A Diary Entry

According to my 2007 diary, this is the 210th day of the year. I have written on 182 pages of my diary thus far, and of those 28 days I didn’t fill, half of them can be accredited to being in Malaysia. For reasons I’ll let you decide, I’m now going to turn to a random entry and type it out for you. I hope it’s not an embarrassing one.


[Entry involved personal information about other people. Randomly selecting a second.]


Saturday 10th of February. 4:28pm.

Dear Diary,

All right, St Brigids College Ball recap. Keep in mind I got very little sleep, my memory is blurred and I may lose concentration halfway through a sentence. Overall though, the Ball had its good and bad points.

I spent a long time on the minor details, like cutting my toenails and shaving before I went to Amanda’s. I had even bought anti-pimple cream 3 days previous. Nah I’m too tired to write this now. I’m getting some sleep.

<Continued 6:28am>

Well that was a good 13 hour nap. Anyway, yeah, I spent so much time on the little preparations, but when I got there, none of it really mattered. Everyone looked so fantabulous that it didn’t really matter how you looked, except you wore a suit and had nice hair. Arriving at Amanda’s house, I did not impress the five parents that were there. Not much to say, no jokes to tell, no visible charm. Awkward, quiet, left out. Few nasty photos, lots of waiting time before the limo came.
"Not the greatest start. Three girls talking amongst themselves [about their dresses, hair and toenails], I trying to find somewhere to stand or something to talk about." Although once or twice they made room for me in their circle, I had NOTHING to say. Seriously, all they talked about was their dresses, hair and nails. That’s 90% of conversation, which leaves 10% for miscellaneous chatter for me to contribute to. In the limo, however, things improved because we were facing each other, and the conversation shifted to 40% miscellaneous chatter.

Everything was fine, dinner and photos and witty conversations. It was all going wonderfully. Until they asked me to dance. I almost did, when Ange (who made a surprise appearance at the Ball) and Elinor encouraged (dragged) (literally, by the way) me to the dancefloor. I stood there, feeling and looking horribly out of place. Stephen told me to sway. Matt (whom I had called for advice just before leaving) had told me to do the same thing, and I answered I’d decide when the time came. I was on the verge of swaying (stupidly so, perhaps), when Angela led me off to a table or outside. What is my tremendous inaptitude at dancing? Why does the loud, blaring music not entertain me? I love club music, and can visualise either myself or people moving to it, but the movements are closer to fighting than dancing. The awkwardness of "dancing moves" is unimaginably unbearable. So I did not dance. I didn’t even try, knowing I should have. As Stephen pointed out, It was something to do, regardless of how entertaining it was. Like a table, but less conversation and more movement. I took great comfort (and shame, I think), in justifying my actions by imagining what Jack would do, or what he’d say if he saw me swaying. I guess I’ll never know if I like dancing or not, but it is an art I respect.

Things picked up after that. Photos, talking, few speeches. Anything to pass the time. Better than a lot of the social’s I’ve been to, because I had Angela. Though the bass was set to ‘overkill’, and my ears heard so little, I tried a voice recording where I spoke normally into my phone, and it picked up about half a word. So, Angela and I turned my phone into our means of communication. I would type out a text and give it to her, she’d turn off dictionary and write a reply. I saved some of the messages. Although I don’t remember what was said before hand, I’m sure it was flirting, because at some point in time (after we hugged- I demanded one) she kissed my cheek. I could feel the lipstick there, though fortunately there was no stain. Megan would not have appreciate that. In fact, I don’t think anyone would have. I spent so little time with Megan that night. While everyone danced, Angela walked around with me, and we flirted here and there. I thought maybe she did like me after all.

However, the next day she sent me a text reading:
"Good morning, if ur awake dat is. i do hope u didn’t c anyting untoward with my actions last nite. i told u early on not to mind me, I was in my socialising personality… Major flirting *blush* and u weren’t helping. i hope u ahem, enjoyed your aftr party?"

