I'm afraid I have nothing to say. Except that it's over and my old regret is that I still have not participated in a high school party. I was invited this time, but I declined, simply because I don't want to know where the enemy sleeps, I have no interest in getting drunk or the impending hang hangovers, and the whole idea of it makes me very nervous.

The contrast between my mother when she was my age and me is immeasurable. She was a hippy, she dated many boys, many of whom I've met, one was particularly nice. He had a wonderful puppy and little kittens were playing in his bed. He died of leukemia a few years ago. She went to concerts and partied and was constantly surrounded by people.
I don't understand where I came from and I don't understand where she went.

Tonight my father got under my skin. Everything he said and did made me grind my teeth. He forgets about my mother and I don't respect him as much because of that. He is aloof and self absorbed. He didn't notice that she cleaned the house so he could have a kitchen party tonight and my mother is angry. Silent.

Paul Mounsey is pulsing through the house despite it being nearly midnight. I want to go for a run but my body abandons me on such endeavors.

Today I was slapped by a boy. Instantly I hated him. I hate myself for simply letting him. I hate that I didn't retaliate, that I was too tired and to complacent to do anything about it so I went to class with my stinging face.