After a few weeks of not really being able to write, due to my computer being a complete git, I am back. (Even the last entry that I put up, I wrote on another computer, and then transferred into this diary afterwards.)
So now I'm writing again, and I really don't know what I'm going to say. So much has happened inside my head.
I have been reading compulsively. Orwell and Mishima, mostly. One wrote my favourite book, the other is my favourite author, so what could I do but that?
Regained the stature that I never really had in this school. The result is being flirted with several times a day by people I do not care about at all. And coming across as a bitch, in most cases. Sometimes I'm nice, but. They're boys. Why should I care about them?
Did you know, that boys still sometimes offer you their coats, in the rain, even if they do not know you? I didn't. Learn something new every day.
I have gained the title of 'Lady,' among my teachers. Several of them, actually. This is odd only because all other students my age invariably get a 'Young Lady.' The title of Lady is an obsolete one, never used, except in reference to me.
I am a refugee of the 1890's, I suppose that is why?
I have become something between Katherine Hepburn and Courtney Love. I have the stature and grace of Hepburn, but when I speak it's more along the lines of Courtney, (though with the grace implicit in Hepburn). If you can imagine that, you can see what I've become.
I want a bit more of Courtney in me before I finish: her determination, willpower, strength. I'll get there, I'm certain. Just push myself a bit, it's not that far away.
I have been gradually increasing my volume, when I sing in public. For a while I'd been decreasing it, so as 'not to bother people.' But then I realised that it doesn't bother me if I hear people singing, if they sound good. So it's been me pushing myself, saying, 'you have no excuse, sing louder.' Been working up. Quick changes never last, but in increments...
Everything's been growing and changing so quickly, lately. I've grown up, I think. Something, anyhow, has changed. I miss my sadness, but I don't want to go back. I want the creativity it gave me, that's all. I.
I am somewhere uncertain. Looking at self-destruction and wondering if it will get me anywhere I'd like to be. (I have a scar on my right knuckle, courtesy of a wall in school, and a phrase stuck in my head.)
Everything is stable, minor upsets, but other than that. Even when I feel like my arms are going to fall off, I know everything is really okay, nothing is really happening. Logic. But doesn't that kill all creativity? Conflict inside because I cannot choose between the two, and know I really have no choice.
No revelations until I try to write again. I read some of my old work, while I couldn't use this computer.
Some of it was really good. I just can't understand how I used to feel so fucking sad, so helpless. I remember, it's just that the feelings have faded so much...
I miss madness, but everything seems so much more attainable, with sanity.
I have a million paths that I can take, all leading to the same place. All filed away, just in case. Plans A-Z. Maybe someday I'll write them all out. If this, then this. Courses of action for every possibility.
There's so much I want to say, but I can't organise any of it, so: End.
revoless.
2:23 p.m.
September 23, 2001.
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