I'm gonna make a mostly straight entry.
This place is a pit. Well, not really a pit. I'd call it a divot, but that would imply something sinking in. No, this place hasn't really changed at all, and I suppose that by getting bored it's just started to LOOK crappy. Things have to get worse before they'll get better, only nothing's really getting terrible. Just bad. Like, my job just got cut from 25 hours a week to 6 hours a week. It'll cover all the gas I need, but I'll have to conserve spending money, which sucks because I think I'm starting to admit that I like things even if they make me look like this or that. I just hate labels. In fact, I just bought my first shirts with an actual design on them, which is kinda the opposite of how it's supposed to run but I think they look cute. Especially the light blue one with the dark blue sleeve trim. I've lost weight, so that helps too. But yeah, I'm wearing a shirt that... Oh, not this shirt. I have about three or four plain red shirts and this happens to be one of the newer ones. One is from middle school, and the other is from high school. I have no idea when this one slipped into my wardrobe. I'm not sure it's mine.
I used to be paranoid of being labeled, so I ended up just looking bland and unappealing. I have glasses, and they actually make my face look a lot different. I'm told that people would have a tough time recognizing me from a distance because of these things. Do they darken my face, or make it lighter? I don't know, because I can't take them off and still look at my face in proper lighting. Get contacts, you say? Dohohoho, that's for people with mone... Can I still use that as an excuse? Yeah, screw it, I have 200 dollars in my bank account. I need to save. I can't afford contacts (I think) but then again I just found out that I could afford headphones and 2 gigabyte data sticks for a pretty decent price. I do enjoy chiptunes. Apparently that makes me a faggot. I sort of want to make them. Even though I'm pretty inexperienced in music, I always really enjoy playing something. I would have loved to keep going with the violin, only I really didn't want to play in an orchestra and buy a really expensive instrument. I should've taken the momentum with a 4-string instrument and just gotten a bass. But this was in high school, and I frequently forget how unwilling I was to do anything constructive.
I wonder how everyone I knew is doing? That is, aside from everyone I had contact with in the last year. Rob had to go and fuck up my friendship with Krispy. The hell was that all about, anyway? We're talking on AIM or something like that, and he gets her information, dates her a couple times, and suddenly she wants nothing to do with me. I can't understand it, but it's still a sore memory. I wanted to date her until I understood what dating her would entail some time like, two years ago when it started to make more sense to me. Emotional baggage isn't fun. It just isn't. It makes somethings that look normal on the surface take on all new meanings and intricacies and it's just fuck everything. Also, I really don't like being hung on. I'm not a big person, someone glomping and having to kiss all the time in public me makes my shoulders and back hurt and I feel weirdly annoying.
My mother called it "looking into whether or not I'm gay". Shows how much she really gave a shit. Maybe the idea's just too bizarre. Huh! I have red coppery highlights in my hair. Looks kinda nice while it's still this short. Oh, uh. Yeah. She figures being trans is the same as being gay, which is an understandable mistake (I guess). I WISH I was just gay, this would be a whole hell of a lot easier. I may not come off as it online, but I've always been the girl in the room. I just fill a niche. It's not like it's been assigned to me, either. I mean... Everyone's called me a girl since I can remember. Long hair, the face, I guess, and the way I conduct myself. Urg... What else... I collected dolls (I still buy them when they're cute enough), like brighter, more vibrant colors (but repress it by only using black and white in pretty much everything I draw), and pretended to hate everything I liked to throw people off the trail of labeling me as something. After 16, I just wanted to hide. I still do. I'm a very passive person when it comes to everything. I just run my mouth a lot because I'm unhappy with my life. I direct my anger at the wrong sources so that nothing ever gets resolved and I run around in circles. Intimacy still scares me too much, and I never care enough to get close to those I feel an immediate connection with. Some would call me an emotional wreck. They're probably right, but I'll get better one of these days. The core of my being knows that there's no real such thing as "the end". I've been waiting for "The End" to appear in bright letters somewhere and I'm finally happy, but it's just not going to happen. I still wake up, even though the franchise has gone stale and nobody's really putting effort into their roles. WHINING TOO MUCH NEXT PARAGRATHOUGHT.
