaron seems to think any sort of differing opinion from Aerosmith's divinity is a offnes punishable by death. Death by Aaron frustration. This is a punishment that no one among his close friends have been able to escape (yes, I'm aware that we're all technically alive...stop arguing that, I concede. :-} ) and therefore, it would be basically a wet dream for all of us if Nick, through his superior arguing techniques, eloquence, and rationality were to make Aaron admit he's even slightly wrong. That said:

GO NICK! GO NICK! IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY! GET YOUR GROOVE ON!


Mmmm, Jeff wrote back to me today.....didn't answer any of the questions I asked him in my last e-mail, but I found myself staring at the closing in utter elation:

I love you.
~Jeff

Food and water? Fuck them. THAT's all I need in life.

I'm pretty sure he got that tilde closing from me, and this, too, elates me. I don't know why. He has it way too easy when it comes to me. He is the sole Atlas in the world of my emotional well being....well, no, there's a whole load of people I guess, but if they're all playing kickball with it, he's the umpire. Or...yeah...SOMETHING like that.

I wish I had something to pray to that he doesn't check this site. Damaging, damaging stuff.


Nine Inch Nails- Closer. Now HERE'S a quality song.

"Help me!
I broke apart my insides
Help me!
I got no soul to sell
Help me!
The only thing that works for me
Help me get away from myself
I wanna fuck you like an animal
I wanna feel you from the inside
I wanna fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to God."

All I got to say to that is...yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaah. :-}

Nine Inch Nails can beat me in an argument any day.....*moans* (Note: Linda has no particular attraction to NIN, she only said that for the pure satisfaction of saying it.) Speaking of slut tendencies, I'm pretty sure Mr. Letourneau thinks I have more of them than he ever did, even when I was mackin' on him. At the end of band today, I was leaning on Pete and playing with his hair, as I always do, and Mr. Letourneau, walking down the hall was watching pretty intently, I do believe. While I couldn't see his face at all from the distance, something about the angle of his head and the way he walked makes me think that, for Andrew's sake, he was disapproving. Let me make this perfectly clear- I was playing with Pete's hair for one reason, and one reason only: I LIKE PETE'S HAIR. I like pretty much all male hair (though, admittedly, there's absolutely no guy out there with hair as nice as my boy's) and I play with the hair of all different specimens enough to be a major player in national lice breakouts. The fact that Pete is the person voted most likely to have Linda singing NIN's Closer to him sometime in the distant future is a moot point, because the fact is that out of all the things that may or may not happen in the future, very very few of them affect the present, and even fewer than that are the things that wouldn't potentially upset the people in the present who stand to be affected by them if they were to happen in the present. A notice to all of you: I happen to love my boyfriend, and while I may have had more than my fair share of mistakes made in the heat of the moment, I would not actively seek anything that would endanger our relationship. That said, I'm going to the movies with Ben tomorrow. *ahem*

I think my sister just called my mother her "Darling, sweet lover"....oh, oh wait, it was MOTHER. Fucking AY, that makes SO much more sense. This is what I get for having a perverse mind and selective, flawed hearing. Down, lunch, down.


Why the hell have I written so much? Day-um. I feel that I could keep going if nessecary, but I have to write back to Jeff tonight, so I'm going to save up what's left of my writing energy for today, and possibly go call Jenn. Though I rather feel like renting something now.

What should I rent?


My name is Linda and
I WANNA FUCK YOU LIKE AN ANIMAL.

(alternative ending, for those who don't want to think about the prospects of my fucking them like an animal:)
My name is Linda and
I
WANT TO ROCK AND ROLL ALL NIGHT!
AND PARTY EV-ER-Y DAY!!!


~on with it~ ;-}

Do you experience depression, extreme irritability, and sudden crying spells a week before your period? Maybe it's not PMS....it my be P.M.D.D.

Pre-menstraul dysphoric disorder. It's just occured to me that probably the only reason I know the word dysphoria- and, moreoever, the reason my male dysphorena buds had never heard of it- is that damn P.M.D.D. medication commercial.

