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Below are the 25 most recent journal entries.

	2003.02.01  22.00 I am strewn about. Not quite arbitrarily, wholly unsophisticated. I am the growing distance between head and heart; only intermediate space. I am somewhere between past and future. The present has eluded me as I have eluded life-the prospect a lot more satisfying than the end result. I resign myself to this soul illusion.

	2003.02.01  10.27 Ways I Choose to See Myself While Only I am Looking Fiery; Arrogance without judgement/limitation Beuaty without ambiguity; I have flown and crashed and crashed and burned- Just grateful for the freedom: Of love Of life Enough to see myself completely By myself; Alone; With embers of greatness

	2003.01.19  13.29 I find that as I grow older I have more and more to think about and less and less to say. Mood: quixotic Music: Eagle Eye Cherry-Save Tonight

	2002.11.27  19.24 It is harder and harder to pretend you are only away. It is Wednesday and you are out playing. Dusk is at odds with night and I can no longer see you and I know I will have to look for you soon. I've told you to come home at dark, but the world is never dark to you. I don't mind searching for this reason. It is Saturday and you are away at a tournament. It took me a long time not to follow the school bus halfway to its destination, and these weekends are particularly difficult. And you will come home and return a hero. You have scored the winning goal with only seconds remaining. You have jumped feet in the air to save a shot that would have surely meant defeat. Losses are rare but they do happen. I have taught you that there's nothing wrong with failure-no..that there's no such thing as failure. You have only found one more way that does not work. Somewhere you keep a list. Life catches up to me other days. Saturday is my cleaning day and I come across your soccer bag in a corner. It is then I know that you are gone. You were always too excited to leave home without it. I collapse beside it and scream your name. It is the silence that ends this dream, for silence is the most telling of all sounds. Wednesday comes again and I am halfway out the front door, my house keys in hand, scanning for your bike among the driveways on our street. Weeks ago I sopped really looking. It is now just a sweeping motion. Side to side. Everything is just a motion now-it's amazing how we die inside and out while our hearts stubbornly refuse to stop beating.

	2002.11.27  10.42 There are a dozen excuses I have for not having updated this in a while. Unfortunately, the only one I'm energetic enough to list right now is laziness.

	2002.10.26  21.14 I don't know whether or not it's a good thing to always be worried about and actively anticipating the end. Sometimes it feels pessimistic, like I just can't joy something without tainting it with the thought of impermanence. One day Charlie and I are "pretty much ove" and, you know, that's alright because I'm only in high school and I have my whole life to fall in love and we were never really right. And then days like today just prove everything wrong. FuckFuckFuckFuckFuckFuckFuckFuckFuckFuckFuckFuck I am insanely jealous of all the sad, boring people who eat spaghetti alone with Paul Newman and watch The Price is Right and would still be surprised if you mentioned that it was off the air and the ones who wait for calls from their adult children and who clean the house on Sunday and who eat oatmeal with sugar in it and who go to soccer games and cheer..cheer their hearts out and who yell at the referee because their kid is losing and who else's fault could it be? These are the people who can somehow get by with just breathing and who can go to sleep and somehow look forward to doing it tomorrow. Life is full of these people who don't think about the things I do. I am not crazy just for insanity's sake. I'm just crazy in comparison to all of these fucking people. I am envious only because you make me so much more fucking worse/crazy/screwed up than you. That said, I just wish I was beautiful somehow. So this could somehow be seen as the lonely torture of sadness.

	2002.10.13  13.29 I wonder why I feel so high (though I am not above the sorrow) It's amazing the timing he has. He calls just in time for me to be awake enough to seem coherent. It's 1 in the morning and band practice ran late and he misses me. Everything is forgotten. I was being paranoid for nothing and I kick myself because of it. We sit in his car drinking cream soda and talk about absolutely nothing. This is everything I needed. Something is funny and we laugh uncontrollably as only people sitting in their cars in the wee hours of the morning can. And here there's a fleeting thought-that I could fall in love with this. That I could fall in love with him. I must have smiled at this thought because he asks me why I'm smiling. It feels safer to lay my head on his shoulder. It feels so much more than safe. Most good things do. We talk a while longer and when one topic has been talked out one of us throws in a spontaneous anecdote-neither of us wanting this to end. Eventually, it does end. And, for once, how it ended is not important. Because things like this never end. Divisions like these are so unimportant. I wake up later in the day and it's strange I don't remember what was so funny. Then I remember that, in the words of someone else I've forgotten, "to define something is to limit it." It all seems like a dream now and seeing his car drive away around the corner is a fading memory. I am reminded by the smell of him on my jacket. I wonder how long it will be before he calls again. I think to myself that i can wait. That times like these are worth waiting for.

