I'm feeling terrible sore.

I don't know, I haven't had one of these days in a while. Here I was reading some magazines today and going "HEY, hey, I'm awful spunky now, I've overcome this depression very gradually from my freshman year, I'm a real great person, I should be totally proud."

It's not like I'm crying anything you know, I mean at least I'm not crying or anything, but I feel rpetty much down in the dumps. Sometimes I feel pretty shitty about UC Santa Cruz and all that but I haven't really cried about it. I just sort of sit around a bit and think about it and it makes me sort of pissed I guess. But really, the end of this school year and all that shit has made me pretty apathetic towars everything. I don't even want to go to college, not really. I don't particularly have any ambition towards anything right now, though. i don't really want to be anyone or do anything.

I mean I guess I have good reason to feel pretty mumpy. I haven't done a damn thing all day except watch TV and read magazines. And some Dorothy Parker. Dorothy Parker is always good at [putting you on a mumpy state if you weren't in the first place. I guess it's supposed to be all stairical and ironic and stuff but all I feel is pretty goddamned depressed when Ir ead it.

I guess whatchamacallits....TV reporters and E! hosts and US Weekly people always want couples to break up...whenever they break up or are in danger of it they turn it into a huge scandal. I guess most of the public wants people to break up all the time. I don't really want them t break up. I want to have faith in something in this life, you know? I want to believe that there's something that's not ephemeral. Something not evanescent. I guess love is just about that only thing but lord knows whether it exists anymore. I want every couple in love to be happy forever...if only I knew that I wouldn't need religion or meaning or anything...that would be all I'd need...

I guess an average person could have felt pretty shitty about after the AP test how everyone went making all kinds of crazy plans to go and eat at in and out or whatever the hell and how I kind of got ignored...nobody really wanted me to go with them... I guess I was slightly dissapointed but I don't really care. Not anymore. They can all go out and win millions of dollars at the big ole casino for all I care, I'm leaving and going to college in a matter of months, so nuts to that. nuts to that.

No, I guess it's just the Dorothy Parker that got me upset after all. Just that and Greg's phone's off again. Aw, I don't think he's like off doing a hooker or something, he was just careless, it's just annoying.

Recently I've been awful hungry all the time. I don't know why. And I've had these serious sweet cravings. Isn't much sweet stuff in the house. I gotta say. I should go out and buy some. I bought these weird groceries I didn't even give half a shit about today, to steal these two magazines which I sepnt the whole afternoon reading. I do like reading magazines. It's so pointless, though. you never learn a damn thing. If I read magazines I should start reading at least Elle-grade mags. Not fucking Jane or Ellegirl anymore. At least Elle sometimes has really interesting stories in it where you could learn something or other, like how the female mind works or something about a digestive tract. There's always some token in-depth on plastic surgery or botox or lasers or some other impossibly expensive surgery most of us could never afford, just to let us in on what we're missing and how we're unprettily disadvantaged because of it. That's always good. Make 'em insecure. God, I want skin lasers.

This house is a prison. It does something to me, this big stupid house. Outside of it, maybe I'm at school or driving home I'll be thinking, "Yeah, I'll get my clothes and set off to Goodwill today, and I'll get some new clothes from Goodwill and trade some in and cut myself a neat little tax break and clean up the bathroom while I'm at it." or maybe I'll at Greg's...I mean, set me anyplace and ambition, or whatever, okay, I can handle it. I can write a fucking essay on Aunt Jemima in half an hour or whatever but so much as have me print out some goddamn documents in this house and I can't do it. Not at all. I'll sit in front of the televisions and say, "Five minutes," but watch for 4 hours. I can't wait to get out of this house.

Lisa and her group seem to have lost interest of me, as well. For a while I was a novelty, cute little asian kid who stood around and laughed at all the right places. Now I'm an awkward extra hand. I didn't really do anything to them to have it, if anything, ben wants to make up. But I don't really care. I still hang out with them, just off to the side a little bit. If none of them talk to me, that's fine. Sometimes they dont. I don't really care anymore. I'm out. I'm out, I'm out, I'm out and I'll never ever ever see them agian. They never really amused me that much anyway. I guess they were fun in the heydays of drugs, alcohol and galmour at my house. I guess that's all I was really good for, for the majority of the school. That's when people used to smile and talk to me in the halls. Maybe I should feel used, but nah, why? What's the point? This house, this house is evil ayway. I'm out, I'm out, I'm out. All I do now at lunch really is eat an orange to the side. I like oranges, I discovered. I used to think the pulp around them tasted gross but it doesn't, not really. I like them because they take so long to peel. It keeps my hands busy for almost all of lunch, so I'm not just sitting there looking like an idiot. If there's any concern for me sociall it's not that I don't have anyone to hang out with, it's that I think it looks rather embarrassing to be sitting all on your own. maybe I should throw grand parties over the summer to make everyone happy again. Maybe I should screw them for their stupid superficiality that lasted a beaming month. What do I know? What do I care? Not much. My days are blurs. I remember nothing except the phone calls I have with Greg every night. I try to remember funny things that happened during the day to tell him. But I can't really remember. I wouldn't be writing this in here if he'd picked up the phone, you know. I'd already have felt so much better by now and just about now we'd be saying good-bye and I'd drift off to sleep contentedly. And that's just about how it'd be. Instead I'm making conversation to a computer screen. One-sided.

I'm out, I'm out, I'm out.