No Title Given
I am making myself write this journal entry. Just the thought of having to stick around online while I upload it makes me even more tired, and wishing I didn't have to. There was a storm today. A bad one. Somewhere nearby, actually very close to my house, a tornado touched down. The power was out from 1:30 till 9:20. All that while I had to stay camped out in this house in the hot and humid weather without any AC. I don't know how people can do like that. It's miserable.
So, needless to say, I am cranky. Nothing of any real importance happened today. The storm was the only real highlight. And it was a highlight for about 30,000 people. At one point, that was how many people that did not have power. Most areas around us had power long before, but like I said, the Tornado was somewhere very near my house.
I stayed up too late last night. Till 4 AM. I was reading and watching the movie "Kids" on HBO. That movie was good. But I hated the emotions it instilled.
I woke up at 11 AM. So, needless to say, I'm not only cranky, but I'm tired. I need sleep. And lots of it. I just don't have the energy for this right now.
No Title Given
My area is on water conversation. Even though we've had 3 days in a row where there were thunderstorms that were for fierce that they produced inch sized hail, they all only lasted 15 to 30 minutes -- 40 at most. That is the most water I remember getting in a week in the longest time. This is the effects of La Nina, right? Where a year ago I was getting out of school for flooding, now I have to watch how long I shower or the water will be turned off for the rest of the day.
I've been tweaking and messing with my pages all damn day. And, while I was in the middle of uploading various new files, I realized this is why I start hating my layouts with such a passion. I proudly put a layout, and instantly find things I "should have added," and things that I think would be better put in different places, and different ways. In a way there really is no progress in my web sites -- it's all back tracking, and fixing things that really did not need fixing. This journal is the only thing that makes me feel like I'm moving forward. Which is usually when I do get my lazy ass around to writing them, they're long, like this one is shaping out to be.
My web pages are the last outlet of creativity I have. I used to write poetry. But, the only reason why I did is because I was increasingly unhappy, and I wrote because I felt no one any longer wanted to listen anymore. I guess after a year of the same complaints it can get old. Now that I am exceedingly happy, I have self confidence (more than I did, anyway,) because of how Alan has effected my life, and when I try to write poetry, it doesn't work. I can't turn or twist, fold, tuck, or mutate my words into something good sounding that expresses how I feel. I need that element of being unhappy, typing out furiously while crying to some depressing music. But I don't want that anymore.
That was part of the reason why I started writing the articles. It took allot of time to make myself write the first one -- it was like I was drawing blood on an old wound. But I felt surprisingly relieved in a way, and incredibly proud of what I had written. I felt like I had gotten rid of something, and I felt lighter. Though, the others I wrote afterworlds didn't seem to have the same effect. Probably because that first article was the first thing I had written that I felt proud of, and that I wanted everyone to read, in a very long time.
But I can only find things to write about every couple of months. If even that.
Allot of childhood friends I had now seem to be so distant and far. I asked one of my friends "So, what's new with you? Talk with me. We never talk anymore." He never replied.
I can't help of think of my dearest friend Vince. We met on the internet as well, and then met offline, since he lived no longer than 10 minutes form my house at the time. In my life I have never left more connected to a person without having the overwhelming desire and the lover-type of need for them. Nobody has ever exactly been like than him. He had feelings for me. And told me many times. Which is probably why we spent so much time together. I loved being around him -- I could almost make him laugh no matter what I said to him. We had a fall through when me and Alan started to get closer. I don't think I could ever understand how much I hurt him. And he never seemed to notice how much it hurt me.
Our friendship held out, though it was hard. He felt like he was nothing but a problem to me. I tried to tell him he was not, but none the less, he slipped away from me. Mainly because he found a girl, name Christal, that loved him. I was glad to see him happy. Seeing him like that made me smile like a giddy fool, I couldn't help it. But our conversations always had to be light. I could make any reference to anything before December/November 1998 without his voice losing that edge I was so happy to hear.
The second to last time I saw him was in March. His girlfriend was grounded, and he contacted me out of the blue, asking if we could get together. One of the first things he told me that he had just gotten the letter of being accepted to a college. For the life of me I cannot remember the name.
