end: Feb. 19, 2002 (7:02 pm)

behind every fear is a wish they say, and i do believe they are correct.

when i write, i have control. i have created a world. but in reality, i feel like an actor. what is the difference between reality and memory. everything i see is tinged with my preconceptions, and everything you see is tainted with your quite different ideas. beacause these come from our expiriences, and those must be quite different. or at least not the same. unless you told your friends crush that she liked him in second grade. unless you wore grey or blue sweatshirts with pale jeans everyday from second to fourth grade. unless you went to school everyday (for two years!)with a quarter in your pocket just incase you had the need to use the metal box in the girl's bathroom. unless everyone oggled your tits when you were 13 and 14, and then suddenly they weren't special because an early start means nothing in a few years. unless you listened to the divorce song for four hours driving down to key west when you were thirteen (liz phair made you feel oh so powerful). unless you met a boy when you were 14 who adored you so naivly and whose heart ou broke. unless you drank diet coke and strawberry wine cooler one night at your friend's house in the moutains of north carolina. unless you smoked pot once to impress a boy, who really wasn't impressed. unless you naivly loved someone when you were a freshman who never retuned that love. unless you tried to show your punkness to impress people, but never were ale to convey it without feeling fucking stupid. unless you spent so long in your room alone, never going out. unless you sat everyday in one spot of the third floor to be near this one young teacher who made eye contact with you. unless you stayed in that point even after he freaked you out because after a very weird run in wth your exboyfriend you were convinced all he wanted to do was touch you because that's all anyone ever seems t want to do. unless you sat there without talking to those kids, and are just getting to speak to them. unless you made out with your ex boyfriend's friend in a house where you have made out so many times. unless he got jealous and you're relationship started up again only to fail because of problems with you. unless you've cried so many tears. so many tears. so i see the world, and you see the world. and it might as well not be an entirely different world. but oh you see this is not a play. there is no playwright. this is truly theater of the absurd. there is no messanger at the end which tells you what it all meant, or the reassurance that the means lead to a good end. it just ends.

i wish there weren't so many fucking typos in this. this is important to me.

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