Help me, I am trapped. A heavy bookcase fell on me and now I am pinned at my desk and can just manage to reach the keyboard with one hand. That is why I haven’t been writing much lately. Definitely not because I’ve grown morose and uncommunicative from catching wind of events too horrific to recount or even think about.
Yes it is because I am trapped under many books and have been for days. First I tried to e-mail, then IM for help but no one is on. I shouldn’t have gotten all these books. Next time I buy a book I will give it away or sell it immediately after I finish it so that it cannot sit patiently on a shelf waiting to pin me to my desk with its brothers and sisters. In elementary school they told me books were good for me and goddammit they fucking lied.
She called me and told me she had become a junkie. I tried to listen and not freak out. I asked her if she was turning tricks or knocked up and she said no. Then I told her I thought that put her in the top 10th percentile of junkies and she laughed a little.
Later we met up and I saw her for the first time in a long time and I now know there is nothing funny about being hooked on nasty fucking drugs. A guy put marks on her too. I felt very, very bad feelings welling up inside me when I saw that.
I tried to help but I can’t do much. I tried but I just can’t do very much. I felt like an asshole. It’s like the time I called tech support and when I got to the second part of my troubleshooting question the tech guy said “Sir I’m afraid that’s outside the boundaries of the support I can provide.” But I think my failure to provide adequate support was less eloquent. It was decidedly unbeautiful.
I remember one time sleeping with a girl I was involved with. We were asleep and wrapped around each other. She kept waking up with a start--she was having nightmares that kept waking her up. Bad nightmares I think. So every time it happened, I immediately tried to hold her tight and stroke her hair, you know? But it didn’t work; she kept having them. That was a bad feeling but I'm sure it was nothing compared to her nightmares.
No one is coming to get this bookcase off of me. I am going to lie here a little longer and then I will try to move it again.
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Jesus, where am I going with this entry. I don’t know if these sentences are making much sense, I’m running on very little sleep right now. But I feel compelled to write ‘cause I’m fucking stressed out. I used to think it was severe workloads that brought stress on but now I think it’s the increased people contact that comes with severe workloads.
In secondary school my table tennis coach sat me down in the lockerroom for a heart-to-heart and an apology after he’d roughed me up for doing something I thought insignificant.
“The things you don’t like about other people are the things you don’t like about yourself,” he told me, and I’ve never forgotten it. I know that statement sounds obvious to you now, but to a 16-year-old virgin, stuff like that changes your little virgin paradigms.
A couple weeks later I lost interest in going to class, and later that month I lost my virginity. It was, on balance, a good semester.
So I guess the answer is, I dislike being around people because I am people.
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I’m going to bed now. I know in two weeks I’m going to read this entry and be like “Who the fuck wrote this?” But I don’t care because I’m going to bed.