Dysphorena.blogspot.com, by the way, is thus far living up to it's name (dysphoria + arena). We've got arguments about my true gender, Aerosmith v. Pink Floyd, the "does Linda have an ass?" debate, baseball rivalries, arguments that Aaron can and does have with basically anybody, and just generally lots of people who either hate each other or don't get along.

Beni: how's life?
FieryGwenivere: I couldn't really judge, I refuse to classify my existence that way. I figure it'd be an insult to all that "life", in theory, stands for
Ben: touché. How are you doing?
FieryGwenivere: extremely badly. But I can only presume that will pass with the hormones.
Ben: I'm sorry to hear that.
FieryGwenivere: However, if Jeff hasn't e-mailed me back by the time I'm done bleeding, I think I may start again by my own devices
Ben: what do you mean by start again?
FieryGwenivere: bleeding
Ben: thats not a good thing.
FieryGwenivere: I'm a drama queen.
Ben: point taken.

This, among other things, is what I adore about Ben. Entirely benevolent in every aspect, he is active without being so proactive as to make one want to stick a fork in his eye. He sees my screaming and firework-lighting as what it is, but only when I tell him that that's what he needs to be taking it as. He's obedient and good and entirely more decent than maybe anyone I've ever met....other than Nick. Nick's got the only balance between concern and dismissal that could possibly be better than Ben's. Nick is one thing, though, and good at it....Nick isn't the one who...I don't know if Ben would be upset if I posted certain recent happenings in our relationship, so I simply won't. Wow, look at that, I'm learning to respect people's feelings. Fuck that.

Phone conversation I've just had with my father:
Phone rings, I answer.
ME: Hello?
HIM: Hi.
ME: Hi.
HIM: Where's your mother.
ME: Uhm, I don't know...let's find out. *gets up* (yelling) MOM!
MOM: Yeah?
ME: It's dad. (Into phone) She's coming.
DAD: *doesn't respond*

In the full minute that it took my mother to get to the phone, my father and I did not speak one word. He is calling from his newly acquired night shift most likely for no other reason than to find out how she is. He is not interested in how I am enough to ask, even out of obligatory feigned interest. If I were better than I am now, this would upset me. It kinda sickens me that it kinda still does. One should be used to being prehumously orphaned....if prehumous is a word.

I love that I know how to pronounce posthumously while most people put the accent on "hu". And I need to clip my toenails.

I hope, for his sake and mine (more for mine) to GOD that Jeff does not check this site. My tendency to relate my every pain to his absence would probably get in the way of our friendship if exposed. It probably already has. Most of the depression that I link to him automatically probably has nothing to do with him, but if I'm not finding some way to relate all my pain to one person, then I may have to start thinking about, exploring, and, god forbid, getting through my actual problems.

The first of which is obviously having too much fucking insight to myself. Screw emotional intelligence.

Speaking of dependency, Elorza has been pretty much my only, and quite unexpected, source of real happiness for a while. His attitude has changed, he's acting as though I matter, I am in love with what he is doing to himself. He is amazing. He always was amazing. He's showing it now.

Keep it up, babe.

Did I already mention I need to cut my toenails? I really, really do. Driving me fucking insane.

Elorza: why the grunt
Elorza: yo know, vanilla flavored tootsie rolls aren't all that pleasing.... but i digress
FieryGwenivere: because I think all period-related hormones are, possibly, are little seeds of insight to how much existence really does sick, even when we are too ignorant to notice
Elorza: could be
Elorza: which proves women to be better
Elorza: because men only get ignorance
FieryGwenivere: yeah, cept I don't agree with what I just said at all, except that I'd like to convince myself that the mental anguish I go through once a month, right now in particular, is more than just my gender's lot in life
Elorza: fair enough

I hated the way I said that, because what I was looking for a way to make gender into an adjective so I could say "my ____ lot in life" instead, so I looked it up. Just so you know, odd as it sounds, "sexual" would have been the optimum word there. So let's pretend I said that, instead. My sexual lot in life.

Out of context, that sounds...well, sexual.

