11:20 - Oct. 16, 2003
people say i'm the life of the party
I went to a kickboxing class last night. I was shit at it and I went home looking like a sweaty fashion mistake. Vigorous exercise is clearly not for me. Does target practice count as exercise? Is there some way I can shoot a spud-gun and get fit?
Is it me or are some friends just utterly shite and others glowing angels? I�ve reached a stage where I kind of want to write them emails saying �you know what, screw you too� but instead, I think it would be healthier to write letters to the angels in my life who have sent me the sweetest messages, who have let me know they are there, that they care, that they respect I might not want to speak to or see them but that they are there if I do. There�s no point getting angry over the people who don�t notice you at all, right?
You know, it wasn�t my mum telling me she was going to have to sell the house because she couldn�t manage it on her own that made me cry. It was messages, texts and emails from friends that wracked me, had me holding my head over the laptop that ungodly bright Sunday, making these noises I can barely describe.
I was talking to the nice office man yesterday, both his parents have had cancer. He said I was stoic. That I seemed wise. I wanted to look around to see who he was really talking to. Can�t he see that I am weirdly cold? Can no one tell my face is made of glass? Heh, can�t he see the tracks of my tears?
Oh but I�m fine. I am. That�s the thing. I�m not crying myself to sleep, I�m not waking up remembering it and holding my knees to my chest. I�m not, and I probably should be.
I want to figure out how to do a �today I am listening to� bit of html, because if you could hear the songs I�m listening to, you�d probably understand how I�m feeling inside, all these lyrics written to break my heart while I keep smiling.