I felt sick today after a lie I told. I picked some roses out of the bushes in the patio behind the restaurant I work at. One of my coworkers noticed me after I slashed the crap out of my hand trying to twist the flowers off. They're some of the prettiest roses I've ever seen, and nobody here can quite place what kind they are. Very light pink, with strips of white running through the center of each petal. I thought it was a shame that they live back there as the days get colder and colder, and now nobody can really appreciate them since the tables are all stacked on top of one another. Oh, right. The lie. He asked why I was tearing roses out of the garden, and so I told him it was going to be a gift for a girl I hoped to get to know better. There was something really weird about that lie, it's like one of those lies where I'm thinking intensely on my feet and I can feel a fire in the back of my eyes and bubbles popping in my brain. The really uncomfortable kind, where you really don't want to be caught but there's no real consequence if you are. I'm not implying there's some significance associated with anything said or done here, this is just how I live day to day. It's really awkward, mostly for me. I don't worry about coming across as masculine, or even androgynous. I just don't want to come across as gross, and be that guy that's being feminine even though everyone wishes he and his bulgy male form would stop trying to fit into that number. I also don't want to end up doing anything that will end up being utterly pointless and at best let me live out what I perceive from my empty kitchen to be what will make me happy. I want kids. My family would want kids. I just want to prove that my genetics aren't utter shit. No, I want kids. Sorry, relapse. Urg.
Blehhhhh. If it helped to dress in women's clothes, I'd be doing it all the time. Fact of the matter is that it doesn't. I'm just wrapped up in a different package! How does that help?! I still feel uncomfortable looking at myself, which would suggest a deeper contempt for myself than I want to believe. Still, I'm coming around to being able to recognize the person in the mirror. I have soft features, I guess. I always figured I had big eyes but nobody ever comments on my features, so I never have anyone's feedback to use as a reference. I wonder what that says about me? Do people comment on others' looks often? Am I out of some kind of loop? I could care less what hostile things people may want to say about me behind my back. That's not really true. On a bad day, I'm extremely sensitive and the wrong thing can make me duck into a back room and start crying, like when I heard my friend was expecting. Nobody else would. It's not really my place to cry over the misfortune of others, even if they aren't born yet. That's pretty judgmental of me. It's not helping that I'm acknowledging this. Still, it's really fucking sad.
I'm done. These entries go on too long.
I used to be paranoid of being labeled, so I ended up just looking bland and unappealing. I have glasses, and they actually make my face look a lot different. I'm told that people would have a tough time recognizing me from a distance because of these things. Do they darken my face, or make it lighter? I don't know, because I can't take them off and still look at my face in proper lighting. Get contacts, you say? Dohohoho, that's for people with mone... Can I still use that as an excuse? Yeah, screw it, I have 200 dollars in my bank account. I need to save. I can't afford contacts (I think) but then again I just found out that I could afford headphones and 2 gigabyte data sticks for a pretty decent price. I do enjoy chiptunes. Apparently that makes me a faggot. I sort of want to make them. Even though I'm pretty inexperienced in music, I always really enjoy playing something. I would have loved to keep going with the violin, only I really didn't want to play in an orchestra and buy a really expensive instrument. I should've taken the momentum with a 4-string instrument and just gotten a bass. But this was in high school, and I frequently forget how unwilling I was to do anything constructive.
I wonder how everyone I knew is doing? That is, aside from everyone I had contact with in the last year. Rob had to go and fuck up my friendship with Krispy. The hell was that all about, anyway? We're talking on AIM or something like that, and he gets her information, dates her a couple times, and suddenly she wants nothing to do with me. I can't understand it, but it's still a sore memory. I wanted to date her until I understood what dating her would entail some time like, two years ago when it started to make more sense to me. Emotional baggage isn't fun. It just isn't. It makes somethings that look normal on the surface take on all new meanings and intricacies and it's just fuck everything. Also, I really don't like being hung on. I'm not a big person, someone glomping and having to kiss all the time in public me makes my shoulders and back hurt and I feel weirdly annoying.
