Maybe it’s this room – the huge soaring roof and lack of furniture makes it just so…
artistic. It’s easy to imagine that I’m a drifter, without anywhere solid, no possessions
except my clothes and the memories I’m running from. But that’s bullshit, because I have
a lot of possessions – only they’re in a stainless steel storage unit in Three Kings. And
because I guess I know I can’t run from memories.
Right now I’m reading Tully by Paullina Simons. It’s a brilliant book, but it’s so empty
and sad. My favourite character in it, Jennifer, killed herself because the guy she loved
didn’t love her. How stupid is that?
I think suicide is a fucking weak and pathetic thing to do – now. When I was twelve,
however, it was a different story. Back then it was my English class in seventh grade that
had me composing notes in my head.
And some more Tully inspired thoughts. I just about cried reading Shakie talking to Jack,
asking him why he couldn’t love her. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to ask this – why couldn’t
Matt have loved me?
And another thought: I know what it’s like to drink to hide.