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I emailed this to you, you son of a…. Go find your own cool photos.
(Source: theconnoisseursofporn)
I know I don’t say much to anyone. I say what needs to be said and nothing more is elaborated. You are no longer gods to me anymore. I have grown out of this child’s body and am an adult now.
I haven’t been writing lately because I’ve been scared about embarrassing myself. Today I was especially hit with an anxiety attack regarding how I am unable to say normal things to people. My friends tell me that they like me because I have a crazy personality. This line would probably make a teenager or a hipster shopping at Urban Outfitters proud. However, having an out of the ordinary personality is sort of hard. Most of the time people say I am crazy and that’s just not cool. I dress normally and I look normal. I think before I speak, but after I speak in retrospect I realize that I’ve committed a blunder. I am not trying to be funny when I say I cry when people say I am weird. I try really hard to be normal. It’s difficult.
David was my childhood best friend. We hung out everyday in his basement until I realized that I was 2 years older than him and a girl. Growing up, I always thought I was a boy, or that he was a girl. We never acted as if we had defined roles. We never went to the same school but we would come home and play games together. Something happened and I don’t quite remember why it did. I stopped answering David’s calls and I stopped going to the door when I saw him there. I guess that’s how it started out… I broke his heart. He said he couldn’t go into his basement without thinking about how much he missed me. And then he moved to California. A couple years later, I started talking to David on msn and he told me something along the lines of “you were my childhood love…”. I didn’t know how to react so I blocked him. More years passed and I knew what I did was wrong. I wrote him a long letter apologizing, but when he replied, I didn’t reply back. I never knew how much I affected this boy and how much he has affected my life. Thinking back, I feel like I did something very terrible, and I did, I devalued someone who was a gem. I know I’ve done this to countless people - disappeared on them, then reappeared completely the same, dealing with my betrayal is sometimes is the cost of being my friend. He came back this weekend. Mr. and I went over to his party and hung out with David for a bit. David and I shared beers while I apologized for being a selfish coward. He has been doing well for himself, he is studying fine arts and anthropology, he has a sweet boyfriend. I asked if he could be my best friend again he said yes! He is coming back on August 20th and I am counting down the days. I love him, you know, like a girl loves her best friend.
When I look at my father I can’t tell what he is thinking. Smart men, you never know what’s stirring in their thoughts. They twitch before they think, that’s what Mr. does, that is what intelligent men do. My father grew up writing with both hands, never settling with just one. Not right handed, not left, just both, and caught in the middle like a genius. Maybe that’s why his brain functions differently, why people need him to create more gadgets for them, why they need his theories.
When he looks at me I fear that he thinks I am stupid. No A plus will ever make up for the faults I committed in the past. No matter how much I understand what’s happening in the world. Even if we talk about Libya, he treats me as if I am misinformed, and looks at me as if to say “you’re just an act”. You’re right dad, I am just as ill tempered as my mother. I am an angry person, but I do think whether I speak or not.
So I am happy to announce to everyone else that I just ordered him 7 Harry Nilsson records for his birthday.
We were born on the same day too. I gave him two early birthday gifts, Koestler’s Dialogue With Death and Dostoyevsky’s The Dream of the Ridiculous Man. He came over today and gave me a new copy of Fables.
Favourite Scene # 2
Mr. and I were laughing about how bands take pictures of their empty beers cans in their practice spaces because they probably think it makes them look “cool”. Whereas, when I have empty beer cans or a 40 of vodka mixed with weed hidden away… I’d never take a picture of it because then it would make people that I have a “problem”.
I just like her, she is spectacular. I’ve never met anyone like her, except for Mr. Maybe this fixation will wear off, maybe it won’t. I just want to give her a big hug… and maybe tell her I … love her. Do you ever get this feeling? When you become fascinated by someone, not because of his/her looks, interests, or gender? I am fascinated by her singularity. Have you ever had this feeling?
