devastator

i'm going to wash the dishes now and go to sleep early. my days are somewhat uneventful. i have spent time reading old journal entries of mine. they make me so sad, but then i realize where i am now, and who i am now, and then i cannot remain upset about the past. it is what it is, or shall i say, was what it was.

i started reading Flowers for Algernon last night. i have already read that book a few times, and it's on a lower reading level than i should be reading, but it is still a very wonderful book. i love books. they make me feel things on the inside. i don't get that from television, only from a great novel. and i haven't read a good book in what seems like forever. so i am almost done, and i think i will finish it before i go to sleep tonight. my mother and i are going to go to the library so she can have books to read in the hospital, and i can have something to pass the time. i plan to get a couple Ayn Rand novels, some Chuck Palahniuk [everyone has talked to me about his works], and whatever else interests me at the time. i really, really, really enjoy rand's novels. she has managed to change the way i view egotism and selfishness. and sometimes her words are just so beautiful...

i'm feeling so overwhelmed with emotions and such things. i have a strong desire to write, but i feel as if there is something in the way. because i have no words to write, only the endless stream of words inside my head. i wish i could write them down on paper, but they never come at the right time, and honestly i can not write those sentences down nearly as quickly as i think them. sometimes it's barely enough for me to be able to type them, and i type somewhat fast.

i'm just rambling on here now, a sort of freewrite, if you will. lately i have felt the urgent feeling of not belonging, and i mean, not belonging here or anywhere. not just a certain town, or in a certain house or group of people, but on a much wider scale. it's as if i feel i do not belong with this human race. or on this planet. as if existence in this way was not meant for me. i wonder, does anyone else feel this way as often as i do?

i know this is such a long entry, and i do not expect anyone to read it through. the thing with most people is that they often only want to view what is on the outside, on the surface, because going deeper takes too much thought. they reserve this thinking process mostly for the person whom they love at the moment, and only for that person. i am the same.

i am going to do the dishes now, because, well, they need to be washed before i sleep. then i am going to call pedro and tell him how much i love him, because well, that is what is running through my head the most right now. then i will finish the novel, turn out the lights, and lay there until i am able to fall asleep. it's difficult to sleep without him here but i sleep with his t-shirt smelling of him.

the end.