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Wow, my head is rebounding all over the place because I just read this awesome, awesome book. So forgive the selfishness and regular me-like behavior. Or not.

I slept all Friday afternoon. Crashed as soon as I got home and slept until 8.

Today mum and I went on a shopping date. And I almost literally crashed, right at the opening of Ivanhoe. Damn those snow banks. smile

Good thing I didn't, though. That would have put me in a foul mood.

So we went to the Topsham Library first. I referenced all these schizophrenia books, chilled with Courtney's mom, and basked in the glory of feeling so at home.

Then we went to Walmart. The highway wasn't so great. I got honked at for swerving into another person's lane. smile

So what I thought was: Geez, I suck majorly at this driving thing. I'm gonna have to get married just so someone can cart me around for the rest of my life.

Smart, right? I thought so.

Picked up Spongebob jammies (for me) and chips and salsa (for Yenny). She's in this weird phase now. She only eats Rice Krispies and chips and salsa. And I'M the Smarty Mart? >_>

YAY frappecchinos! I don't even know how to spell that!

Then we went to BORDERS. And I picked up the book I was DYING for. City of Ashes. But I swear, if anyone compares it to Twilight ONE MORE TIME-

Then we went to Bookland for this weird booksale. Got a lot of books, but almost all of them are sequels. Why's that, I wonder? Also talked to Laura's mommy.

Then I went home and READ. For eight hours, more or less. It was great.

I forgot the feeling of reading for the entire day. It's this immense relief that apparently no one else gets. How sad.

And just eleven minutes ago I FINISHED IT and I just wanted to post a journal, even though no one cares about what I read.

I just couldn't do anything with anyone this weekend. For one, two months? I've been pinning all this guilt on me. It's always my fault. I'm always the screw up. I couldn't even fix the most important things to me in this world. I just can't stand myself, and I can't stand being in school or around other people when all I hear is shattering glass. I'm repulsive. I've hated myself for so long. It takes so much energy to try and act happy around people when the only time I'm happy is when I'm reading or in WT, where I'm surrounded by warm strangers. So the reason I dropped off the earth was because I decided to take this weekend to try and learn to like myself just a little bit more. And you know what? I do. Maybe it's just because of the books. But they make me happy. They make me feel exhilerated, alive. Is it a fake happiness? Maybe. But it doesn't feel like it.

And at this point, I don't really care.


Sorry.

Especially Mikey. I'm so sorry that I'm such a coward and didn't come see you despite the possible consequences. Sorry.

Whatever. Screw the small font for my small feelings. I understand my feelings perfectly, whether people believe it or not. The reason I punish myself is that I absolutely cannot hurt any of you.

Now here's the mondo big Q:

Am I being kind or cruel?

"Cruel?" Can't understand what the hell I'm talking about? Maybe I've been delving into metaphors and s**t for too long to be healthy. But I think that everyone can figure it out.

Think about it.