June 30th.
it is phenomenal, the amount of learning that one is capable of when no longer being force fed textbooks loaded with sciences and concepts considered genius hundreds of years ago. facts and information that will not teach you how to sustain yourself, facts and information that are only capable of producing you an income, and supporting you a family. in that aspect it is fortunate, in others, devastating: where is your independence, in the number on a paycheque?
there is a strange hint in your voice that you are barely capable of noticing over the phone, but that is all too clear in this end of the reception: your boredom. for now it is merely a hint: perhaps just a tint of the wrong color in the painting. but once we come to rely on this connection (caller id, telephone jack, grey antennae), this teeny bump will turn into a mountain, that will turn into confusion, and anxiety, and misery.
but you always did say i assume too much anyway

June 29th.
i think those silly online personals are a waste of time. you never accomplish anything that way. how can you fool yourself into falling in love with clichés in 12 pt font? its lying to yourself is what it is. anybody can do better than that.
this song will always make me think of you. no matter what, it always will, always has, and always will. i put it on my cd in music class, not because i liked it but because i like you.
i dont think that this summer will go over very well. i think i will spend a lot of it trying not to upset you, but in the process upsetting myself, which invariably upsets you. so perhaps i will simply adopt a routine of taking to sitting by the phone, while plowing through that massive stack of books i've been developping. i promise i will wait, so i'll prove it now
where the fuck is dresden, i need some new dancey music. why cant it be sunny? feel so dancy.
OMGyouGRADUATED

June 28th.
really quite cross today. feel fucking fat, ugly, and disgusting.
look disgusting. clothes dont fit right, hair is a mess.
such a fucking piece of shit.

June 27th.

June 26th.
dear evelyn,
this might be the last time I write you. and even if it's not, I think our lines will have to sever. strangely enough, it seems I'm breaking connections in other places, too. i've needed to do this for a long time. and i'm completely terrified, darling, about the consequence. for some reason it took a long time for the guilt to sink in, but now it is so strong that I want to be ill. i'll do it today, i promise. oh evelyn, sometimes i wish that you really could be listening. this will be the hardest thing i've ever had to do, and i'll be doing it completely alone.

june 23rd.
dear evelyn,
do you know what this means? this means no more making out in the hallways. this means no more walking on each others feet. this means no more writing notes to sneak into each others pockets between classes.
there is a heavy magnitude here. close the door on you but not on me. but youre happier to be on the outside than i am to be left on the inside.
i worry that he wont want to take me with him where he goes.
evelyn, i dont like this one little bit.

june 21st.
oh evelyn!
c'est toujours des placebos...! je n'en veut pas, d'être une autre! son bonheur est plus important que notre misère, ma chère enfante. je ne valait rien, pour personne! n'y personne qui continue à lire ses mots, evelyn! il n'y a personne pour me demander qui es-tu et pourquoi tu n'existes pas! il ne m'aime pas, et ca c'est pourquoi tu n'existeras jamais

dear evelyn,
i've decided that it's okay, i can do this.
you never really know for sure until you try, right?
and i guess I'll just have to suck up everything else that I knew I would be right about.
what honestly makes him think...
nevermind, evelyn.
it's a little like cutting off an arm or a leg, darling, but
i can do it, and i deserve it, i guess,
because I did the same to you, evelyn

june 20th.
dear evelyn,
i'm so disappointed in life. i want to throw myself down the stairs.
im sorry i ever brought you into this.
he doesn't deserve you anywhere near as much as i do.
i love you, i'm sorry.

June 19th.
dear evelyn,
my foot has gone through so much misery in the last 24 hours.
I had four warts removed from it and I dropped a hole punch on it.
do you still want to go to prom with me or what!