So, yeah, that thing I was getting at before with blaming my miseries on one person- it has just now occured to me that that's why the fab five was so incredibly good for me, back when I was still taking it seriously. Since then...screw it, the story should all be here somewhere....look for it.

Elorza's girlfriend likes Ani. I really would have suspected that this would make me uncontrollably angry, but for some reason it doesn't. If Jeremey's girlfriend did, I would probably cry. Something about being threatened by similarities between the girlfriend's of people I used to be in love with and me. But somehow I feel like encouraging this, a lot. I'm gonna burn all my CDs for her.


I NEED TO CUT MY TOENAILS!

~
On my way upstairs from running downstairs to cut my toenails, I managed to stub my toe and FUCK am I in pain. That's what I get from wanting toenails with lengths that don't stretch the limits of what is considered human.

As of right now, I only know the location of 2 out of.....5 (I think) ani CDs that I own. This could be problematic....could be, but I'm too good for that. Who needs organization?

I don't know if there's anything else I was going to write, but my name is Linda and I'm fucking tired of writing this. On with it~

An overview of today: cramps, bleeding, hormones, jealousy, self-loathing, disappointment, longing, loneliness, foreboding, did I mention cramps?, anger, testosterone, estrogen, ugh.

Good points- I'd like to point out, without saying his name or why I'm writing this, that I am extremely proud of one of my friends, and I will always love him no matter what. *Hugs*, boy! Oh, and an incredibly easy-on-the-eyes kid from leavitt named Jason......probably shouldn't get into that with my boyfriend lurking about this site again, but then, if he's allowed to hit on Theresa... ;-)

Period-related hormones feel like the end of the fucking world. Extreme dysphoria.

The only thing I want to do less than going to bed while feeling as unfulfilled with the night as I do is have to wake up tomorrow morning....golly gee, what excitement, I get to go to school for another day. To learn more, and form meaningful bonds with my classmates and teachers. Yeah pha-king right. I miss Jeff. (Put on your big surprised faces) I've just spent the last 45 minutes reading old e-mails from him...I mean to be in bed by 11.

Andrew looked really great tonight, by the way. Perhaps I'm just more horny than I've been in a really long time, but his hair was perfect and his eyes were gorgeous and....damn. While the characters in the book I'm reading have just lost their virginity to each other in such a way that it seems to be ruining their relationship, all the talk of sex from the guy's point of view has me thinking basically one thing- yeah, I need action. There could probably be worse things in the world than losing my virginity before my 18th, huh? I could do drugs or listen to country music or something.

Whatever it was I was saying back there wasn't holding my attention because what I was thinking was "I miss Jeeeeeeeffffffff....". I didn't think you could obsess over a friend. I guess I was wrong. Nah, I've given him relatively little thought today...as compared to the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that anway. Oh, fuck, if I don't go now I won't get any more sleep today than I got last night, and I looked like hell this morning...and all of today. I'm out. On with it~

"I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naive
Men weren't men to ride
With clouds between their knees"

This song is getting to me this morning. Sort of being stuck between a hundred wonderful places and a thousand bad ones. That must be it.

Jeremey and I are fighting. In such a way that I don't think he intends for our relationship to mend itself in any way. He's a fab five. Fight or no fight, friendship or no friendship, I'd die for him. But there are some things I can't continue to handle.......I don't know. Probably best not to discuss reasons here. After all, you can always trace the whole damn thing on the other site. I hate that Chad's caught up in this, too. He said something on dysphorena (the other site that I'm not going to bother to link to again) about how Jeremey's been treating me and Jeremey got more than justifiably upset. This wouldn't be so bad, except that it leads to ostracization for chad from his entire group, being that Jeremey is an intricate, and rather autocratic as far as I've heard, part of it.

I've got more to say, but 1:34 pm as it may be, I've yet to eat breakfast yet, so perhaps I'll come back to this sometime today....my name is Linda, and I hope we've got turkey bacon downstairs. On with it~

Neglecting the hell out of this since the start of the other site. Interaction is just more interesting I guess.