Together in November, he had bought me Alanis Morissette's new CD. We listened to it in the car the rest of the night. Then her song, "Unsent," came out just a week or so before we spent that weekend together in March. He heard it, and while we were together on those days, he talked about that song. About how he thought it was so touching and emotional of how she was talking about people she loved. He even recited some lyrics. I realized he had thought of me when he heard it. He asked me to let him borrow the CD he bought for me back in November. He played it in the car.
I cannot hear that song without thinking of him. Almost every lyric I relate to him. And the song makes me want to cry.
The last time I saw him was in late March, on the 28th, I think. He came by to meet Alan. While he was there, I could tell he was uncomfy. I can't even imaging what must have been going through his head as he sat there, quietly, pretending to be fascinated with a cat toy on the floor. Before leaving he made the offer for us to join him at the beach later that week. We didn't. We were too busy. And we'd both be surrounded by strangers.
Now that summer is here, and I have so much more extra time to analyze things. I realize now that, those 15-20 minutes we spent talking about nothing truely important, would be the last time I saw Vince. For a very long time. Maybe for the rest of my life. And that hurts. That is why I wanted to write all of this out. I never wrote anything about him before. I didn't keep record of the things he said. I still have the e-mails he sent me, where he put his heart into words. And gave it to me.
I dug up my Alanis Morissette CD today, and listened to that song. "Our" song. Hearing the closing lyrics, almost make me cry.
"Dear Lou
we learned so much
I realise we won't be able to talk for some time
and I understand that as I do you
the long distance thing was the hardest
as we did as well as we could
we were together during a very tumultuous time in our lives
I will always have your back and be curious about you
about your career your whereabouts."
He always joked that I should invite him to me and Alan's wedding. And I have every intention to. I only hope he knows my web page address. So he can quietly watch me. As long as something of mine reaches him, it would be better than nothing. I hope he stays with Christal. Though I never met her, I'm she is good for him, and will love him. I hope he will have that. Love.
No Title Given
I was sitting in the back seat of the drivers ed car when I heard that they had found the body of JFK Jr. My driver instructor had turned the volume way up just seconds before a man's husky voice reported the news. It is funny the way this has effected me. I barley acknowledge his existence, only when I saw him on TV or magazines, and even then I was barley aware. I actually didn't even know he started the George magazine. I didn't even know it was a magazine. Maybe it was the tragedy that had plagued his family, maybe it was the promise he had, or maybe the surprise of it. Whatever the reason, I cried for him.
I pictured what it must have been like for the divers to come down to the plane, and look through the glass of the body of a man who had been dead, underwater for 5 days. JFK Jr's body. John John. Maybe that is just my sick imagination. But that image just brought on more heavy feelings. I had no feelings when Diana died. Maybe because I was 2 years younger and selfish. But I feel much more compassion toward her since this. Since "America's Prince" is gone.
I did well on my last day of driving. I received my 90 day permit. For those who don't know, that is something you receive after completing the drivers test and course. I don't know how it is in other places, how they do it. In Virginia they give you a chance to drive by yourself, but still not have all the privileges of an actual licence. I have to go to court to get my real licence, and it will be handed to my parents to give to me. They have the power to or not to.
My father has informed me that he will not let me have all the privileges of a drivers licence yet. That I may not drive 20 minutes into Fredericksburg, the biggest town near by. Not for a while yet. Even though when I was taking drivers ed, I drove for an hour and a 1/2 each day. But I wouldn't even try to bring that up in an argument. It would be the fact of the matter that I don't have someone sitting beside me yelling at me, and that somehow puts me at a disadvantage while driving. My driving instructor told him I had improved, but I needed lots of practice. I don't need lots of practice. I just shouldn't drive when I'm nervous, or feel pressured, or when the gas and brake pedals are too sensitive. That was the problem I had. I had only driven a 6 year old Chevy truck. Nice and worn in. Nothing touchy on it. I only improved in the since that I got used to not lurching forward or slamming to a halt whenever I touched the pedals.
No Title Given
I've been working on my web pages so much. And once again, I'm starting to dislike the layout. Ugh. But oh well. I think I'm going to start doing a layout a month -- that way I can be rid of it before I really start to hate it. I've set a due date for my webpages: August 1, 1999. That is the latest it will be out. It really shouldn't take me that long. That is just giving me some restriction so I don't take forever.
