Good bye's are so hard...

This will be my final blog entry, since no one will actually read it when schools out. I hate that schools over, in a weird twisted way. I’m not going to see anyone. There will be no routine. And I still have one more year until I graduate. And then I’ll be in Europe, then Montreal. Then, who the hell knows what. I mean, I’m not going to go anywhere in life, really. I’m not good at anything.
I hope I’m in high school forever…just so I don’t have to decide what I’m going to fail at first.
Mr. Koop looks angry. I’m scared. I probably printed something wrong and now he’s going to humiliate me! Ahh!
I look silly today because I’m wearing a tanktop.
There’s a movie being filmed in Steinbach and guess who’s going to be an extra! W00t.
Anyway, Kim, promise me we’ll hang out in the summer? Because otherwise I’ll be lonesome. And we’ll visit the boys. It will be fun? And on July 1st, we’ll get them house warming presents. Like posters of Orlandoman. Or cutlery.
Anyway, farewell blog world. I’ll miss you.

long time, no see.

Hmm, I haven't updated in awhile. In my awesome possum blog. I actually found an actual store called "Possum". I want to go there and see if they sell possums that may or may not be awesome.
I work 3-6 today. It's a school day. That's right. Last week of school, I'm going for those extra hours and getting me some extra moneys. I like moneys. And from July to August (give or take two weeks because of the Edmonton plan), I NEED 30-35 hours a week. At least. If I don't get that, I may as well kiss University and Europe good bye. I need to save nearly every penny of every pay cheque. I owe my mother my entire next pay cheque, and after that, my savings money is going to have some company. Friends of mine will only see me on Sundays or in the evenings. Because work will be my home, damnit. I must go to Europe and let at least one of my dreams come true.
Because all my other ones fail. And someone else gets to live them.
You know what I was told the other day? By someone who I hadn't spoken to in a year? That I should be a model. I choked on something. Probably my low self esteem.
I didn't go to school today. I'm sleeping. I'm resting. I'm hating the world.
And exams.

“ I called.”

“Me? I was…”

“No. God.”

“You called God?”

“Yes.”

“How? Uh never mind…What did…God…have to say?”

“How disappointed he was.”

“Why was he disappointed?”

“He’s disappointed in all of us. Disappointed that no one else had thought to pick up the phone and call. And ask.”

“What did you ask?”

“I asked him how he was doing.”

“And..?”

“He said disappointed.”

“Ah. What else did you find to talk about?”

“Well, I told him about how I went for a walk that morning. I thanked him for making me a morning. Have you ever noticed how the most beautiful things are composed of the most ugly materials?”

“You told God this? Or…”

“Well, he said that’s what earth was. Beauty from horrific mistakes. Our mistakes, that is. The world was beautiful when it was dark, he said, when it was just him and his thoughts, which is why he made us. We are all just one of God’s thoughts, and we all link to each other because of it. Our world is just composed of stationary knowledge and moving thoughts and wondering. This is why our lives have no meaning, and we die when the train of thought ends. Our mistakes are just ruptures of thought and emotion in God’s head, and they’re always made right by interacting with a stronger notion.”

“Interesting philosophy.”

“Well, God didn’t say all that.”

“I thought so. What else did God say?”

“He’s not much for talking, only thinking.”

“Ah yes. So, what was the rest of this conversation like?”

“Just a series of fractured explanations and guarded responses. Until I heard the soft
* click * on the other end, that’s when God hung up.”

“He hung up?”

“Well, because I did first.”

“Lost me.”

“I hung up in my head, I counted to three, and then I let go of the connection. Because I didn’t want God to hurt anymore.”

“God was hurting?”

“I told you. No one ever calls. And it hurt him to know only a few would after me.”

“mm..ok. Ok.”

“You know, praying isn’t really talking to God.”

“mm?”

“Yeah, he said that praying only makes him more and more frustrated because he’s everywhere, and people keep closing their eyes.”

“Do you feel as if you’ve wasted your time after you pray?”

“Never have.”

“Ok, um, after God hung up, what did you do?”

“Held the phone just awhile longer.”

“Why?”

“Because I was scared to hang up. Sometimes a broken connection is better than a real one. It gives you something to concentrate and work on. But God never did come back, there was only some strange lady reminding me of just how broken this connection was.”

“Do you want to talk to God again?”

“I don’t know.”

“And what have you done from then until now?”

“Nothing. Left my eyes open because I’m scared to miss something.”

“Have you slept?”

“There’s no time for sleeping. Even one eye being open leaves room for missing something. So I went for another walk, this time in the dark.”

“And?”

“It was dark. I still missed everything. All I could do was listen to my heart beat and thoughts. Just me and my thoughts. Maybe that’s what I’m so afraid to miss. One great thought is worth thousands of others. And I wonder why no one ever calls me on my phone.”

“mm…?”

“Well, you know, I do the samething every night. I sit and wait by the phone. Try to think of who I can call who is still talking to me, which is no one. Which is why I think me and God listen to each other so well. Because no one ever wants to talk to us. I wonder if God wants to die as much as I do.”

“What do you think would happen?”

“His thoughts would all end.”