I feel like bettering myself.....studying for my SATs- unfortunately the CD I used cracked, so I have to wait till I find the next one, using HTML, or polishing my, -dare I say it?- math skills. Something scientific as opposed to artistic- odd for me. I should work on ideas for mission possible....not that I'm even officially in science olympiad yet. And I should probably wait to run ideas through my co-lympiads, but I probably will be basically in charge as I'll be the oldest one who worked on it last year, as well.

So, yeah, I'm gonna go do that. Hmmm....motivation, that's new for me. On with it!

Andrew was here tonight. After we came home from yet another pointless shopping spree with jenn that we were pressured into, as always, he announced his plans to attempt to find closure in a mystery relationship that ended years ago that no one knows anything about. He expects this to be a rather life-changing event, and he warned me that "if he came back from this and he was no longer the same person I fell half-in-love with, he would make it easy on me and break up with me."

He spent basically the rest of the night in his own thoughts, which was probably for the better, because neither of us were in that room. I was...probably a lot of places, more definitely one, and I layed my head on his leg and stared up as he sat in perfect posture and stared forward.

We were listening to Bon Jovi....when Bed Of Roses came on, I managed to catch his attention. I couldn't cry for it, I haven't cried, I don't think, since my crying streak ended, but I was so caught up in grief, and guilt, and histrionics so constant they've become real that I was shuddering. Shades of Jeff ran through my head, the way I held him before he left a few nights ago, lying on his floor tangled up in him, making a fool of myself in burger king with him, everything. If there's any one thing I need, it's him. And this sort of destroys me.

Jeff doesn't, and with any luck, will never occupy the part of my life that Andrew does. That's what Andrews for, they're definitively different things....but, god, who am I arguing with? I'm sick of writing things for other people's benefits...no matter how seldomly I do it. I need to turn to the journal I give Mr. Hall...there is nothing I don't tell Mr. Hall, I miss his praise being part of my life.

This is from a couple nights ago, when I saw Jeff, but it hasn't let me post anything for a few days.
"Watch TNT. Observe Harry and Sally from "When Harry Met Sally", which will undoubtedly be at least once if you check periodically every two hours for a day. Begin to understand why I love Jeff so much.

"I love that I after I spend a day with you, I can still smell my perfume on my clothing, and I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night."
-Part of the "why I'm in love with you speech" that Harry tells Sally

All except the part where Harry and Sally fall in love at the end, that movie is almost flawless representation of our relationship. I have seen him tonight, and it was blissful- we spent the night lying on each other on his floor, as we always do- we spurn needless furniture arrange ourselves, awkwardly shifting then and again, only getting up for trips to the bathroom or to get my soda. Every now and then, when conversation lags, I find some reason to attempt to kick his ass and lose every time. Laying against him, smelling his aroma in his skin and clothing, feeling the trust to give him the keys to my vulnerability and let him take the wheel for a while....nothing in life is better.

No, I am not in love with him, but I cannot think of anything that would make being in love with someone better than our relationship. I used to reserve the idea of being in love because I thought, for sure, that something must be beyond that, there must be another step. I didn't want to settle for the idea of true love being anything I had already felt. The reason I say that I am not in love with Jeff is, however, not because of that, but because I wouldn't betray our relationship to such a flimsy concept as romance- nothing will get in the way of his being everything to me....I say that with a resolve that reminds me of the way I said the same thing about Elorza and Jeremey and god knows how many others, but....I simply don't know what would happen to me if anything happened to end Jeff and I.

If I could grow old with him as my best friend, it would be worth growing old.

I am going to sleep while his scent still clings to my clothes and his visage is still burned on my mind....I had almost forgotten what he looked like. Amazing as it was to see him, the high slips away quickly. The moment I closed the door behind him the thought arose: This is the exact moment where I have the absolute longest to wait until I see him again.

I won't let that get in my way tonight, though. Tonight I will simply close my eyes and pretend I am sleeping in his arms, ready to strike at his next off-color joke and utterly at peace with the world and all the foreign, far-away demons in it.

On with it...."....

I'm listening to "Have U Ever" by fucking Brandy, a song I fell in love with simultaneoulsy as I gave my heart to Jonothan Lawless, the only person to which I ever gave it with that kind of fervor, bravery, and desperation.

