2000-03-13

yesterday i stood on a skateboard!

i fell flat on my face!

yesterday i tried to talk to skaterboy about "STUFF"!

i fell flat on my face!

my attempts were poorly timed, ill-worded and all-around lame. he was "exhausted" and in a pretty bad mood. we were talking and i said "you still gonna hang out with me? after this [the website] is done?"

skaterboy: whuh? huh? talkin' crazy now?

me: well. yah. no. i dunno.

skaterboy: where did that come from? what do you mean?

me: i dunno. i just.... i dunno. you still gonna hang out with me?

skaterboy: [talks to his roommate for a second. comments on t.v. show] suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuure. why not.

me: [mad]okay. fine.

skaterboy: i'll drop the pictures off at your house tomorrow and call you to make sure you got them, okay? later.

i just stared at the phone for a little while, fucking irritated as all hell. why so lame? bad mood or not, he could have at least talked to me a little.

so what did i do? i left a letter for him in the mailbox. it tells him that much like the newspaper delivery kid who wanted his two dollars, i want my stupid talk.

i managed to keep the whole thing to a minimum, like a paragraph. which is amazing for my overwrought self.

i said that i didn't care if he thought it was unnecessary or not, i want a talk, and i deserve it, dammit. cuz i have feelings to, stinky ratbastard (i didnt call him that, tho i wanted to).

so i dunno. i'm trying to envision the exact moment he reads it. and i am trying real hard not to care.

cuz i realized that i don't have a point to myself at all anymore. and it feels kind of disconcerting. its like every word, action, and sentiment of mine just floats into some void, because it is attached to nothing of significance.

i either need to figure out a new goal, a new something to work towards, or i need to start realizing that my life in itself is significant, and that goals are useless intangibilities designed to make people fixate on the material world and ignore everything else.

or something.

update::140pm:: psycho-maniacally checking my answering machine at home. did he get the letter? has he read it? is it worse if he has or if he hasn't? maybe he won't be by the house at all, and won't get the damn thing. is that good or bad? maybe i am freaking out for no reason at all? i have to sit through this agony until midnight? FUCK. what to do. maybe i won't go to class. so i can go home. no. that's dumb. ack. argh. argh. ack.


tho it occures to me that all this is good. I WANT MY TWO DOLLARS. i want the "i don't feel that way about you" line so i can just stop liking him. or work on stopping to like him. gar.

more later, i am sure.

update::411pm i have a hideous headache, and there's still no message on my machine. this is an excellant example of my neurosis... there is no reason why i should expect him to call, yet i expect it, on some odd level, and i torture myself over it. fixation. obsession. margarine. spaghetti. ridiculousness.

i wonder if he even made it to my house? i wonder if he got the letter. again, i expect that he did. but there is no reason to assume. i feel nervous anyways. i don't feel well. perhaps i will go home. i dunno. if i go home i will feel better and think i should have gone to class. if i go to class, i will be dying to go home.

if i get home and he wasn't there, i will wish that i had gone to class. i wish he would call and leave a message or something. FUCK. i am agonizing myself needlessly.

maybe i will go home and take a long walk. argh.

update::443pm look at this. it hasn't even been half and hour. i'm all wrought up. this is a great peek into how fucking crazy i am. i really am, too. i really am crazy. *sigh* my knee is all scraped from where i fell yesterday. its sore and it hurts. occurs to me that is why 12 year old boys do the skateboard thing, and not 24 year-old women. ah well. its funny nonetheless. WHAT TO DO. someone go and check my door and mailbox and see if that stuff is still in there, would ya? then contact me and let me know. i won't go home. not now. i won't. ack. i will have to wait another 7 hours to find out. this sucks. this totally sucks. garf. i hope he didn't show and didn't get the letter. that would be good. i doubt that he did anyways. so all this is prolly for nought. i will go. i will go. i will go to class, and not think about this any more.

until i walk out of the station in berkeley and have to see all the skaterboys there and the necessary refrain will pop into my head::

where's MY skaterboy?

i hate boys. agh.