Other than that, I went to the Fairfield mall with Nick and Nicole, which was fun, but sad. Nick kept talking about how Travis was a totally different person when I wasn't around, saying he was loud and crazy, but when I was there, he was Mr. Depresso. Why? He should have known enough to know that I am a loud, crazy person, I like bright colours, things like that. Instead, he tried to act Goth for god knows what reason, and ruined something... that was doomed to be ruined anyway. I hate him so much. Everything was a lie. Lies, lies, lies. Even he himself was a lie. Nicole asked me if I missed him, and my answer is still no. He was a bastard, and when he moved, it was good riddance to bad rubbish. I am glad he's gone and would be even more happy if he was dead. Stefan treated me far better than he ever did, and Stefan and I weren't even dating or anything.
Whatever. The worst part is that they probably think I'm in denial and I still have some sort of longing for him in my heart. The only longing I have is to stumble across an obituary detailing how he died a death fraught with pain and agony. I know that's not right to wish bad things and pain on other people, but with what he put me through, he deserves a thousand deaths. I am bitter, vengeful, and spiteful. I am mad and I like it.
Tonight, I get to rendezvous with Brendon Small & Co, Tad Ghostal and friends, and supposedly Zim is on this afternoon. I am going to try and clean my rheum, I will probably fail because I fail at everything, and maybe today will go ok.
Other than that, I want to go to Jamba Juice, get some pictures developed, fill out my prom bid forms, and find some warm arms to fall into, if only for a short while.
I miss who I was, I hate who I am. The only person I really want to kill is what I've become because it is smothering what I used to be. If I end up killing the whole thing, it will be no big loss because everybody knows Katie-now sucks. Katie-then was better by a lot. Some whore keeps leaving anonymous comments in my journal telling me how superficial I am. Fuck that.
My life is shit. I hate my life. BOOM.... to paraphrase Shut-Up Shelley. I love that girl. I don't know her, but her poetry speaks volumes to me, so in a way there is a connection. My dad left some weird music on when he left this morning and now I feel like I am in some overly-dramatic French movie. Maybe this is why I feel so bad. But I do. Your nails can only dig in so far before you start to slip away. I'm thinking about just letting go.
About thirty days left till my birthday. Last thirty days on Earth.