It was during the Jon obsession that I learned words like "fervor", along with how to spell "obsession"- in a note I wrote to him confessing that I felt that way for him, I spelled it with a c.

Pain would be easier if I knew who I was hurting for. I think it may even be him....or Max. Or Mr. Ladd. The past. I am hurting for the unstoppable passage of time, and for the way I will never again lean against a locker staring at Jon's picture on the hallway wall, or watch Max from backstage at play practice and think that he was amazing, think that he could do anything. Sit in the town library and write feverishly in notebooks for every time I saw him, poetry when he touched me....the day he asked me to Dance Brazil, I was.....naive, he was only trying to save my life by spending time with me, but he accomplished his mission. I guess I've never owed anyone anything more than I owe Max- he still, to this day, is the only person I've ever known to actively try to help someone even if they had no reason to, even if it was just some awkward freshmen who made a habit of obsessing over older actor figures who would not readily be construed as incredibly attractive. But Max was attractive, in that simply one of the few genuinely altruistic people left in the world.

I guess I miss him. That must be what it is.

I am glad to be able to understand the difference between feeling an incredible privelige to know someone, an insatiable bond, even a platonic love, and being in love with them, now. I wish I had known that back then, when, had I been able to stop my freshman obsessing (stalking), I might have had more of a friendship with him than I did.

I was psychotic then, but I wasn't as dumb as I construe myself- I was attracted to Max as any woman would be attracted to her hero, and that's what he was to me, the only person on earth who cared when I needed someone to care, and I was in love with Jon for the same reason that he still holds my gaze whenever I chance meeting with him, the same reason my mind is still shocked that my knees don't buckle- he glowed. He was the first person for whom I had feelings such as I did for him, and that is not naive. It's beautiful.

I wish I were still that passionate about anything, sans the dangerously sick obsessive tendencies- I used to have the number on Jeremy Steenson's orthodonist file box memorized, and probably only forgot it fairly recently. Pathetic as some of my tendencies were, I suppose what's more pathetic than that is the fact that there is nothing anymore that reduces me to being so pathetic: I go about everything in my life with a certain pride that I would not have needed then, because my feelings were stronger than that.

I am far too proud.

I sent Max a message on ICQ yesterday night, and I went to check and he sent me six back. It makes me happy. His room was infested with lady bugs. I wrote back to him that lady bugs scare me, because they do. That's the sort of thing I wish I had the chance to talk to him about.
I think about now I'd give just about anything to relive my freshmen year. All the turmoil of that quintessential first year of high school. I need to be wrapped up in that sort of passion right now. I need it. I miss it. I loved it. I always say that 8th grade was the best year of my life, and it was, in many ways. But freshmen year......what a year. What an intensely wonderful year. I had a cast full of Our Town participatants that I wanted more than anything to model myself after, someone to love so desperately that it literally made me ache, my first experiences with drama, my first experiences with poetry, my first experiences with medication, and Mr. Ladd. I had Jill's house, and the smell of the woodstove and spiced meats running through it, to lose my catholic girl innocence in daily, and a rowdy, perfect band to play in that forever cemented my loyalty to it. I had counting cars with Serena and writing out max's name in stones with Emily. I had inspiration, and love, and trust. I had my freshmen year. I wish I still had my freshmen year.

I miss hugging Diana. I miss resenting Amy. I miss getting yelled at by Tre. I miss faking Mr. Ladd's signature and skipping classes. I miss group. I miss Adam and Scott making Judd laugh. I miss Judd. I miss Charlotte. I miss that list of people we didn't trust. I miss crying on Emily for the first time. I miss crying in front of Max in the library during study hall for the first time. I miss Miss McDaniel or however the hell her last name was spelled. I miss notes from chemistry class. I miss my locker.

I wish I could get it all back for a day. I can't. I think I've figured out what I'm hurting for.

My name is Linda, and I am older than I'd like to be. Don't ever neglect to think about how good you have it, especially when you think things are at their worst. On with it~