No, not really Ange. In fact, it was the, or one of the word nights of my life. Adele hosted a few games, and there was music and all that. Stephen and I kinda sat together, and I decided to stop picking on him because we needed each other to survive the night. I’m such a bastard. In truth though, he could have survived fine without me. Drinking game. "I have never", or something to that effect. Say something starting with I have never, and everyone who has (including yourself if that’s the case) takes a drink.
-I have never been to a party before.
-I have never walked out of school during school hours.

We moved onto truth or dare. Adele received her first kiss and bubbled for hours. She was hysterical, almost in tears, and anywhere inbetween. Bless her. After that though, we played Spotlight, and that was bad. We went off to hide, and two people with torches had to find us. Emma, being lazy, hid in the undercroft and ducked behind some plants whenever she heard voices. I was her partner, and so hid with her, lying prostrate behind a low wall. She walked off, I stayed hidden. Don’t ask me why, but when Adele called "The game’s over!" I didn’t move an inch. I just lay there, and decided I wouldn’t move until someone came looking for me. I wondered if they’d all got worried, and pictured myself standing up when they all formed a search party and started searching the bushland. None such party came. As I lay there, I realised nobody was looking for me. If I had to get up, I’d go back under the pretence I’d been asleep. But I didn’t get up. I lay waiting, and recorded it all on my phone. If it weren’t for my phone last night, I may have died.

"Fuck. I don’t know how long I’ve been lying here, whether it’s been 15 minutes or 45. It doesn’t matter. My presence here is worthless. I’ve been noticed by three different groups of people. One of them said "Okay…" and walked off. Ellie called out my name twice, said "What did I tell you?" and walked off. Shortly after, the cat found me, inspected me for a bit, then promptly ignored me…. At this point, everyone moved to the granny flat. One of the guys said "For fuck’s sake, someone wake him up." The girls laughed and giggled and called each other over to Aww at me. One of the guys tapped me on the shoulder after I ignored their calls. All I was waiting for was someone to care. For fuck’s sake, I looked like a looney for no reason. Weakness. Pathetic John, and not a soul in this room cares. I was half waiting for an axe murderer to finish me off. What a pussy. John, even though you’re not tired, I think it’s time to sleep."

And it’s true. I thought I may as well sleep to pass the time, although at that particular moment I wasn’t tired. However, when Adele laid out my bed, two of the blokes made some comments about weakness. One of them "Could have said something racist." I didn’t care in the slightest- they had all shown me indifferent exclusion, even those I loved. Adele herself was having too good a time to care about me. I forgive her though. Anyway, I stayed awake, just because I couldn’t bear the shame of being the first to sleep. However two guys drove home around 4am. I wrote this as everyone was playing pool and I sat on a stool in the corner.

"I no longer want to be a male in this world, but being female would probably be worse. For all my athleticism, things that males find awesome, females are unimpressed. My ability to kill someone has no power here, because there’s no chance I’ll hurt anyone. Not even another male, because silly boys scuffle. I’m worthless as a person here, because I have no social charm. I’m just a loner. A pathetic loner."

That’s true. Things about my physical self that I have honed to pride are overlooked. Even unattractive people get along at parties more than me if everyone loves them for more than their appearance. I lack social abilities. I’m just awkward and completely helpless. Humour, wit, repartee, none of my skills. Wildflame would tell me to learn such skills. I wish I didn’t have to, but I know I’m going to anyway. Why can’t the world not force me to be cool and funny and awesome? Why can’t I be me, without being rejected for it? Yes, last night was bad.

It picked up though. I slept, despite the noise and music from 5:15 to about 6:15 and I felt fantastic. I fell asleep a few minutes later and woke up closer to seven feeling perfectly static with energy. I wrote about that, too.

"Now that I’ve had some sleep I feel fantastic. There is something about this place that electrifies, exhilarates and makes my heart race to stand in the fresh morning air. I went for a run. A run!"