	2002.10.12  14.37 Curb Your Enthusiasm I need a subject for my art portfolio. Badly. I who had a photographer for a mother and who has a boyfriend who has been very properly described as Ricky Fitts-ish (by me, though I'm quite biased) can find absolutely nothing captivating to paint. And here I contradict myself by saying that the preceding is absolutely not true-that I find life itself captivating and every single person in it. I think the problem with Hallie the painter is that Hallie the person gets in the way. I cannot go up to the interesting person with the vintage sunglasses and Birkenstocks on a 50 degree cloudy day and ask if I can paint him right then and there in all his borderline bohemian glory. I'm not worried about rudeness, just afraid of rejection, though I should really be quite well-versed in rejection by now. It's weird how people never learn their lessons even when they so readily admit and analyze their mistakes. Charlie needs to do a photography portfolio and we talked about using each other as subjects. To him, it seems convenient and perfect and to me it seems that much more complicated. "You can't just paint a person," I say. "You have to paint a feeling." He laughs at me and jokingly asks what feeling either one of us could have that I'm so scared of exposing. Really, that's what I'm most scared of, that he'll see something he doesn't like or that I'll hide so much that I'll be a horrible subject. Really, this is what I do best-run through lists of why things won't work knowing full well that I'm the one who keeps them from happening. I'm human this way-I share this flaw with so many and tell it to so few. Comfort comes from the fact that you all do the same thing, that we're all equally screwed-that humanity is overrated. Now that I think about it, B.B.D. (borderline bohemian dude) is not nearly as frightening. It's much easier to analyze, interpret, and render artistically the emotions of a stranger than to wake up the next morning and come to terms with your own. It's even harder to wake up the next morning beside someone who's doing the same.

	2002.09.28  17.12 Stuck in a Moment, U2 style These days they play Jack Johnson on the radio and Duncan Sheik videos have taken over Target television screens. We feel increasingly less special though simultaneously that much more superior. Yet we are still strangely in the middle-somewhere between folk and jazz and pop. The grey area between popular and small-scale. Charlie lives to know he was right and Will lives to know that we know he was right. This my be the measure of who I've become. Really, I just think I can't decie what I love.

	2002.09.21  13.20 (As He Faced the Sun He Cast No Shadow) There are few things that have happened since I've written about/professed my undying love for one Pete Sampras. Pete Sampras did win and I was at an informational meeting about Duke University when it happened. What's that a metaphor for? One could say I'm brave enough to want something different but not brave enough to go after it. One could say I'm a conformist. Then again, maybe everything doesn't work out the way you want it to. Life is made up of everything-even the little disappointments. For someone with such low standards, I disappoint myself quite often. Charlie and I fought. Then Charlie and I made up. Then I bought myself a Rolling Stones CD for my birthday and listened to "Angie" more times than I'd care to admit. Most importantly, in the last few days, I've been told that I have lonely eyes. This was, of course, followed by an eyebrow raise-which means, of course, that you should consider abandoning your crack habit. Then I went home and punished myself because I'd failed. Because I could no longer keep my own secrets. Most of all, because they knew. It's a horrid cycle really, punishing yourself for things that make you "bad" and only making yourself worse in the process. I'm sure there's some logical, well thought out, plausible explanation for my behavior. Sometimes I'd like to tell you how bad it gets and how sometimes breathing hurts because it's wasted on me. And how I can't even go into some rooms of my house. Some days I'd even like to tell you why. These days are few and far between and when they do come, you're often not around. Most days this is better. I call you later so we can go out for coffee to hear the guy with the picture of the little girl in his hat play the trumpet. It's a slow rebuilding process and I feel lucky that you're there. At the end of the day, I can ask for nothing more than this.

