04.08.02
I didn't meant to do that
Zach reads this journal every few days. He tells me I'm a good writer. I don't think I'm that good, but I don't think I'm bad. I'd like to write a book, I'm just not sure how to make it come out of my head. I'm not even sure how to write about things that haven't happened to me. I'm limited that way, which is why I don't think I'm a very good writer. I can't escape my own head.
I think in metaphores. And pictures. Sometimes I wonder what other people think like. What it would be like to be able to be in someone else's head for a few hours. Like in "Being John Malcovich." I liked that movie.
On Saturday night I got half drunk and went to a bar. I talked to a boy I know, who I've almost gotten with a few times before Zach and I started going out, but nothing ever happened. He knows that I have a boyfriend and he asked me if he could come to my room after he got home. He called me once he got home, too. It didn't happen, he didn't come up. And the next day Zach asked me if I cheated on him.
I felt guilty about that even though nothing happened. Nothing at all. I'm not saying I wouldn't have if I didn't have a boyfriend, but I didn't. It makes me sad sometimes, when I know that people only see the surface. That he looked at me and liked what he saw, but had no intentions, no desire even, to find out about the rest of me.
God help you if you are an ugly girl
Of course too pretty is also your doom
'Cause everyone harbours a secret hatred
for the prettiest girl in the room
Poor litle rich girl. Poor little pretty girl. Yeah. That's me.
wunderwuman at