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2003-08-11 - 9:54 p.m.

I'm a little tipsy right now, and I'm avoiding what I'm supposed to be doing, which is packing. I've already considered and discarded calling my ex, on the grounds that I might be accused of only calling him when I've been drinking, which is true. I haven't really gotten over the last time I called him, when I kept saying over and over, "I shouldn't be doing this." I don't really remember what else happened, except that I ended up downloading a cover of "Message in a Bottle."

Which I think I'll listen to right now.

Can't find it. I think I'll go for "Painted Black" covered by Vanessa Carlton and The Cramps, "All Women Are Bad." Bonus points if you can guess why I pick that song.

I'm having a bad imagination/daydream day. I spend a good chunk of the day day dreaming, especially "what ifs." I had a really bizarre "what if" dream last night, and I can't shake it.

Also, I sorted through a bunch of papers the other day. Papers from high school. I didn't find what I wanted to find. Most of what I wanted to find Matt made me throw away a few years ago. I did find a lot of letters I wrote but never sent, including one red felt-tipped pen diatribe against Margo from that day she stole my backpack, made me miss the late bus home, and made me call my Mom for a ride. Mom denied the ride, and I had to walk home the 2 or 3 miles or so. Then Mom was already to bitch me out, but something happened. A backpack, my backpack, had been dropped off on my front step with the note, "Couldn't find you, so I figured you left and I better pick up your backpack," in Margo's distinctive handwriting. My backpack had been in my (locked) locker, so Margo had to open my locker and look in it to grab my backpack. She had intended to get me in trouble so that I couldn't stay after school any more. Mom gave me a couple days grounding and said, "I won't even punish you any more. Friends like that are plenty of punishment." When Margo called me, stranded, from a secret asignation a few weeks ago, Mom came to the rescue, and drove her home in a chilly silence. When Margo asked if she would tell her parents, Mom said no. And implied that I didn't deserve friends like her. Frosty.

I also found pages and pages of notes from Ashley, Jen C., and Thom. God, the memories. And scads of bad poetry to go with it. I wish I could shed the memories of emotions of these people as easily as I escaped Clifton Park. I wish I could let these things go. But I packed the notes up to be stored somewhere else. Hey, someday if anyone is famous, I could auction them on Ebay or something.

 

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