	2002.09.08  17.46 He is electric, can I be electric tooooo?! Pete Sampras is a god. And not just because he looks so good throwing a football. I am a die-hard Pete Sampras fan: because he's ahead 2 sets because he had been to the net over 100 times while Agassi had only been there 21 because of that hair because he was ranked 17th because, years ago, he wouldn't even have been ranked here because of his 16 (19 by the end of this entry) aces because, well, they're both over 30 because he's never lost to Agassi at the U.S. Open because he owns the grass court and, the number one reason I'm a Pete Sampras fan... because "Against him," he said, "I don't really need to be a step-and-a-half quicker."

	2002.09.07  17.41 I am very very frustrated. Very good, way to use your feeling words, Hal. Keep up the good work.. You know that you're patheic when you become your own therapist. I'm writing a 2,000 word history paper on the parallels between the poltical factors causing wars of independence in Venezuela and the future United States. If you're saying "Gee, that doesn't sound like very much fun," then thanks. You got it. You're right there with me. Oh, and where the heck is my copy of "A Peoples' History of the United States"? And then there's Charlie, he who lets me drive his car and is quite a good dancer. Like me, he is fairly unconcerned about uni. And unlike me, he is just plain cool. Charlie and I have fun together. Never underestimate the value of someone you have fun with. They're the ones that save you when there's just nothing to say. And convince you to be Penny Lan for Halloween...

	2002.08.24  18.02 Today was one of my normal days. I took Nicky and J.D. (my brothers' new name, which he believes to be infinitely more sophisticated and more 8th grade-ish) shopping for shorts. It is incrediby easy spending money on children, even when you owe so much money to so many people. That's the good thing about kids, I guess-whatever it is that makes it hard to say no. I am horrible at taking care of them and we eat random, made-up meals with funny names and make fun of teen movies. And all of a sudden I feel like a female Dave Eggers. I can't say that it's a bad feeling. Except my uncle does live here too. So, quite often, when my uncle isn't around, Then I feel like a female Dave Eggers. (exhale) Now that that's been clarified... Tonight..I am going out. For coffee. With a Charlie.

	2002.08.23  16.05 As far as I can tell, IB semester 1 is going to suck. I think I have already failed an English test. Also, I am not crazy.

	2002.08.14  14.44 "I'm damaged bad at best." It's strange how things fall apart, all at once for some of us, and then one day you realize it's okay. It wasn't that long ago when people were afraid to leave me by myself and I was sitting on leather couches counting down minutes until I would be left alone. At least for the moment, I'm a regular kid-putting off finishing summer reading books and thoroughly enoying the benefits of 12 channels of HBO, Showtime, and the Sundance Channel. But today I find myself on the same leather couch I occupied months ago, listening but not hearing anything. I am again pulling my shirtsleeves over my hands, humming inaudibly and admiring the floor. The same therapist is still there. He is wearing his I really do care face that still directly contradicts the lines in his forehead that scream They don't pay me enough. And I realize that nothing has changed. Are you taking the medication we gave you? Sure. (Liar.) You know what will happen if you don't. Mhm. So do you feel that your life is going well now? Yeah. (Damn. You answered too fucking quickly. He knows. Now he knows everything. Stupid stupid, stupid.) He is writing and I am humming and recognizing the prints on his wall. The School of Athens. Guernica. Starry Night. (And here I would like to point out that Van Gogh was much more troubled than I.)Apparenty the irony of it all overshadowed the need to keep my humming quiet. His next question: What's that song you're humming? Umm.. (You don't know. You don't know. Then I'll sound crazy. Fine. Suit yourself.) Eliott Smith. Never heard of him. How does it go? "Crooked spin can't come to rest. I'm damaged bad at best..." (Shit. That sounds pathetic. Now he'll look at you weird.) And he looks at me weird. I want to disappear. And as I'm coming home I forget whether I was really "okay" when I went in. I can no longer remember if I was happy or not or if I was just lying to myself. And it falls apart all over again. It happens all too easily. Mood: blank Music: Elliot Smith-Say Yes