It goes on for a bit, but in short, I felt at the peak of my athletic prowess. Pulled off some excellent jumps, could kick at head height and stretch far… I practiced Taekwondo for a bit before I thought I’d ask Emma. She’s got about 6-7 years more experience than me, even though she couldn’t floor me at Adventure World. Just a simple trip that I withstood before I vinga chievad her. Unfortunately, Emma had gone to bed so I couldn’t spar with her. At any rate, everyone else was tired, but I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Lethargy kicked in as the hours wore on and we just lounged on couches watching TV. Amanda’s house (parents unimpressed by my taciturny), home sweet home. Not much else to say. I need a break now anyway. I’ll write again later, but at least for now, I don’t think I’ll go to another afterparty, ever. Peace out.

JMarshall

Ninjas vs Pirates in Battleon.

So this is another blog entry. It’s just me, writing. It’s not a work of art like Liam’s or Azrael’s, it’s just me. As per usual, I precede this entry with an apology. Once again I must say that regardless of my use of the English language, my ideas are painstakingly naive. That doesn’t make sense, but painstaking has the word stake in it, which is almost onomatopoeic, and certainly connotative seeing as I’m a vampire and all.

So here’s an entry for you. Firstly, I feel guilty for letting my thoughts stray from the very real, very impacting affect death has on one of my friends, B. I’m not sure if she wants to be named, so B she will be known as (however obvious that is to those who know her) until she says otherwise. I’m so sorry to let myself be distracted from what I can only imagine consumes her daily life. The passing of a loved one is something I’ve never experienced. Being the twisted sort of masochist I am, I would in a very terrible way like to experience mourning some day though. I suspect I’ll regret this desire soon enough.

I got full colours on Tuesday. Too bad the school photos were last term, so the fruit of my so-called accomplishments will never be immortalised in the annual. I don’t think I really deserve full colours- I think Doc gave it to me because I’m vice captain of the chorale. Coincidentally, I don’t think I deserve that post either. As I am, I don’t believe I can ever fill or outgrow Leonard’s shoes. Anyway, I’ve had perhaps three people mention my colours. I thought I’d be recognised as someone brilliant (however false this may or may not be) once I’d so boldly displayed my merits quite literally on my sleeve. Being met with indifference was really quite crushing. The only person to in some way congratulate me was Dylan Misso, to which I extend my sincere thanks. I suppose it makes me realise something. Something about the facade we show not really counting to how much people love us. The clothes we wear don’t disguise who we are inside. Regardless of what’s on my sleeves and pockets, I’m still John Marshall to the students of Trinity College. Who John Marshall is, I really don’t know.

I’m doing exceptionally poorly, by the way. I read my report card yesterday, and, well, I’ve organised four interviews. These are what marks I can remember.
Human Biology: 76%. A.
Economics: 58ish. C.
Literature: 55%. C.
Music: 61ish. C.
Applicable: 49%. C.
Religion (lol): A.

Whoever thought I, John Marshall, would turn out to be mediocre? I certainly never saw it coming. Vainglorious visions of being qualified to study anything, even medicine if I pleased, were shattered some time in Year 11. It was only halfway through this year I realised I might not be able to study something awesome in uni. I might not even go to uni. I might have shredded my future by accident. I’m not a failure, I just suck. Somewhere along the line, I became inured to failing. It became acceptable, what I’d expect in certain tests. Somewhere along the line, I let myself down. Is it too late to pick up the pieces? I hope to God not. I’ve only got three months before the final exams, TEE, worth 50% of the year. No, it’s not too late to redeem myself. I’ve just got 103 or so days to do it.

I also made a huge realisation. The idea of equivalent exchange is bullshit. I can work my arse off to do a Religious Education assignment as the expense of an economics test and a literature long essay. Do I get rewarded for my painstaking (used correctly) sacrifice and diligence? Hell no. I get a shit economics mark and 20% off my essay. So, all I’ve given up to persist in morals amounts to nothing. I don’t need to do the work, I don’t need to pay attention, I can study other subjects as long as I’m not caught. RE’s a joke, and being the only one who believed otherwise just turned me into an object of ridicule and suffering. Therefore, screw religious education. Harr harr.

