18 mar 2003
Time changes as you grow older. I notice this already, and it scares me. My mother talks, and talks, and talks... (you thought I was a talker? no, really) sometimes her reality invades myne. Later I hear myself telling a story that is hers in my voice. This creeps me out. A lot.
It's an hour drive from any point in EC to Stanley, and I listen to the radio. I cannot let time remain what it was, as I cannot let myself think anymore... this is why time changes: it must, or we'd all go insane.
Justin's dad, Leonard, is starting a candle-making business, and last week dad told me I must get Rachel out of the house. We ended up at Banbury, making candles with Justin, Leonard and Doug (god I hate him). Mom used to make candles, in Waukesha, and I'm telling Rachel about them. She says she didn't know that, mom never talks about anything postive.
I don't have the heart to tell mom this. Because to hear the good stories, you have to hear all the bad ones first. Trust me, tragic lives take days in the retelling... and justification. Or just blaming.
I wonder if mom tells Rachel and I different things, like dad does. It's like he thinks Rachel couldn't possibly deal with reality, couldn't possibly understand how he thinks. So she's the simple one, locked in her room [not literally]. I don't want to have to explain my parents. Especially to someone who's in the same position as me to understand. And I don't care anymore about their motives....
I told my mom about my friends, descriptions and funny stories, and the like. I forget how little I normally tell her, I'm talking about Kirk O. and she thinks Kirk J. Really, last good Kirk J. story was four years ago. She tells me about people from her highschool, and they don't seem real. Like once you move away people fade, just become stories that you tell, not personalities that change.
She doesn't want me to move to Washington (go figure). I see this as a repitition of her life--but there are certain things I'm careful not to say. ¶ 22:06
It's an hour drive from any point in EC to Stanley, and I listen to the radio. I cannot let time remain what it was, as I cannot let myself think anymore... this is why time changes: it must, or we'd all go insane.
Justin's dad, Leonard, is starting a candle-making business, and last week dad told me I must get Rachel out of the house. We ended up at Banbury, making candles with Justin, Leonard and Doug (god I hate him). Mom used to make candles, in Waukesha, and I'm telling Rachel about them. She says she didn't know that, mom never talks about anything postive.
I don't have the heart to tell mom this. Because to hear the good stories, you have to hear all the bad ones first. Trust me, tragic lives take days in the retelling... and justification. Or just blaming.
I wonder if mom tells Rachel and I different things, like dad does. It's like he thinks Rachel couldn't possibly deal with reality, couldn't possibly understand how he thinks. So she's the simple one, locked in her room [not literally]. I don't want to have to explain my parents. Especially to someone who's in the same position as me to understand. And I don't care anymore about their motives....
I told my mom about my friends, descriptions and funny stories, and the like. I forget how little I normally tell her, I'm talking about Kirk O. and she thinks Kirk J. Really, last good Kirk J. story was four years ago. She tells me about people from her highschool, and they don't seem real. Like once you move away people fade, just become stories that you tell, not personalities that change.
She doesn't want me to move to Washington (go figure). I see this as a repitition of her life--but there are certain things I'm careful not to say. ¶ 22:06