	2002.08.13  00.54 "Listen carefully to what I'm about to say: There are no checks in Czechoslovakia." I'd written a long entry. LiveJournal deleted it. I'm only remotely pissed off. So... From a webpage: YOU KNOW YOU'RE ITALIAN WHEN... - You're 5'4", can bench press 325 pounds, shave twice a day, but you still cry when your mother yells at you. (Our family has the tallest Italians we know, I think. We're tall even for Americans though.) - Your father owns 5 houses, has $300,000 in the bank, but still drives a 76 Monte Carlo. - You share a bathroom with your 5 brothers, have no money, but drive a $45,000 Camaro or Firebird. - Your mechanic, plumber, electrician, accountant and travel agent are all blood relatives. - You consider dunking a cannoli in an espresso a nutritious breakfast. - Your 2 best friends are your cousin and your brother-in-law's brother-in-law. - You are a card-carrying V.I.P at more than 3 strip clubs. - Despite the hair on your back, you still try to impress the ladies by wearing your "Just do me" tank top to the beach. - At least 5 of your cousins live on your street. - All 5 of those cousins are named after your grandfather. - A high school diploma and 1 year of Nassau Community College has earned you the title of "professor" among your aunts. - You are on a first name basis with at least 8 banquet hall owners. - If someone in your family grows beyond 5'6", it is presumed his mother had an affair. - There were more than 28 people in your bridal party. - You netted more than $50,000 on your first communion. - At some point in your life, you were a D.J - 30 years after immigrating, your parents still say "Pronto" when answering the phone. - You have ever been in a fight defending Sly Stallone's thespian greatness. - Somewhere on your parents' property, there is a bathtub Madonna. - You build your house with 3 materials.... brick, brick and wrought iron. - You have at least one sister that went to Beauty School. - Clothes from the Chess King will actually fit you. - It is impossible for you to talk with your hands in your pockets. - Have been to a funeral where talk of the deceased is, "He shoulda kept his big yap shut." And from another page: A bus stops and two Italian men get on. They seat themselves and engage in animated conversation. The lady sitting behind them ignores their conversation at first, but she listens in horror as one of the men says the following: "Emma come first. Den I come. Two asses, dey come together. I come again. Two asses, dey come together again. I come again and pee twice. Then I come once-a more." "You foul-mouthed swine, " retorted the lady indignantly, "in this country we don't talk about our sex lives in public!" "Hey, coola down lady, " said the man, "Imma just tellun my friend howa to spella Mississippi."

	2002.08.10  19.18 He said stubbornly, "Above all remember this-heaven is here." My Schedule (and running commentary): 1-English III IB (I will not like this class at all probably because the teacher is one of those people who simply wil not be challenged...) 2- Sem. 1: Sports and Fitness (should be alright. no pressure there) Sem. 2: Theory of Knowledge I IB (For those who aren't familiar, this is the pinnacle of IB-the subject that relates all other subjects together. Mostly philosophical dicussions and lot of essays. [Have heard that a girl wrote in one essay tht she wanted to grow up and teach English in Vietnam, the teacher's rely being "I would find that somewhat easier to believe if you had any command ofthe English language whatsoever.]) 3-American History IB (no complaints here, though I've heard it's not all that interesting. Unfortunately, there will be no reading of Howard Zinn..) 4-French 5 IB (Not bad at all. Same teacher as last year.) 5-Environmental Systems IB (Shouldn't be to0 bad. Did most of the labs last year and the teacher is awesome.) 6-Probably going to get changed... 7-Math Methods 2 IB (Have no idea what we learn in here. Tough teacher though.) 8-Chemistry II IB (Teacher sucks, don't know how hard the class is though I've heard good and bad.) So, there you go-my schedule starting the 19th. I really want this shirt.

