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Thursday, March 18th, 2004
3:43 pm

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Saturday, March 6th, 2004
7:29 pm - as it unfolds..
I know, shame on me, I've been neglecting this journal. I've actually kind of moved to technicolour_me, because I wanted to put the pretty words somewhere else, all collected, and chose a place where I couldn't get the title I really wanted [technicoloured, or technicolour_dreams] but I didn't care. There's also a colloquial journal that I've been living on, [pixsky], because that's where all the MacRob girls and random Melbourne high people are. When I'm being a student, when I'm being a 'peer', and when I'm teasing Bec about her inherent argumentativeness, I'm there. Right now, though, I'm not any of those things, so I'm here. Don't worry about chasing up the backstory, the above is just standard change of address stuff, anyway, for those of you who're wondering how we got to this post from the previous one about weepiness.

All present and correct? Right then..

Just put my father on the plane to the States, which was the sort of scary experience that used to be reserved for trips to Lebanon or the Balkans. After he disappeared behind the departure lounge doors, my mother started crying. Until Lauren arrives on Tuesday, it's just us. I'm hugging her, and reminding her it'll only be a short while- total fucked up role reversal thing, but I can deal. In that moment, she was like a fragile thing. Instincts towards protection did not, however, stop me insisting on driving home. [Heh. I'd like to take this opportunity to apologise to anyone who repairs traffic islands between Tulla and Melton.] We detoured, taking the opportunity to bond over shopping as we *never* do. We're not usually a 'bonding' family, but it really felt like it was just us two and the world. We sat in starbucks and talked, really talked, which was surprisingly pleasant and comfortable. I think it's nice not to be seen as the enemy for a change- possibly for both of us.

Detoured into Dymocks, where I bought a novel called The Baghdad Blog, formed from the blog entries of a guy whose pseudonym is Salam Pax. Anyone who wants a more insider perspective of the war than they get on CNN or Murdoch press should both read the book and check out the actual blog. Looks, so far, to be extremely good. Anyway, that's my recommendation for the year, but as I tend to collect lj friends who're at least approximately as liberal as I am, then I have great hopes that you'll get something out of it, too, and all that html stuff was not in vain. Go. Read. Become Enlightened.

Thank Deity-Non-Specific- (damn it's hard work being Agnostic. I'd claim Atheism instead, probably closer to the truth, anyway, but then who would i thank?) -for International motorsports and hence five day weekends. All I've done with it thus far, despite self promises of mailing leos and catching up/getting ahead in school, is finish writing first Aff. Debate for "We have more to fear from George W. Bush than "the axis of evil", but that's ok. Because it's still a long weekend. Debating, why? Partly because I like the topic, and partly because I got bullied into joining debating by the captain, who sits three down from me in English. Am actually terrified of delivering this speech in front of anyone, especially opposing side and own team. I guess I'll either survive the first debate or have a nervous seizure and start randomly shouting "Purple!" at people, so either way it should be an interesting experience. If you know me, and you know when and where the scary debate is to be held, I forbid you to turn up. On pain of much scariness. *grr* . Being on the team's actually kind of fun- i'm alternately told off for being too quiet and too "crazy left wing communist/socialist freak"- which i think is the Cap's way of saying 'liberal'. *sigh* At least I was able to answer their question "So, is Afghanistan the capital of Iraq?" *facepalm*.

Weird little side-affect of five day weekend was working on Thursday to compensate for missed hours this wednesday (went and saw 'Stolen' for English. Play about the stolen generation. both heartwrenching and good.) What was amusing about work was running into Floor Guy, who was I think trying to cold shoulder me or whatever. This, aside from the inherent amusement factor, was funny because whilst it seems to be meant to be some sort of vengeance because I apparently "rejected him"- callous bitch that I am- or whatever store gossip has passed on to the bottom of the grapevine recently. Either way, am amused at not having to deal with the whole 'Floor Guy' saga, for whatever reason. Refuse, therefore, to feel like a total bitch.
Slightly bewildered by new random 'Grocery dude' (yet another work person)- saying hi to me- by name- as I have no idea who this person is, and haven't worn a nametag in six months. Still, at least I'm not getting six or eight mundane messages on a daily basis from him, or getting in trouble from work for 'flirting' because he won't go away, or having him make assumptions on my intellect with no actual basis other than awareness that the extend of my vocab is at least 'hi'. So, Grocery dude is quite possibly a decent human being.