June 18th.
dear evelyn,
I saw bees fighting birds today.
they swarmed about the pine tree in the side yard like an angry cloud.
the birds all flew away, the whole flock, screaming and cawing.
the birds most definitely lost.
I planted my father a garden,
sort of; mostly, I did it for me.
but if he doesn't like the present I bought him,
carrots and cucumbers are a good backup

June 17th.
dear evelyn,
I didn't save you and you didn't save me.
but at least this time I can repeat and relearn.
back to the "good old days".
if they can do it, I can do it too.
i can do it BETTER, i can do it faster.
and you wont regret the times you didn't tell me
that i looked pretty
but it will be regrettable that mass culture
told me I did not

June 14th.
existence is based on change and sanity is based on the denial of its existence. we "live" pointlessly, constantly distracting ourselves from the fact that we are alive. these mediocre things like preferences and society and observations and entertainment, all just distractions. you are alive, do you know it? and do you know you're dying, too?
this is why I'm bad at listening to your heart beat, why I put my hand inbetween to avoid the sound. i dont want to have to listen to it stop. bad things can happen to good people. you never get to choose when, but they'll happen, and for some reason, they keep happening.
you read the articles and you never think it will be you. you speak in public debates like the evidence at hand will never be your compact mirror, your cellphone, your dining room cutlery. ignorant to the flush spreading across the cheeks of your blue eyed companion, heedless to the fact that these things do happen, they do, and they're right next to you.
i don't even know if you're listening. and even though you don't have ears and auditory canals, sometimes i wish you did, because then i would never have to be alone with myself. and i'm really sorry, just incase you are thinking about listening, i'm really sorry that i keep doing this to you. god will have pity on you in his revenge upon me, for this i know i will suffer. i'm really sorry, i'm really sorry that i keep killing you, oh god, i never meant to keep killing you, please, please just sleep, i promise i'll come back to wake you someday, i'm sorry

June 11th.
fuck, am i ever cross.
i think generally that i am always cross.
it's a physical matter really.
going to bed mad

June 10th.
currently it is 10am; and
don't you dare tell me what I can't do.

currently it is 3am and I have just returned from work.
i am indulging in a bag of jellybeans i found on the counter.
they are supposedly from the fun fair.
i will regret eating these in approx. twenty minutes.
you know,
i bet youre tired of hearing it
and i know im tired of saying
i'll do better tomorrow

June 6th.
"this is sort of like a huge dusty encyclopaedia sitting on the shelf in your attic, the one that is covered in spiderwebs and serously considering falling over."

June 5th.
"because that was how it felt inside."
everything is based on the number;
on the page it says "try harder next time."
on a cheque it reminds "you've been working too much."
on a wrapper it asks "will you binge again today?"
on the clock whining "you should be doing something else";
on a grudge spitting "things should be different by now";
on a scale it reprimands "you're giving in."
constantly adding up in my head.
"150 for 2 pieces, 70 for two teaspoons - no, switch that to cheese, its only 40 a slice -
and then 60, so that's... 250?"
qu'est-ce qu'il me fallait faire?
je sais que vous le detestez, mais il ne me reste rien d'autre.
comme ceci, je serais contente, ou miserable,
mais,
au moins j'ai une chance

June 3.
want to destroy everything.
scenes cutting out, arms raising, dishes flying
mouths screaming, eyes demanding,
full out fit like the ones Catherine threw
for Heathcliff.
irrational little spurts of anger.
it seems that everytime I pick up a book these days, I find more and more of myself between the covers.
why do I do this, why do I always do this?
it's been days, melting into weeks, and what am I so angry about?
i dont even know
god,
please make me stop pushing everybody away.
signed, christine

June 1.
don't know what I am now, or why I act the way I do.
compulsively lying. pushing things like
(mortality.mortality.mortality.mortality)
rationality
out of mind.
it's painfully defeating, how cynicism is capable of taking such control. makes every single action worthless. without these stupid monotonous everyday tasks, we would destroy ourselves. we would finally be capable of seeing the purpose - the point. or more specifically, the absence thereof.
numbers. its all about numbers now