	2002.08.05  20.56 An Unofficial Endorsement for The Virgin Suicides Um...Ipicked none of he stuff that pertained to Lux an got Lux anyway. Still chill thouh, because she was awesome. As is Sofia Coppola's artistic direction. you are the second youngest girl. you die with carbon monoxide posioning. you are a rebel, you have sex on the roof, smoke, stay out later than told.. you're mom made you burn your rock records... you were the beautiful one. you're a stone fox and by far most people's favorite lisbon girl. what lisbon girl are you? (brought you by april) Mood: artistic Music: O Brother, Where Art Thou?: Man of Constant Sorrow

	2002.08.04  18.55 Reach down your hand in your pocket (pull out some hope for me) I debated making this my first private entry, but figured not enough people read this to care. It took me an hour to get up this morning. Along with innumerable painkillers. Mobility is something we all too often take for granted. Two hours are spent lying on a cold bathroom floor-half the time spent thinking that I will not live like this and the other half spent calling upon every single breathing exercise known to me at the time, trying unsuccessfully to twist into comfortable positions. I fall asleep again to wake up to feeling nothing and it is the high point of the morning. And just last night I was okay.laughing at politically unaware message board posters with Chris and pushing unsuspecting boys into walls. It isn't fair to say that this shouldn't be happening, because I knew this going in. I knew this coming out. In the end, it is all okay. If there is nothing else I can do, I can take care of myself. I can say comfortably enough, and with no ironic tone, that you do not understand and couldn't possibly-because I can't articulate it well enough to explain.

	2002.08.01  14.05 Things I Want To Do: 1) Climb Kilamanjaro with 3 of my friends-a 6 night excursion for $1265 a person. (One of my friends is actually climbing Kilamanjao with her mum this summer...mad cool, I say) 2) See Proof on Broadway (as well as The Graduate) 3) Rock a Che Guevara shirt (no time for accents) and buy a second Che Guevara shirt and fashion a bag from it (Yes I have a thing for Cuban revolutionaries. Yes I thnk Castro rocks [at least a hell of a lot more than Batista]. And no, I'm not a socialist) 4) Play soccer again without feeling like a 75 year old 5) Obtain a DQ Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Blizzard (although there's almost never enough cookie dough) 6) Have easy access to a Tokyo Express and an Orange Julius stand 7) Be cast in an Adrian Lyne flick I am currently suffering from a bad drug experience while completely sober. Mood: rushed Music: Shakira: Underneath Your Clothes

	2002.07.28  18.47 How to Score Big With the College Board (and other take-it-or-leave-it tales) I now have a few pictures on my computer of my "trip." You too may have them if you'd like! (Very infomercial, I know.) If you'd like 'em, comment, IM, or email me. Thankfully, I'm not in any of them (seeing as was the one taking the pictures). Went to Barnes and Noble and stole a few glances at The Journals of Sylvia Plath. I could've sat down and read it for hours if I'd wanted to, but being the rebel that I am, I still feel bad not paying for it first. I told myself that when I came back to Charlotte, I'd sit down and at least start to come up with any semblance of an idea for a film. Today I tried and my attempt at creativity proved very much unsuccessful. I couldn't get through thinking a single storyline halfway through without thinking about him. Pre-20day(moreorless)romancewithMr.Ohio, I could at least come up with something,even though the endings were strangely depressing and the characters overly cliche. And now I think of nothing but us eating pizza and admiring photographs that strangly reminded both of us of Six Feet Under. I wonder why I haven't called him. Then I wonder why I would. Solace comes from the fact that he hasn't called me. Maybe we're doing something right. In other news, got my AP scores back, a 4 in Calculus AB and a 5 in French Language. A congratulatory call from my math teacher who didn't think I had it in me. A explanation from me: that I ran out of time during allotted calculator use time, that I went back to missed free response questions an described, in detail, what I would do if I had a calculator. That, for parts of answers I couldn't figure out, I made up an answer (a whole number, of course) and solved it from there.

