Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 73 My funny stories never quite translate well to text. They even kind of suck when I try to tell them. Conclusion: I suck at telling stories. Mom, "I just want to go to church and not have someone ask me why I'm there." Me, "Sit in the back." My mom is at church with my sister. They stopped going a few months ago, and I've really missed the time on Sunday mornings. Now they're gone. Thank God for God. ... This entire online thing has been bothering me. I have friends, or what I would call friends, that I have met online but never face to face. I just don't think people were built to function on this level. Partially stimulated, never fully getting the entire person. And then, throw this diary business into it. Now you've got what I would consider my quiet. All the times I sit thinking, this is the end result of that. I get lonely. Slowly. My entire life has been spent as a unit. Carie and Ryan. Carie and Ryan. Carie and Ryan. I have to admit that I got jealous when my brother moved in with Rachel. Now it's Ryan and Rachel. And just Carie. It's never going to be Carie and Ryan again. My brother has always been in my memory. There is no time at which he wasn't there, in some fashion when I think about my childhood. And the thing is, he's my other half. Or, I always thought he was... I haven't called him in a month because I have nothing good to say. He was going to come out for a visit next month, which he has canceled because of my lack of commitment to Billings. I would rather go to Garden Valley to see him anyway. I don't blame him. Billings is ugly, especially in October. I have dark things inside. Things that are far worse than anything you can think of. Friday, he said no one would ever really know him. I just laughed. How can anyone really know anyone? All you ever get of people is what they let you see, or what they can't control, the image that bleeds towards the edge. What I'm letting you see here is my angst. My depression. Sadness. All of the time spent alone. The twenty six years of rage towards everything. You do not see the times I try to make Kristin laugh. The times I do nice things for people... like buy toilet paper for my mom. The curses thrown at people on the road. My Dr. Evil impersonations, the scribbles on note pads and post-its littering the inside pockets of my bag. Everyday me is walking funny. Problem is my humor is based on "call back" and inside jokes. Example: so, what you're saying is that we need to start learning how to drive automatics? That, right there, probably made Kristin laugh really hard, while you're sitting there going, Huh? I'm only funny after about 3 days. That gives me enough time to gather material to use at a later date. ... I re-read some old journals yesterday. Stuff from about 3 years ago. Christ am I like the most wonderful person to have a relationship with. Or, I was. I take responsibility for everything. Oh, I'm so sorry to dump all of my stuff on you. You should do what ever will make you happy. This is really all my fault. Take the time that you need. Unhealthy relationships are something I'm really good at. Do you think I can get paid for being an enabler? ... But now, I say fuck off. ... When I can't spell something, I always ask Kristin or my mom. My mom always asks me if I went to school. My answer is always, "I dropped out." 10:42 p.m. - 2002-09-15 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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