I came home from work today and flopped onto my bed. Instantly changed into sweats and a tank top. Tomorrow morning I'll resume going to the gym, but tonight is for reading.

When I was little I had a really shitty social life. I was an only child, socially inept, and felt more at home with adults than kids my own age. Therefore, at school, I was always a pariah, and prolly (in retrospect) partially through my own elitist attitude (or as much elitism as a little 8-year-old girl can muster).

Looking back at that paragraph, I see I still haven't stopped blaming myself for the hurt I went through back then. I blamed myself then, I still blame myself now. My, aren't we evolved.

Anyway, what saved me was books. Books books books. Tons of books. I learned to read while walking. I read through lunch and recess. When mean kids threw balls at me I could raise the book to block my face (this actually happened). Reading in the car left me nauseated, but I was so absorbed in my book that I'd stop reading, puke, go back to reading, puke again, read some more, etc etc. This distressed my mom a bit, but I didn't mind.

If a child can be suicidally depressed, I was (of course, I wasn't aware of it at the time...I just hated life). But books got me through. Books saved my life. I could dissappear into their world and it would feel more real, safer, more lifelike than the hell I was living at the time. I dissappeared into them like into the galley of a tiny ship, and weathered the storm 'til it was safe to come out.

So I've bought some new books.

Those of you who know why I'm in need of a life preserver to float my way on, know that this is the one that'll get me through. Writing and reading will save my life.



Ah, the light of the monitor. How it gilds my pallor.

Incidentally (or not) I pulled my mirrored closet door to the side as I laid on my bed. The surface of the mirror had accumulated that invisible-til-someone-touches-it surface that betrays every fingerprint. And there, on the door, was the pictogram:

An eye.
A heart.
The letter U.

Eye Love You.

MY ex-boyfriend Joe wrote it there almost exactly a year ago, shortly before I ended things. It would be exactly a year, now, actually, since I broke it off. Because it was at the May camping trip with gigsville (the one where I kicked Jay's arse! :) ) that I made my decision.

Wow. A year.

Written in dust. To remind me I'm loved...or at least, was loved...once, someone thought I was the best thing ever...I can hardly believe it still...

He is different now. We are uncomfortable when we see each other. But I still love him.

1. I do not clean my mirrors often.
2. I am glad about that.