That was 'the Update', hope you enjoyed it. In summary, life is (as per usual) somewhat strange and hectic, not to mention inexplicable. Floor Guy is no longer an issue. I'm in a perpetual state of terror over missing relatives and, to a lesser extent debating. Everyone should go read The Baghdad Blog, and hug their mothers.

How're you?

current mood: amused

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Thursday, November 27th, 2003
2:55 am
Salty wet drops fall lightly to the paper, like the soft summer rain. Big, fat droplets. Rivers of black ink, once carefully formed letters, melt into one another, turnng my words to nonsense. Words that can be only written, but never said. Allowing the pen to mar the pure white pages, marking crudely the reasons for the tears, begins to make them still. Slowly but surely, they dry up. All that remains is a sticky feeling on my cheeks, and an ache that is part crying, part exhaustion, part despair. Catharsis, they call it, but I name it curse- that the blessed release of sleep can arrive only after I have recorded, revisited, been forced to relive that which was the source of so much pain.

Twelve months and counting. It's not so long. I'd better save- after all, I'll need somewhere to move out to, now that my presence here is so undesirable.

current mood: depressed

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Tuesday, November 25th, 2003
1:00 am
She doesn't want to go to Speech Night- and it's all my fault.
He told her she was behaving irrationally, they argued- and it's all my fault.
This family is breaking apart, according to her, and it's all my fault.
Was it the mere fact of my birth? What did I do, to cause this cataclysmic chain of events?
I will admit that I ought not, perhaps, have argued the point with her so often- but I will not make the apology she requests, because I have not done anything wrong. I will not apologise for refusing to be bullied, for finally showing some backbone. For three weeks she has glared, raged, scowled, insulted, muttered darkly. Offers of help fall on cynically deaf ear.. "yeah, sure..". The finished task brings nothing but yet another criticism, or more angry silence. Three Weeks, two illnesses, five exams- and not one kind word. Nothing is good enough. I clean the bathroom- I ought to have put away the ironing. I put away the ironing- I ought to have tidied the back-room. I tidy the backroom and I should be off finding something or other. The fact that I am still here, that I have not moved out, am not at school or out shopping- seems enough to move her to a violent rage.
But, it's not her fault. No. Never. It's mine, predictably. I''m "a pathetic little child" an "obnoxious bitch", stupid, irresponsible, breaking the family unit apart. It's my fault they are arguing.
What does she see herself as, I wonder?

current mood: hurt

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Monday, November 24th, 2003
2:45 pm - rock on summer holidays..
What's the matter Mary Jane?
Had a hard day?
So place the don't disturb sign on the door.

See you're losing weight again.
Mary Jane.
Ever wonder who you're losing it for.

Some days, the queen of screaming vocal arrangements gets it right.
So tired that my eyes won't stay open, but my mind won't shut up. Angry, bitter, bitchy thoughts. Impatience. Cruelty.
Seem to be doing nothing but working lately, which, while it's good for Christmas finances, puts me in a pretty foul mood.
Hence all the recent community joining i've been doing..
[Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<lj-user="customers_suck">') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]

What's the matter Mary Jane?
Had a hard day?
So place the don't disturb sign on the door.

See you're losing weight again.
Mary Jane.
Ever wonder who you're losing it for.

Some days, the queen of screaming vocal arrangements gets it right.
So tired that my eyes won't stay open, but my mind won't shut up. Angry, bitter, bitchy thoughts. Impatience. Cruelty.
Seem to be doing nothing but working lately, which, while it's good for Christmas finances, puts me in a pretty foul mood.
Hence all the recent community joining i've been doing.. <lj-user="customers_suck">. What is it about shitty weather that brings out the really evil customers?
Several things.
To the lady with the tasteless jewellery, and the nose like a pug.
"Sorry, but when they handed out the cap and apron, they didn't give me the magical ability to divine exact quantities of shaved meat. 210 grams, when you asked for 200, is pretty damn close. And, when someone politely offers to drop it down to the requested weight or below, snapping "Well I *asked* for 200grams!" is not going to win you any brownie points. Sorry. We do offer a consolation prize, i could stab you repeatedly with a chicken fork, if you persist in insulting my intelligence. No, I'm not stupid, yes, I did hear you.. would you like to climb over the counter and pull out your own bloody ham?!"
*sigh* And, no matter how rude the customer is, I've been polite back. I end up leaving work so tense that I don't want to talk to anybody for at least half an hour.