I talk to my mother like I talk to my friends. My very cultured, well-spoken friends who understand the largest majority of the words I use. I persist, foolishly, in talking to my mother dearest in this fashion, because I shouldn’t have to dumb down my english for others. Communication and conversation fails. She hazards guesses and assumes she knows what I’m talking about when roughly half the time, she has no clue. I have ordinary conversations with her and she looks confused for the most part. This is RE in conversation form. I persist in keeping to my beliefs that I’m doing myself a favour by not dumbing my diction down, but it’s at the cost of communication, so really I’m the loser here. Eventually I’ll come to Eugene’s realisation that she can be more easily manipulated if I take comfort in knowing I could out speak her, but instead choose to use a few key words to get what I want.

Let’s see, what else? Nothing much I guess. I’ve been absolutely consumed by the idea that life is meaningless, but that’s a whole other entry which I really can’t be bothered writing. Given my limited schedule (I just discovered I’ve been spelling that wrong all my life. It’s not schedual after all), , what with Taekwondo in 18 minutes, I really don’t have time to do much right now. Although it’s the third day back and I’ve already suffered through two tests, I’ve still got hours and hours of Music, Economics and Literature to do. Probably not tonight though- tonight I sleep, because ffs, if I don’t get 8+ hours, I’ll probably implode. Well, that’s my little spiel. Once again I reiterate and apologise for my possible selfishness in excluding the world, but I felt like ranting and informing a little. Naive, I know.

Malaysia Memories

Here’s a quick summary of Malaysia, copied and pasted from an email because I honestly can’t be bothered writing it out twice. Laziness? Possibly. Time is a factor, coupled with the fact my attitude to the holiday is thus: "Malaysia is a memory. I can think back to it, but then I can’t think forward, so I will create new memories." That’s the gist of it anyway. My trip, summarised. Photos may ensue.


The trip was a challenge. It was cultural, educational and highly
independent. I learned survival skills, lived with some of the local
people in their huts (no electricity and limited running water, good
heavens!), trekked through many a rain forest, climbed Mount Kinabalu…
Umm, what’s really to say? My camera battery couldn’t be recharged for
the whole trip, so I didn’t take as many photos as I wanted.
Nevertheless, I took a good 150 or so, most of which I’m taking to
school tomorrow. We give all our photos to the school, they’re put on a
disk, that disk is distributed to everybody. Should be cool.

The greatest thing about Malaysia was getting hypothermia. Hypothermia
is basically when your body loses heat faster than it’s produced, and
when that happens, your bodily functions begin to shut down and
eventually you can die. As you probably recall, I was really looking
forward to climbing the mountain, and it was incredible fun for the
first hour or so. After that, it wasn’t exciting, it wasn’t
challenging, it was just very very long. The hike to the place we were
staying for the night took around 6-7 hours. It was really quite awful
actually. It was raining most of the way up the mountain, and my bag
(and all my spare clothes) got drenched, so when I reached the top, I
didn’t really have much to get changed into. THe clothes I wore were
slightly damp, and coupled with the cold mountain air at 3300 metres, I
got very very sick. I was shaking uncontrollably for half an hour or so
and I was told my lips turned blue. I wasn’t frightened, just anxious.
Eventually they got me to somewhere warm, wrapped me up in blankets and
I slowly recovered over the following hour. I was fortunate that Mr
Blake taught human biology and knew what he was on about. Nevertheless,
I survived without any lasting damage and have developed a slightly
irrational fear of rain. Good times, good times.

