THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
Today.
My sister created a one-kid mosh pit to an X CD in the back seat.
My dad burned a copy of ...And Out Come the Wolves.....For himself.
And I willingly participated in physical activity.
What the hell is the world coming to.
Oh, and note to self- In the future, remember to lie. To everyone.
Everytime I say something true, I'm either on drugs, a satanist, or a juvenille delinquent.
ANYWAY.
So I walked my dog. My dog is stupid. He really is. Not as stupid as the cats though. They talk to their legs. And try to walk through walls.
Oh, and can I please mention that I do not like St. Jospeh's. Really a lot.
Because while everyone seems to know who I am and talk to me- mostly because they can't seem to decide who/what I am, I think- I really lack any sort of stable 'friendship' thing.
I hate it.
I came here with Alix. She's been one of my best friend people since I was five.
She seems to think that this gives her the right to constantly point out everything I do wrong. She can point out how bad I fuck things up. But she won't be mad or anything. She'll just say it in a "Yeah- That's Lizz, alright" kind of way.
It's not cool. I don't appreciate being treated like that. Because, hey, yeah, I know that I'm not perfect and that I screw up. Telling me that doens't solve anything at all.
And...I don't know. We see the universe on such vastly different scales. And I mean that. Not in a mean way or anything- it's just the truth.
To her, everything is or it isn't. There's no in between and the most important thing in the world is what's on the television. She has no hobbies. She doesn't like anything. And she doesn't do anything. She just takes life on step at a time. She loves her family. She doesn't look into the future. She doesn't look at things on a grander scale. What's in front of her is good enough.
Me. Well. What's there to say about me. I take the backwards, twisted, metaphorical routes to everything. And miss a lot because of it. I don't know how to balance the things I love to do and the things I don't out. I'm an unorganized hypoctitical control freak who regrets every other thing she says.
Most days, things just don't even out.
And I hate writing this. She never says anything bad about me. But these undeniable and painfully actute difference are becoming more and more evident and I just can't ignore them.
It's kind of tearing me apart.
I don't know. Leave me notes.
I feel remarkably confused. And pissed off.