To the sleazy gentleman with the receding hairline…

(To be continued.. Aliya wants me to go underwear shopping with her… perhaps best not to ask)

current mood: bitchy

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Thursday, October 16th, 2003
10:22 pm - No one’s listening except pine gap.
Hmm. This is depressing. Word keeps destroying all my typos, turning them into actual words. Die, Microsoft, you fat capitalist pig. It gave itself the capital letter, by the way. Asshole.

There’s this challenge community I've joined here on livejournal, wherein you must write 400 words a day on a given topic. I think I’m probably too lazy to commit to it, but here’s giving it a try. Don’t expect anything beyond this point to make sense, mind:

Why you’re telling everyone I belong to you I don’t know. It’s pissing me off beyond measure, and will probably drive me to recklessly bitchy behaviour. Which I will then feel abominably guilty over, and then I’ll end up all apologetic. Erin-the-apologetic. I’d make a pretty crappy viking, eh? I flinch when the phone tolls, feeling bound to answer. I hate the little ascii envelope that tells me I’ve got another message from you, another message to which the only replies that spring to mind are as inane as the message itself. I’m not myself towards you, and I don’t want to be. You seek to bind me in the niceties of your society, so I can’t run free. More effective than iron chains, you appeal to a sense of unfairness, a sense of sympathy. If only, if only. If only I had the determination, the courage of my own convictions, to decline coherently and cohesively, leaving no room for doubt. If only I were not forever apologising, for my own nature and for yours. And, it’s not the apology of any real feelings- I excuse you because I feel guilty for not wanting you. I see myself trapped where I do not want to be, and I hate myself for my weakness.

that was crap. I need to write something a little less real, with a lot less ‘I’ statements.

Die in a daydream. Doesn’t it feel like a waking sleep, from which we are intended to awake, but haven’t been able to grasp the end lesson, the whyfore we are here?
Memories slip from grasping fingers, ever elusive and just out of reach. Where did the last few years go, and how to stop time? Stay here, where at least the fear is known and constant. Better the devil you know. Aging, dying, seem as far away as vce did in year 8. But here we are. Where did the last four years go?

Broken frieze of a tousled form, on white tiles and crimson life. Forever frozen at 18, the eternally young. The fountain of youth, contrary to popular opinion, exists. The way to never age is to never live. Having reached the pinnacle of experience, before bones creak and skin sags, to let go. Quit while you’re ahead. Leave early to avoid the rush, sort of thing. One hundred and sixty words, but they’re not flowing freely. Trickling perhaps, and inappropriately. Dying just a little every second, until one day there is nothing left. Will the wasted time in writing excercises, in agonising over being kind, be mourned when the lifetimer trickles the last few sands into ‘dead’?

Two hundred and eleven words, and this seems more pointless than before. Practice makes perfect, but what is this practising for? They tell me writing isn’t real work, just as they tell me journalism is inconstant, and arts is useless. Like I’ll never have a real job, just keep servicing consumers with my stupid supermarket hat and apron, thirteen years of nauseatingly useless knowledge. One hundred and twenty-five words to go. Probably counting them is cheating, but what to say? I could answer questions, write to your topics, but who’d be interested once the layers are stripped away and they’re confronted with nothing more than a frightened little girl. Afraid to be bound, but just as terrified of freedom. With freedom comes the responsibility to be free.
Responsibility, obligation, ought have no place in freedom, but they are entwined.

