The Shit Hit The Fan.

It really started to hit me about half an hour ago how shitty this whole situation is. Depression starting to sit in. Playing guitar certainly helps.

I've been suspended for the rest of the year. Mom appealed this already to the school board. She's spent the day calling people to let them know about the meeting.

There are so many people behind me. It's incredibly hard to handle.

Writing is hard right now. I'll come back to this later.

...

I need to take a walk. I wish I could just walk away from all of this. I'm sick of thinking about it.

But it's too cold, damn it.

I should write a poem.

So many disconnected thoughts. This situation overloads my brain. I've been successfully not thinking about it all day, but then I realized that, when I wake up tomorrow, all this shit will still be happening.

I need a shower.

...

Dad said that I could really use a girlfriend right now. God, that would be nice. Maybe I'll meet someone nice at Highland or Wakefield. Just having someone to hold, to tell me it's okay. It would make this so much easier.

I really don't want to go to Wakefield. It's very conservative, and they don't even have a drama program. I met some of the people who go there during The Importance Of Being Earnest, and I think it's safe to say they are, for the most part, arrogant rich kids.

A lot of people think I'm arrogant. Maybe I'll fit in there, then.

I don't think I'm arrogant. I used to be, but I've changed a lot.

...

I miss improv in acting class. A lot.

I should go to sleep.

Good night.

...

Or not. God. I need a hug.

I don't really have anything else to say. It feels somehow comforting to have notepad open, ready for me to share my innermost thoughts with it.

But it can't give hugs. That's the problem, because what I need most right now is a hug.

I don't want to fall asleep, because it means I have to wake up in the morning. With a fresh, clear, vulnerable mind.

...

I feel guilty. I feel awful. I feel tired. I feel sick of this entire thing.

My life feels like a train-wreck. The train's cars pile up, one by one, without sign of slowing down, each slamming hard against its leader.

The shit hit the fan. Still, it could be worse, I guess.

I guess...