Here is another entry. No one commented on my last one. I hate you.
Not much has happened, and those of you who are actually taking the time to read this know that. Because everything I did on the weekend involved at least one of you.
Friday…Quentin’s funeral. I cried. I mean, I can’t say I was close to him. But I knew him and I knew his family since childhood. It’s just so sad because he didn’t deserve it. And his family doesn’t deserve to go through this.
Saturday…I went to see Strike! The musical. It was good. Danie’s a lucky girl to know what she wants. There were some bad times that night too, and you know who you are…when I say “you’re a jerk”, I’m only agreeing with you. And if you get mad at me for it one more time, I’m not paying you the 75 dollars. ( Please note, Strike! People, Jon wants his money. )
Sunday…my siblings and I went to Winnipeg. They went swimming while I wandered about the mall, consuming approximately a million calories. All of which came from Starbucks. I then spent the evening in a somewhat emo-like state. Feeling sorry for myself because of what I’m becoming. Shut up! Society MADE ME THIS WAY!
* cries *
And theeeen, it was Monday. Kim left for someone else. Either that or a…gasp…exam!
That night, I just watched the CSI marathon until my eyes almost bled. And then I slept.
That brings us up to today! Tuesday. It’s raining. I’m bored. It’s sixth period and I don’t want to read anymore magazine articles about hair.You’re a toaster! And you’ll never be anything more than a toaster! Damn, I’m out of kiwis.

“ I saw him again today.”

“ Who?”

“ Him.”

“ And where was…he?”

“All the usual places.”

“So you see him often now? ”

“He was sadder today. His eyes were grey this time.”

“ What colour are his eyes normally?”

“Black. Like empty spaces that can’t be filled. ”

“ Did he say anything to you this time?”

“Not in words. Pictures.”

“What kinds of pictures?”

“Snapshots. Of when we knew what it was like to know each other.”

“What did they look like?”

“Some of them were grey, faded. Some were torn in the corners. Worn…like he had washed them. Some were in colour, and all the colours ran together from the washing.”

“Why would he wash them?”

“Because they were dirty.”

“Dirty.”

“Yes.”

“Dirty how?”

“He tried to drown his sorrow, and he tried to take them with him. Dirty with the past.”

“Is your past unclean?”

“Is any past not?”
“What else happened?”

“He told me he meant it.”

“Meant what?”

“Meant it when he said what he said and when he did what he did. When he took both our lives and tried to drown them. Lives die easily. He broke it.”

“What did he break?”

“The mirror. His promise.”

“Why did he break the mirror?”

“Because he was angry with me. Angry because I wasn’t good enough. Because I didn’t deserve what he promised me.”

“What kind of promise?”

“A life long one.”

“And he broke it. Did that hurt you?”

“You’re getting quicker. You fill in the blanks.”

“….Why weren’t you good enough?”

“Because I was me.”

“hm…”

“He hates me now. He hates me still.”

“Because you weren’t good enough.”

“No. Because I’m not sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“He’s waiting for an apology. An ‘I’m sorry’ for me hurting him.”

“You hurt him?”

“By not being good enough. By not filling his need.”

“What did he need?”

“Love.”

“Did you not love him?”

“I needed him. Only needed. That was the deal. I couldn’t give anymore. I couldn’t want.”

“What did he give you?”

“More.”

“More…?”

“ Sometimes he wanted instead of needed.”

“And you weren’t…good enough to want him in return.”

“It wasn’t fair. And I never agreed to play by his rules.”

“Did he show you or say anything else?”

“Yes. He thought without saying. Sometimes he thinks so loud, I think the world can hear his hate. He showed me his past. I wasn’t in it.”

“Did that hurt you?”

“He doesn’t remember me. He erased me.”

“But he…showed you pictures…of you and him?”

“Of the empty spaces we used to fill.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we don’t exist anymore. We are a non existent past tense.”

“He doesn’t…remember you…but he…comes to you? For you to see? To hear?”

“He doesn’t come, I go. I remember him. I need to see what he has to say.”

“So you speak to him?”

“ I try to make him remember. I ask him why his eyes have changed.”

“You’ve switched to present tense.”

“Present tense questions to create a past tense.”

“hm. Why have his eyes changed?”

“Because he’s changed.”

“ What do you remember?”

“ Him.”

“And what else?”

“Our life.”

“Our? Yours and his? Is that all?”

“It’s all I needed.”

“What happened?”

“He broke it.”

“Because you weren’t good enough. We were there.The mirror and his promise. Is there more you want to say?”

“That’s what happened.”

“Ok. Tell me, about him…drowning his sorrows?”

“We died. We drowned with him.”

“ You left?”

“We did. Apart. I never saw the way he existed again. I was his sorrow. We were. Together.”

“What did he look like…when he…existed that way?”

“Perfect. Like a picture.”

“ Ok…Tell me, what did you do after seeing him today?”

“I threw up.”

“ You felt ill?”

“No.”

“ hm.”

“I threw up to make space for the hating.”

“Hating him?”

“Him hating me. You know, sometimes I wish I were a person like you. Sit and ask the questions even I’m afraid to answer. Are you scared of your own life? Your own answers?”

“Are you scared?”

“I’m scared because I’m the only one.”

“Only one?”

“ I’m the only one who can talk to my ghosts. ”