Final words. What can be said that’s never been said before? What can be revealed that is not already alluded to, if you know where to look? Words are somewhat useless sometimes, if you’re not brave enough to use the right ones. Eight words left. Five. That wasn’t so hard.

current mood: confused

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Monday, October 13th, 2003
7:07 pm
Sorry haven't been here for a while.. been getting established over at ujournal, if anyone wants an invite code there, or wants to be added to my friends list, ask, and all will be provided. Too far beyond tired to update anything deep and meaningful, and currently enmeshed in one of those awkward real-life little mini-dramas, which i hope to resolve without too much bloodshed, and without making the boy concerned cry.
Gah. If only i could learn to be mean at the *start* and say no, then I wouldn't end up in these messes. Curse you, girl who gave him my phone number!

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Wednesday, October 1st, 2003
3:56 pm
Just because I'm not posting, doesn't mean I'm not lurking.
Hope everyone's having a good life.

current mood: tired

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Friday, September 26th, 2003
5:42 pm
Ripples, created by a seeking mind, wash over, eroding stone into sand. Ancient cries echo, unheard. I wonder where you are, what you're doing, and I hope you're still around, still alive. The world has gotten harder everyday, ever since I took that final step from the precipice, waving goodbye to all that a younger me held dear. I still reach upwards, forgetting, but I'm getting better. I'm learning to stand on my own feet again, but I don't think I would have if I hadn't met you.
Thursday, August 28th, 2003
8:56 am - Fidelis et Amor, In Aeternum
Latin is extremely pretty. Dead languages are so much lovelier than live ones.

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Thursday, August 21st, 2003
8:20 pm - Revolutionary Association of the Women of Afghanistan (RAWA)

I’m the woman who has awoken

I’ve arisen and become a tempest through the ashes of my burnt children
I’ve arisen from the rivulets of my brother’s blood
My nation’s wrath has empowered me
My ruined and burnt villages fill me with hatred against the enemy,
I’m the woman who has awoken,
I’ve found my path and will never return.
I’ve opened closed doors of ignorance
I’ve said farewell to all golden bracelets
Oh compatriot, I’m not what I was
I’m the woman who has awoken
I’ve found my path and will never return.
I’ve seen barefoot, wandering and homeless children
I’ve seen henna-handed brides with mourning clothes
I’ve seen giant walls of the prisons swallow freedom in their ravenous stomach
I’ve been reborn amidst epics of resistance and courage
I’ve learned the song of freedom in the last breaths, in the waves of blood and in victory
Oh compatriot, Oh brother, no longer regard me as weak and incapable
With all my strength I’m with you on the path of my land’s liberation.
My voice has mingled with thousands of arisen women
My fists are clenched with the fists of thousands compatriots
Along with you I’ve stepped up to the path of my nation,
To break all these sufferings all these fetters of slavery,
Oh compatriot, Oh brother, I’m not what I was
I’m the woman who has awoken
I’ve found my path and will never return.

(poem written by Meena, founder of the organisation and leading advocate of women's rights in Afghanistan. She was assassinated in 1977 as a threat to the current Government)

Go and read the stories of the women of Afghanistan.

Discover just how much the invasion of Afghanistan by the US has solved none of the issues surrounding women's rights in Afghanistan.

I'm sad, and angry, and I just wish there were something I could do.

"Nobody need wait a single moment, before starting to improve the world"- Anne Frank

current mood: sad

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6:51 pm - Pauline Hanson, prison bitch
anti-immigration pamphlets: $250

Getting endorsed as a Liberal candidate, but losing that endorsement once the ballots were printed and hence winning a seat under the Liberal flag (but probably having to pay back some sort of deposit)- $960

uber- bright nazi wear from whatever the shop was (that also disendorsed her): $400

elocution lessons (unsuccesful): $58

registering a fascist group as a political party with imaginary member- $25

Going to jail for electoral fraud and meeting all them big mommas she said should have tougher prison sentences?

current mood: cheerful

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Wednesday, August 20th, 2003
5:33 pm - WORSHIP WoNKO!
Click here to join one of the fastest growing alternatives to Christianity in existence!*

*well, not really. but click the damn link anyway. you know you want to.

current mood: amused

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Tuesday, August 19th, 2003
12:35 pm - philosophy SAC 1/4
`philosophy SAC' draft questions

1) Intelligence is a term which is difficult to define.
It covers a range of abilities, from basic sentience
(essentially, consciousness) to having a great deal of wisdom.
Its common use as a synonym for 'smart' makes the task of definition slightly more difficult,
as we begin to define intelligence as a personal quality such as beauty, talent, or athleticism.