***

I got touched by a monkey (a pig-tailed macaque, not that I particularly care. I had to sanitise my arm afterwards), stayed in an island resort (which upon reflection, isn’t as magnificent as I thought it would be. I was awed by the charming timber huts by the waterside, but upon closer inspection, everything was falling to pieces on the inside and dressed up on the out), got a wakeup call from the Shangri-La, stole soap, bought two boxsets of anime (Rurouni Kenshin and Peacemaker) and touched a leech. Touching that leech was amongst the most stupid ideas I’ve ever had, because as soon as my finger connected with it, it vanished. I thought it bit me or crawled up my sleeve and I jumped around swatting my arms and swearing like an Irishman until Mr Blake cut me down. On reflection, it probably fell off the leaf. What else did I do? Memories, friends, memories.

Well, I guess that’s the trip for you. Any questions? Yay, nay? S’all good. Tell you what though. Midnight stops and 6am starts every day screwed up my internal clock bigtime. My ninja/solder (as Solid Snake once said) skill of using every opportunity to sleep has been enhanced tenfold. I fell asleep on the bus today, and it felt normal. However, with the jeering Year 10’s, I’m going to have to try harder to get into a normal sleeping pattern. I can get 11 hours of sleep and still go for a few naps, as I demonstrated on the plane home. I’m really going to have to work on that sleep thing. Well, g’night!

What a waste of a lifetime.

Life is a waste of time. Every minute you spend on your computer is one minute you could spend doing something else. Every single action I do is apparently and ultimately meaningless. The counter argument is that if I were to give my actions meaning (that is to say, to believe that everything I do is important) I would live a meaningful life. Well folks, that’s impossible, because I know that there are a million other things I’d rather do. I have a million things to study. I have a million books to read. I have a million games to play. I have an infinite number of things to write. I can always take another couple of inches, I can always go one weight higher (not that I do weights – sigh), I can always train harder. And it’s not unrealistic, either.

Instead, I sit in the shower, musing over how much time I’m wasting and thinking of what to write in a blog about it. It’s not procrastination, it’s not consternation, it’s just plain old stupidity. Time wasting. But then again, life is a waste of time, so why not waste all of it? We’ll never live to our full potential- it’s impossible. All we can do is get close then use our abilities to meet our goals. But what if, like me, you don’t have any goals? Just hang in there, try and get some good high school marks, then wander along life’s road aimlessly until you find direction. Maybe then, when you have something to strive for, your life will have meaning. Until that moment, life is a waste of time.

~Xin

Doo be doo doo…

Possibly the main reason I haven’t been blogwhoring is because everyone has their own little problems. No one’s going to have a perfect life, I know, but when people have a problem and I start whinging about my own, it’s just insensitive to them. Thus, I ask your pardon for this entry. Other people write in their blogs about shit days- I read those all the time. I guess it’s a way of letting it out, and as much as I regret the idea of being a whiny little bitch, I’m going to do it anyway, just for shits and giggles. Why am I swearing so much? Swearing is language used badly if anything, and I’m just overdoing it. But they’re the words that come to mind, and I’m too tired to think of synonyms.

I’m really tired right now. Got around 6 hours sleep. Why was I awake so long? Well I can tell you that I’d have gotten closer to eight if I didn’t stay up past midnight signing up on twenty, count ’em, twenty various RuneScape clan forums and asking them questions about how their clan is going. In exchange, Eugene agreed never to set my hair on fire again. Was it worth it? Fuck all. That doesn’t even make sense, but it feels like the appropriate phrase to use. So hell, I’m tired now, and I’ve been getting less and less sleep since.. Jeez it’s only been three days since the weekend.

I just don’t have time. I’m so entirely obsessed with how little time I have. Since either last week or the weekend, I have been working pretty much flat out to fulfill all my work requirements and still appease my friends who I’ve been ignoring for so long. Well I’m sorry friends, I don’t have that much time to talk to you. This is going to be an awful thing to say, but if we talk for longer than five minutes, I’ll probably end up regretting it. I organise my time so thoroughly five minutes is all I’d have to talk, right before doing something else. And I realised judging from how long my phone calls usually are (about 15-90 minutes) it’d be pretty rude to call, say hello, make small talk, then hang up. So I’m busy right now, and I’m not getting enough sleep, and it’s driving me crazy. Eh, cliché, but whatcha gonna do.

