You and I walk a fragile line

You and I walk a fragile line

Today I am bitter and sad and freezing, but that is today and I hope it won't be tomorrow and please don't read this and question my mental health because while I might be legitimately insane, I am not suicidal.  But I guess if you're reading this or read that or not or whatever, thanks for stopping by and maybe caring, if you do.  

I had a horrible day, starting with my car dying and ending with a huge fight between my parents over my car and my irresponsibility, etc., and I finally nearly finished my UC essays, and then S showed up and gave me this three-fingered "hey" and it felt so condescending and fake and I felt like an idiot, and then I came home to all this yelling and my sister in her adorable outfit dashing off to the school play, and then I ate dinner in my room by myself so I wouldn't have to listen to the yelling or be yelled at.  Mrs. K was absent today, and whenever she's not there my favorite class, where people are actually genuinely nice and thoughtful and interesting, becomes a little less enjoyable, and Christmas is coming, as evidenced by the Christmas music Mr. H played during our quiz today, and Christmas always puts me in a bad mood, which I guess makes me a bad American or something, but I don't really care.

I'm not seeing Harry Potter right now, and that's just adding to my bad mood but I'm trying not to let my mom know that, because it's really not her fault that I'm not there right now.  I could've made it work, I know I could've, but I didn't, and I'm becoming this hermit, but I don't care, not really, because in the future it won't really matter.  That's all I'm thinking about now, the future, next week next month next year ten years from now.  Tomorrow I'm going to dinner at B's and then the school play with B and E and J, and Saturday I'm seeing Harry Potter with E and I'm going to ball my eyes out, although I guess I've done that enough today, and last Wednesday in the bathroom during second period, so maybe I won't. 

Things are changing, but I guess they're always changing, and A's boyfriend is ridiculously perfect for her, and this weekend they're going to share their poetry with each other, and I'm so happy for her because she needs this, but I guess it's just highlighting how high school was not at all what I'd expected it to be, or I guess it hasn't been what I've been led to believe it would be.  The other day J said that every day last year was a bad day, and I hate that I feel like that's still true now.  I miss having something to hope for.    

I'm freezing all the time now, and I'm not sure if it's because of the growing hallow feeling inside my stomach or because I have some kind of blood-iron-I-suck-at-science-deficiency, or because it's actually cold everywhere, but I'm getting tired of it, and it's making me want to move somewhere cold and wear giant sweaters all the time, even though that doesn't make any sense at all.  I've been thinking a bit about honesty, and about where I'm the most honest, and I guess the problem with me and with everyone is that I have an easier time being honest with people I don't know very well than I do with myself or with those I'm close to.  I guess maybe the friendships in my life, with the exception of M and M, weren't built on earned trust, and the friendships that I'm making now are, or at least I want them to be.

But maybe it's bad that I've reached this point of honesty (quote-unquote) in my blog posts where I feel the need to start off with a disclaimer so that anyone who reads them doesn't think I'm going to kill myself.  I'm over-dramatic, that I know, because that I've always been, and I over-explain things and over-analyze things, and maybe these are so obvious in my blog posts because they're things that I normally do inside the safety of my own mind and now they're just exploding all over my keyboard.  Typing keeps my hands warm, or maybe it makes my fingers so cold that they go numb and I can't feel them anymore and I'm tricked into thinking that they're warm.

But it's all really just tricks of the mind, isn't it?  Honesty is meaningless, or else that's just this bad mood and this pit in my stomach telling me that, telling me that it doesn't matter if my hair looks cute tomorrow or if I do well on my English quiz or if any of my friends really care about me anyway.  It's all bad moods and dead car batteries and all the notebooks under my nightstand, and it's all the dead pens piled up on my desk, and it's black gloves and I really need a haircut.