I believe the best way to define intelligence is to recognise it as a broad definition.
Intelligence,then, can be seen as intellectual ability, from so basic a level as consciousness
(merely being aware of one's existence)-
to great wisdom and mental ability.

Therefore, at the simplest level, intelligent beings should be able to do any of the following to
qualify as sentient, and therefore intelligent:
~be aware of their existence.

To more rigidly define intelligence, as under this definition it could be argued that any l
iving creature possesses intelligence-
Subjects with an intelligence higher than that of mere sentiencce, should also:
~be able to question.
~be able to interact with their surrounds.
~have the ability to make choices.
~be able to acquire and apply knowledge.
~have the capacity for reason and logical thought.

I have divided the criteria for intelligence into two levels, because intelligence is a relative term.
For example:

Most people would agree that Einstein is more intelligent than Britney Spears,
and that Britney Spears is at least slightly more intelligent than a jellyfish. (*)
And all three subjects are sentient.

Following on from this definition of intelligence,
To "think" is more than merely to be sentient- Descartes said " I think, therefore I am"-
the fact of thought was proof enough of his existence, but the reverse is not true- merely existing does not imply thought.
For example, a fish may be aware of its existence, but it is not necessarily thinking- think is a verb, implying action of some sort.
to think is to consciously make decisions, have ideas, construct mental imagery. Thought is independent of external environment and other beings.

(*)well, probably.

current mood: cheerful

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Thursday, August 14th, 2003
6:06 pm
haha world, very funny.

Drunk people on vline do not count.

current mood: amused

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10:35 am - meanwhile
A perfect fracture.
Here i stand, at the edge of a precipice, readying myself to jump. But only uncertainty lies below, as above, and the fear is overwhelming.
My name evades you, evaporating from your memory and your mind, and my face fragments in your brain when you even deign to think on me. I may as well be dead, rotting below the ground, or a million particles of carbon, scattered amongst the star-reflecting waters of the South Pacific.
I think some would mourn, with the fierce intensity of adolescent emotion, but i think the pain would pass. It is only arrogance on my part to assume there would be pain. Probably everyone would just end up less inconvenienced, less worried. One less body cramming the tram, one less waste of oxygen, one less hideous sight.
Pull the trigger, say a prayer. Of triggers, why does your image, the thought of your lips on hers, hurt so much if I'm over you? I want to desire sensibly, with logic and rational thought. I want to want someone who wants me back. I want to feel beautiful in someone's eyes, and I want to hold and be held. The world doesn't, however, work the way i want. It doesn't deliver to the hopes and prayers of a lonely, flawed atheist, and it doesn't hear hear her screams, echoing silently in her mind.

current mood: keeping up appearances.
Wednesday, August 13th, 2003
9:14 pm
shattered, burnt, torn into a thousand pieces. wholly and utterly destroyed. But the flaw in this description is that these sound like instantaneous concepts. Dealt with quickly and moved on. i wonder that there must be something wrong with me, to still be so far behind where i ought to be. Glimpses still painful, and why doesn't he want me? His image is in too many places at once, and I find I keep stumbling. I want to look like I don't care, but here I sit, trying to hide tears on public transport. Tears are useless, and pointless, and i only hate myself more for this weakness, or at least, the public display of it. His is an image I would burn, see crumbled to dust.
have to go now. bye. have nice lives.

