mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- All the Colors. I was talking to a friend the other day- I think it was Tony- and I mentioned the constant feelings of inferiority that have been following me around lately. He asked, "Inferiority about what?" and my reply was long long long because, really, I feel inferior in every aspect possible. Substandard in general. This diary, man, this diary is the worst of it. I just spill in this thing, without thinking about it or trying to make sense. When I read my older entries, I find myself becoming almost depressed at how lackluster and melancholy I sound. This isn't me! I wear bluejeans all the time and I have messy hair and I make jokes and I laugh and I roll around on the floor with my dog! I listen to Neko Case and drink coffee and draw silly pictures in a red sketch book! I call my father "Daddy," and my mother "Mama," and I invite my Grandma to punk-rock shows! This me in here, it isn't really me. There's a lot more going on, okay? Crystal, Joe, and I went bowling last week, and a few of our very, very cool kinda-sorta-maybe friends showed up near the middle of our last game. I half-heartedly waved to one boy (black t-shirt, bleach blonde afro) and patted another (ripped jeans, cowboy hat, plaid shirt) on the shoulder. Crystal looked the other way. We met up in the bowling alley bathroom, and she looked at me and said, "I want to go." I asked if they made her uncomfortable, and she nodded. We quickly finished our game, and, after a brief exchange with the cool boys, we left. On the drive home, we reminisced. She said, "Remember when we cared about looking cool, too?" and I said, "Remember when we made other kids nervous?" and then we looked at each other and wondered aloud what had happened. Joe, who had been sitting quietly in the backseat, Joe with his black spiked bracelet and his perfect baggy bluejeans and his nu-metal t-shirt, asked why we cared so much. Neither of us could answer, exactly. I'm still trying to figure it out, myself. Maybe it's just easier that way- When you try really, really hard to cram yourself into that round hole, when you make what you stand for obvious in your appearance, you don't have to do it with words and actions later. You don't have to speak for yourself- Your clothing already did. I'm proud that I've outgrown that. When the time comes for me to let the world know what I believe in, I'll do it myself, and I'll do it without the help of a fashionable hair-style. 4:59 p.m. - 2003-05-08 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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