	2002.07.27  16.44 I Waited 'Til I Saw The Sun A leave of absence is often laced with several stories. These anecdotes may or may not be somehow integrated into normal, everyday conversations about the most simplistic of things. Or they may become the subjects of journal entries. To make a long story short,I met someone. (So, so cliche. I know. Is this what you say when you're leaving guy number 1 for guy number 2? It sounds really weird to me. Like the fact that you met someone means something. I meet people every day. I'm sure you do too. I sound like a Lifetime Original Movie.) You reply to this, were I talking to you, would probably be "What is he like?" I know from experience. So, for your reading pleasure, I have composed a makeshift conversation in order to further inform and entertain you. Me: I met someone. You/Everyman: Cool! What's he like? Me: Absolutely hilarious. And he likes art. And he's got nice hair. And cool glasses that he only wears for reading. And very cute. You/Everyman: How did you guys meet? Me: Have you seen "Pretty Woman"? You/Everyman: Yeah... Me: Oh, well, it was nothing like that. You/Everyman: Oh..(long, awkward pause) So what kind of stuff did you guys do? Me: (while being very much tempted to ask whether you've seen "Unfaithful") Tourist stuff. Holocaust Museum. Orioles Game. Then we took road trip to New York and saw the Guggenheim, went to Toys 'R Us in Times Square, and saw ground zero. You/Everyman: Cool! So you're together now? Me: No. You wouldn't know what to say after this and neither would I. No, we are not together. First, because I don't think he has any interest in me at all. Two, because he lives in Ohio. Three, because everything can be wonderful until it's explored further. The third reason may be the coward approach, but who the hell cares? I had the kind of fun with this guy that I can only have with one or two other people. And now that I'm back, I have memories and I have pictures. Of all the things I seem to know about him, not one is bad. And I can call if I'd like. Ad he can call if he wants to. Or we could, as Prof. Wilder once suggested, pay out one of the best endings in all of literature: be two friends, looking back, and remembering the best thing that never happened to them. Maybe that's all these things are meant for in the end-pure sentimental education. Mood: peaceful Music: Don't Know Why-Norah Jones

	2002.07.04  23.08 Winter In July I swore to myself that this will be a real entry. Shall we see whether or not I make it through? I'm leaving tomorrow. Being shipped of to Andrew's (my brother) place for what will probably be the remainder of the month of July. I am apparently a disturbance in my own house and interfere with my uncle Vincent's writing. Not that I'm complaining. He is, after all, my favorite non-immediate relative. Eccentric, yeah. But, as Kathy and I established, eccentricity is cool. (is it that you would not believe in/what you found behind the door?) I went out to dinner with Will tonight. We talked about things I didn't think would be comfortable, but were (e.g.:his girlfriend). His constant stream of girlfriends actually. It's hard to believe I was with that guy-the kind of guy you can't help but fall in love with (am I the only one that didn't? probably. I don't think of that was a good thing). And he does know it. It's not arrogance..he was taught that, to think of himself as a gift. (it is nobody's fault. it is nobody's fault. it is nobody's fault.) My dog is scared of the fireworks. The whistling kind. Which actually kind of freak me out too. Irk me more than freak me out. I guess people have to make do, since fireworks are forbidden here. People do them anyway. The rebel types. We used to be rebel types. (if you're leaving, can you take me with you? love is one thing i could never give you...) I guess I won't be updating for a while since I don't think I'll have the internet. I know that I'll be missed terribly. This is horrible, horrible update. My apologies. Coherence is not my forte. Ask anyone. I really couldn't care less right now. I am falling apart in ways I didn't know I could. (there are part of sixteen reasons) (It doesn't hit you until later. The fact that you were essentially dead does not register until you begin to come alive. Frost bite does not hurt until it starts to thaw. First it is numb, then a shock of pain rips through the body. And then, every winter after, it aches. And every season since is winter, and I do still ache. (Marya Hornbacher))

	2002.07.03  14.56 The Queen Is Dead and if a double-decker bus crashes into us to die by your side such a heavenly way to die and if a ten ton truck kills the both of us to die by your side the pleasure and the privilege is mine -The Smiths Mood: amused

	2002.06.28  20.50 Because You Can Throw Your Racket At Me Anytime/Today in Sports/The Seeker's Last Stand I am in an updating mood because if I were the type to fall in love, I would be in love with John (can I call you Johnny?) McEnroe. For him I will forgive such bad things as horrible colourful shirts and "The Chair." And why did Roddick have to lose?! First Sampras, now Roddick. I am at a loss for words. But even in my loss for words (which will take effect immediately following this statement), I feel the need to say, or type rather, R.I.P. John Entwistle. You'll be missed. Mood: weird Music: The Seeker-The Who