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Thursday, August 7th, 2003
1:48 pm - downdate1.2
Still no net credit. It’s likely to be a skint week, as I didn’t work terribly many hours last week, but i did borrow from the transport kitty to buy some books on my way home last Tuesday, in some sort of pathetic diversionary attempt directed at the chuck reflex. It was a mild success, but probably I shouldn’t have. Egad I’m tired. I feel like a funfun walking zombie. And no, still no net credit. (which I already said, thus proving the zombie like state). Shirene and Lacey aren’t in form yet.. maybe the form rooms changed while I was away? Bloody hell, it was only three days. No, here’s Nina, this is still my form room. Hurrah. Leo’s meeting today lunchtime, English oral period 6, have to hunt down the chemistry teacher about that missed test.. ideally period five- I doubt I’d have any success purely based on an EVM scale of cnsciousness. Whee, look at all the pretty yellow elephants.

ooh, here is lacey, and sheeny and sara. Logging off…

current mood: rushed

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1:46 pm - downdate1.1
I still find it bizarre, how the most ugly things can, for moments alone, transcend their normal state and assume a beauty from not seeming to be what they are. Like heavy traffic in the rain, headlights shining off the road giving the scene an otherworldly impression of a bejewelled city, and I forgot the burning fumes, the ugliness of twisted metal, for a moment. What’ve we done with innocence? It disappeared with time, it never made much sense

Thank [insert deity here] that it’s Friday… maybe I’m not looking forward to a weekend at home alone, or at work as per se, but I *will* thoroughly enjoy getting to sleep past 5.50am. Doona, squishy warmth, here I come! Sometimes I think a social life would be nice, but I suspect that I don’t have one is all my own fault. Bloody defensive mechanisms, so that no one ever really gets to know me on meeting me for the first time. In fact, I rather suspect I come across as a total bitch.

No net credit, so I’m writing this in word… the queue at the bursars this morning was filled with year 12s and their formal payments.. I guess this feeling of everyone’s partying more than me is just a symptom of adolescence, but then, the fact that I essentially only know the people I knew in year 7, (when I rarely went out, tightass parents) probably should indicate that I really am a tragic loner. Oh well.

I’ll probably post this at recess, when I check my email. At lunch, I’ll be desperately scrawling my history sac, which I suspect I’ve already lost a good deal of marks on- I’m tired of formulaic answers so I’ve developed a new response to the topic- how Tsar Nicholas’ II’s conservative approach to Government and Russian society, and desire to ‘turn back the clock’ to make his Russia mirror that of the ancient Muscovite civilisation, is in direct conflict with his desire to industrialise Russia, to modernise it economically to bring it to an economic par with Europe and the rest of the world, (Crimean War, Russo-Japanese War- proved Russia, whilst it had the largest army, was militarily inferior for technological reasons. This conflict between the past and the future, between the Tsars desire to move Russia back into the past, and also to modernise- means that Revolution is inevitable- Russia is moving forward under a regime that is looking backwards, and, to follow the metaphor to the inevitable conclusion, is increasing it’s chance of toppling over. Also, the lessons of capitalism and industrialisation Russia learnt from the west did not include learning from the mistakes nearly all countries made- the devastating effects of young capitalism on the urban proletariat- poor conditions, long hour, could perhaps have been avoided had the Russian Government been prepared to learn from the mistakes of the west. It should also be noted that most countries more technologically/industrially/economically advanced than Russia were also more politically advanced, and had abolished feudalism and absolutism, which were perhaps at their most effective in governing agrarian societies.

I’m off to stress some more about my Russian Revolutions SAC, as it’ll be Monday by the time I post this, hope you all had fantastic weekends. I’m going home early! yay period 6 frees!

I’m sitting in the art room across from L2.11.. guess I was early.. stress.. brooding..
ok.. breathe.. breathe..
wish me luck!

current mood: rushed

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Wednesday, August 6th, 2003
5:38 pm - And they tell me that any boy who makes you cry isn't worth your tears..
something broke inside of me, obscuring all else. despite the protests of my mind, my eyes let fall, ending the drought. Raw, open, unbound, a half year of pain finally triggered into something more. A sadness, yes, but an acknowledgement.
And I am flawed, in caring, and flawed in my fears. I could never be the perfect girl for anyone, but it still hurts that the first person to even pretend to find me attractive doesn't care. And I tried to tell myself but my mind wouldn't hear it. Until..

but that, that would be giving the game away, showing just what a broken, defective creation i am, mourning a closed door now that I find it will never open again. I'm tired, and I can't be strong or optimistic anymore. How could i want someone i don't even respect?
(because that was my sole chance, in second rate eyes from a twisted as fuck mind)

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