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02.05.02 - 7:48 p.m. sometimes i think i could certainly be alone. that i could be alone and keep candles and the skating club and russian literature and maybe write books that make women happy. Sometimes i get used to being lonely or maybe just alone. Sometimes i cant tell if im lonely or not. Ill spend time with my eyes focused thinking about me at that moment but i dont know if that is loneliness or something else. Today i was dressed in pathetic...a flesh colored ill fitting dress. I hate the word pathetic...it seems so all consuming and unforgiving, like youve passed the place where you can still call yourself a human being. Nonetheless...today and before i felt pathetic. I prayed for friends on my way home from the gym. I prayed for friends and i prayed that i might be uninterested. I talked aloud to my every-other-day God and focused my eyes on a truck and another car...in my driveway. I hate that she parks in my driveway...it seems so indecent as if what has already happened isnt indecent enough. I am trying not to be angry or jelous or selfish or any of the other things that settle into your stomach like the flu. I want to call over there and tell her to get the fuck out of MY driveway so that my roommate can park her car, only i will say it in a nice way andi just said it in a nice way, just now, and i feel worse and mostly worse...vindicated in some far off sense of the word, but mostly just worse. Sometimes you spend a ridiculous amount of time doing things that are bad for you. Sometimes you let people kiss you who have no right to kiss you and sometimes you let them do it when thats the only thing in the world you shouldnt be doing. Today was one almost-on-the- mouth kiss before i turned my head and one kiss on the neck that was too long as if he might bite me...like he was trying to make a decision, and i let him go make dinner for his girlfriend. I am your basic pigeon...unrecognizable from all the other gray purple pigeons racing for anything resembling bread. Becca promises that if i respect myself more i wont let these shitty boys walk all over me. It is too hard to be all of these words. Happy and Content and Okay and Respectful and Decent. Its too vague and its not fair. It comes with age. My mom sometimes talk about how frustrated 3 year olds get when they can see something but they cant draw it...they throw their crayons down, they cry, and mom tells them that soon they'll be able to do what their mind wants with their hands. I hope this. I feel 3. I dont want anything i am giving myself. I dont want to be the one thats left on the couch in the dark...its not like that is something i want, but here it is like a chapter heading and the pages that follow are full of me doing it again and again and again. I dont want to sit in this apartment and wonder about what was behind his grogged voice and my phone call. I want to rip him out of me but before i can get to that i let him in again. And this is me, pathetic, and this is me. � 
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