My mother called it "looking into whether or not I'm gay". Shows how much she really gave a shit. Maybe the idea's just too bizarre. Huh! I have red coppery highlights in my hair. Looks kinda nice while it's still this short. Oh, uh. Yeah. She figures being trans is the same as being gay, which is an understandable mistake (I guess). I WISH I was just gay, this would be a whole hell of a lot easier. I may not come off as it online, but I've always been the girl in the room. I just fill a niche. It's not like it's been assigned to me, either. I mean... Everyone's called me a girl since I can remember. Long hair, the face, I guess, and the way I conduct myself. Urg... What else... I collected dolls (I still buy them when they're cute enough), like brighter, more vibrant colors (but repress it by only using black and white in pretty much everything I draw), and pretended to hate everything I liked to throw people off the trail of labeling me as something. After 16, I just wanted to hide. I still do. I'm a very passive person when it comes to everything. I just run my mouth a lot because I'm unhappy with my life. I direct my anger at the wrong sources so that nothing ever gets resolved and I run around in circles. Intimacy still scares me too much, and I never care enough to get close to those I feel an immediate connection with. Some would call me an emotional wreck. They're probably right, but I'll get better one of these days. The core of my being knows that there's no real such thing as "the end". I've been waiting for "The End" to appear in bright letters somewhere and I'm finally happy, but it's just not going to happen. I still wake up, even though the franchise has gone stale and nobody's really putting effort into their roles. WHINING TOO MUCH NEXT PARAGRATHOUGHT.
I felt sick today after a lie I told. I picked some roses out of the bushes in the patio behind the restaurant I work at. One of my coworkers noticed me after I slashed the crap out of my hand trying to twist the flowers off. They're some of the prettiest roses I've ever seen, and nobody here can quite place what kind they are. Very light pink, with strips of white running through the center of each petal. I thought it was a shame that they live back there as the days get colder and colder, and now nobody can really appreciate them since the tables are all stacked on top of one another. Oh, right. The lie. He asked why I was tearing roses out of the garden, and so I told him it was going to be a gift for a girl I hoped to get to know better. There was something really weird about that lie, it's like one of those lies where I'm thinking intensely on my feet and I can feel a fire in the back of my eyes and bubbles popping in my brain. The really uncomfortable kind, where you really don't want to be caught but there's no real consequence if you are. I'm not implying there's some significance associated with anything said or done here, this is just how I live day to day. It's really awkward, mostly for me. I don't worry about coming across as masculine, or even androgynous. I just don't want to come across as gross, and be that guy that's being feminine even though everyone wishes he and his bulgy male form would stop trying to fit into that number. I also don't want to end up doing anything that will end up being utterly pointless and at best let me live out what I perceive from my empty kitchen to be what will make me happy. I want kids. My family would want kids. I just want to prove that my genetics aren't utter shit. No, I want kids. Sorry, relapse. Urg.
Blehhhhh. If it helped to dress in women's clothes, I'd be doing it all the time. Fact of the matter is that it doesn't. I'm just wrapped up in a different package! How does that help?! I still feel uncomfortable looking at myself, which would suggest a deeper contempt for myself than I want to believe. Still, I'm coming around to being able to recognize the person in the mirror. I have soft features, I guess. I always figured I had big eyes but nobody ever comments on my features, so I never have anyone's feedback to use as a reference. I wonder what that says about me? Do people comment on others' looks often? Am I out of some kind of loop? I could care less what hostile things people may want to say about me behind my back. That's not really true. On a bad day, I'm extremely sensitive and the wrong thing can make me duck into a back room and start crying, like when I heard my friend was expecting. Nobody else would. It's not really my place to cry over the misfortune of others, even if they aren't born yet. That's pretty judgmental of me. It's not helping that I'm acknowledging this. Still, it's really fucking sad.
I'm done. These entries go on too long.