Going to Malaysia this Saturday. I’m sorry if you didn’t know that, but f… I’ve been so freakin’ busy! By the way, I stole time to write this while my coffee kicked in. By the gods I’ve started drinking coffee every morning, and sometimes in the afternoons too!!! This is unheard of, this is not me, but hell, I need the freaking caffeine. Is irritability a symptom of insomnia? Yeah pretty sure it is. Anyway, Malaysia this Saturday. Before the weekend, here’s what I want to do.
-Reply to Willow’s letters
-Do six or seven assignments on the Malaysia rainforests. (not compulsory, but otherwise I’ll have no appreciation of where I’m going)
-Human bio busywork (still my best and favourite subject)
-Intensive research/study/quotes memorisation on No Sugar for English Literature. Look! It’s underlined! Do I get a pat on the head now?
-Piano, an hour every night.
-Taekwondo for approximately 105 minutes on Wednesday and Thursday.
-Melbourne chorale visit on Friday. Surprisingly it ends closer to 1500hrs rather than the 1800hrs I’d anticipated. This gives me (possibly) enough time to see
-Transformers, more than meets the eye. I may not have time, though I desperately, desperately want to see it in the movies.
-Pack! I’m not sure how long it takes to pack a suitcase, but according to Mr Blake, I’m well and truly fucked by now. I don’t plan to pack tonight, I probably won’t have time to pack tomorrow, and Friday may or may not be for packing. Saturday morning 1000hrs, I’m off. Bleargh! Maybe I’ll go with an empty suitcase and just buy a whole wardrobe while I’m there.

Yo, I’m really (that’s slang for you know by the way) starting to regret this whole Malaysia thing. I could use a holiday- I tell you, the things I want to do, books I want to read, subjects I want to study let alone the games I want to play are just overwhelming. When I get back, I’ll have about five or six days, most of which I’ll probably spend away from civilisation. I won’t have time (I predict) to read Harry Potter, so don’t you dare tell me ANYTHING about the book. It’ll be unavoidable, so I guess I’ll have to read it in those five or six days and ignore/neglect everything else I need to do. Including seeing the movies of both. Far out I’ve been working too hard, I don’t have time to stop! Wooo okay, I’ve got about 12 minutes to go from "Just drank coffee" to "Ready to go".

And another thing. Taekwondo, not sure when the last time I talked about it was. I’m 5th Gup right now, which is halfway to blackbelt.
1st Grading: Double promotion.
2nd Grading: Double promotion.
3rd Grading: Honour’s pass.
Didn’t really think I could get another double promo, but when I saw the score sheet, I was well and truly up there. I was absolute pwnage. Yet, there was one thing they didn’t warn me about; the power test. I had to break a board, and apparently I’m all technique and no strength (as Jack put it). I came closest to breaking the board, but it was not actually broken. Maybe I’m convincing myself of fallacies here, but perhaps I was holding myself back for fear of overdoing it? Oh well, whatever, board not broken. If I’d passed the power test, Mistress Carmela (mistress is not the word. Master doesn’t seem to fit) said I would have double promoted. Oh well, I’m happy being 5th Gup, but I just thought I’d let you know.

In other TKD news which you probably don’t care about, I just got my club jacket. Woot, it’s sweet. Maybe I can use it to intimidate those pricks of Year 11’s (Joe, Nick, Tom etc. That’s almost Tom Dick and Harry, as the saying goes. At least I think it’s how it goes. I don’t really care) into not fighting me. Whatever, no real time to talk about them.

