It hits me in the face sometimes -- how much of a hermit I am. People from my town love it. They have this deep-seeded pride in it, but it's not a corny type of pride; it's more of a dirtbag type of pride. I remember those people claiming OG, when one day in 8th grade they decided to start wearing the Sid Vicious lock and call themselves OG punks. Ah, that was so long ago. I feel sometimes like I've missed so much. I feel I've lived this sheltered existence, stored in a box underneath the bed somewhere, millions of miles away from everybody. It amazes me... how some people have tons of friends. I couldn't make a friend if I tried; and I don't try. I can't try. That part of me is either non-functional or just missing altogether. Maybe all of that is why I hate OB with a passion. I hate the people, I hate the houses, I hate the memories, I hate not having as good of memories as most of you fuckers. So I'm not perfect -- I have hatred out of envy -- it's not breaking news. A girl scorned. The typical story in a typical situation. It wasn't much to ask... a friend here, a friend there. I've been alone too long now. I'm so out of touch with social norms. Everything regarding normal social behavior bewilders as well as intrigues me. I'll do nothing to change it. I feel as if it's going against my character, whatever my character is today. I want it. I hate it. I don't want it at all. Yes I do. Welcome to my head.
OBHS BSHS
2:03 a.m.//04.02.05
Mood: Insomniacish
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