I got a call from my school today. I am to start behind the wheel on Wednesday, the 14th, at 8 AM 11 AM, and I'll have to go back later on other dates that are undecided. When I accepted, it felt like that would be days away. Now I realize that it is only the day after tomorrow, and I have a little nervousness about it. I need to talk to Sandy, or Michael, and find out how it works. Everything that will be expected of me. I always have to know exactly what I have to do, down to every little detail. It's just one of my things.
Either Mrs. A (cannot spell the last name) or Mr. A (same problem with the last name) will be my driving instructor. The two of them were married back in the day, but have divorced since. I've never met Mr. A, but Mrs. A used to be my gym teacher in elementary school. Who knows if she will remember me, and it's even more of a stretch that she will recognize me, as much as I've changed since 6th grade. But either way, whoever I have, I will feel more at ease with them. I'd have to decline if I had one of my teachers for Drivers Ed as my teacher. They were both the kind of men that are old fashioned and instill fear. If you're not athletic, and have complained "I cannot run a mile everyday," then they just don't like you. I'm one of those people. And I just hate them all together.
I hope I don't end up with someone I don't like in the car with me. I already don't know Orange that well, I hate the roads, and the last thing I need is someone I hate in the car watching everything I do. I should have asked who was in the car with me. I have to spend a total of 14 hours in a car with this person. I should have asked.
No Title Given
I'm very pissed at myself. I had 3 glorious weeks with Alan, and because I didn't spend more than 8 hours online during that, I didn't write all the journal messages I wanted to do. It pisses me off when I can remember one memory from one part of one day, but can not remember what happens before or after it happened. Like when there was a flying squirrel in the fire place. How me and Alan had opened the doors to the fireplace, and put a cardboard box in front of it in hopes of making the squirrel go into the box. Then when we found a dead squirrel, we went to get a ruler to poke it with to make sure if it was the one that was in there, or one that had been dead for a while. And when we came around the corner, sitting on top of the box, was the squirrel. It was something you could have seen in a comedy movie, our reactions and everything... Especially how Alan and his sister can from it. I had to catch it in my hands. That's all I have for that. It's a pet peeve, I guess -- I'm a pack rat. I want everything from the past. No matter what.
Sign. Over the past couple of weeks, my web page went to shit. My guestbook server made some changes, and reset all the preferences I had. And what makes it worse, when I try to log into my account to change them back, it says my account does not exist. Yet people can sign and view my guestbook. And when they sign it, they use those damn pictures that it offers -- you know, how you can select a character. Everyone has seen those kinds of guestbooks before. I had made it so you couldn't select. I didn't want them selecting any of the tacky nasty characters. And there are no words how pissed I got when people had done it. Of course that was the only way to sign the guestbook, because otherwise it told them the guestbook did not exist. And I had lots and lots of people e-mailing me "I know why no one ever signs your guestbook!" That annoyed me even more, though I know they were just being helpful. Those and many other reasons are why I hung the "closed" sign on the main page. I am sick of the grey layout, and I don't want to have to deal with it's problems while I make my newer, better layout. Damnit.
Going to Kentucky made me realize how much I hate it here. I hate this place so much. I have no where to go, and no means of getting there if there was a place I did find. I don't really have any friends in the general area, and those that I do, either can't drive, are busy all of the time, etc... And it's killing me. I hate this house. It would probably be alright if this house was bigger, and cleaner, but it's small, a little bigger than a double-wide trailer. I've been wanting to work out, but the equipment we have is in the garage, and with the temperatures being so hot and miserable, it would be impossible to go out there and enjoy myself. The only place that I could go that is nearby is the pool, but I don't want to sun burn, I don't want to tan. I don't want it outdoors.
Sigh. I am miserable here. I'm bored with my life, and I hate my father with all my being. He's 60, he should be dead, not asking to get on the computer. He does things like sleeping in the living room. He insists on doing that. That he bed is too hard, yet he comes out and squeezes on the Love seat in the living room. That also pisses me off so FUCKING much... He used to sleep on a couch we used to have, and he ruined it. He has is own chair now, a vibrating chair, but he insists on ruining the love seat, which is where I usually sit in the living room. I heard him make the comment today "I wish this couch was a foot longer," because his ass hole feet stick off of the end. It pisses me off SO FUCKING MUCH! AAKJFHSJFHJFHIUTHYUIEGTUBKLVB!! I hate him!! Why wont he fucking die already.