Started wearing a headband to class. It’s the $10 (psh. I regret it? Nah, too late for regrets) official club headband that the "Little Tigers" wear. Little Tigers are like 4-6 years old by the way. They look cute running around with their headbands and screaming "KIYAAAAAAAAAAAH!" for ten second intervals. Anyway, I bought one cause I thought it looked awes. Apparently not. The general consensus is I look like a kid, and a gay one at that. Maybe I’ll upload a picture later on and ask your opinion, but right now, time-less.

Also, haven’t seen Dak. Kinda glad, he was showing me down. However, two new arrivals who are pretty much my level in terms of skill. I’ve never seen anyone so close to my power level, if you will. I hope they return- I very much look forward to training with them.

Um, what else. Oh yeah, by the by, I had my most awesome sesh on Saturday. For Taekwondo I mean. My sentences are rambles, but eh. Anyway, I wore my headband for the first time and I was seriously ownage. I was intensely focused and disciplined, rigid form, full speed, power and a surprising level of height for the entire hour. I didn’t slack off once. That’s a first, something I’ve always dreamed of doing and I finally did. I attributed it to the positive Qi my headband was releasing. 0wn4g3 factor 10. However, last night was less of a success, maybe because I’d had some negative feedback about my beloved. At any rate, seems I have good and bad days, and no level of headband can change that.

Two minutes to get ready. Perhaps I’ll scoot off now? Yeah sure. Not like I was going to be on time anyway. At least I’m not tired anymore.

Well, toodles! Hope I have enough time to live soon. And all of you, please take care of yourselves! To be honest, one of the main reasons I ask is because I don’t have time to spare for you, as awful as that is. Basically, bleh. And that’s all I have to say about that.

With love and sorrow, and some level of hubris,

~Me.

PS: Who do you think you are?

Thread

Dear friends,

My first real entry for however many days. I’m going to take a risk and be honest for a moment. This is what I have to say.

I’m terrified of you. I care about how disgusted you are with who I’ve become. I am the nameless, faceless evil I once loathed so much. I found an entry in my diary last year- it told of my astonishment at being able to have my own opinion. Alex thought Aaron was stupid. Georgie thought Angela was stuck up. What the?! I couldn’t understand it- was I also allowed to think poorly of my company? It was just inconceivable, and the discovery of opinion scared me. It was dangerous- I wrote I’d have to be careful about not abusing it. What am I now? Openly scorning literally everyone. I am the antithesis of my former self, from compassion to spite. It disgusts me too, but right now I have other things on my mind.

I can’t sleep anymore. It’s one of the worst things in the world, insomnia. You all know what I’m talking about, but I honestly think it has a greater impact on me than any of you. I have one identifiable cause. My brother. I take a moment now to whinge and complain, to have most of you read and dismiss, to have a few of you read and consider, and to have a few of you read and comment with either support or invective. Regardless, the fact of the matter is that I do not want to hate my brother. For reasons I’m still trying to understand, I just don’t want to hate him. Maybe it’s instinct- some trace of nature telling me family will help me survive. Eugene is cruel (though comparatively, I’m fortunate), but he does not anger me. What angers me is my powerlessness to change him- to make him the brother I want him to be. There isn’t much I can do. I have but one trump card; conversation. I tried it the other day, an honest talk with him. The result was his confession that he’d only half care if I hated him. My plan now is to bide my time until he is amicable then assault him with my hurt and suffering. I know I sound like a punce, and I know I’m revealing the most pitiful and vulnerable part of myself, but do your worst cretins. If I’m shot down now, I wouldn’t have gotten far in life anyway.

I wish my brother loved me. And if that weren’t possible, I wish he’d treat me closer to an equal. And, that failing, I wish he’d let me sleep. If I can’t have that, I’d wish he didn’t exist. That’s ultimately what I want. It’s just not worth it. I don’t want him to die, I just want him to either leave, or stop existing. By the gods I wish it.

There. Now that I’m done, dismiss my writing or leave some encouraging/vicious comment. I have nothing more to say.