note: potential employers: please do not judge me on my diaryland. that's lame.

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2002.10.16 10:09 p.m.

you guys should really read 'dead girls'. a lot. it's so involving. i want to read it again. you should also read 'the torn skirt'. it's somewhere along the same lines. i wish i had a really good book to read. but i really can't get anything out from the library. i have a billion dollars in fines and everything's overdue. this always happens.

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i think i'd like the body shop's community project much better if my co-workers (some of them) weren't so prejudiced. dammit. okay, before i left i was warned not to take my bag, or wear jewlery. and not even to leave my bag in the car in 'that neighborhood'. otherwise known as MY neighborhood. and let me just mention that we're working with grade one and two students here. one and two. and i went with julie (very middle class and very neurotic), who tells me it 'makes her really depressed' to go. when we get there i go to one class while she goes to another and i have fun hanging out with nina, amy, and junior bear (his full name: cute!), and i think she was just freaked out. i mean, she has four children, these are just kids. on the way back she says she has to stop at the bathroom on her way back to the store, and that it might be a good idea for me to wash my hands after being there. and also 'they have a huge lice problem' 'i used to itch after being there'. okay. every elementary school has a lice problem. aparantly julie's didn't 'we were very lucky in that way'. when i was talking to susan (interum-manager) when we got back i said i had a good time, and susan said 'i like going, but i feel so sad for them. i mean, they're probably just going to grow up like their parents.' susan: have you ever met one of their fucking parents? what do you fucking know?

clarification of the school and what it is like in there: small classes, about 15 kids in each one that i saw. one white kid for each class just about. neat aboriginal artwork on the walls. a couple of weird teachers who weren't sooo good. no kids visibly under-nourished, beaten, or unhappy. it is exactly like any other grade two class. with the exceptions of the school being more unstructured it seemed. kids in the hallways and you couldnt' tell who was a teacher and who wasn't. and there were more teacher's assitants than i'd ever had. by far.

these kids never asked for our pity. never.

i really liked nina. we talked, you know. actually we had this neat conversation:
n: how did you get red hair?
m: i dyed it.
n: i got black hair 'cause i'm an indian.
m: that's pretty lucky.
n: i'm all tanned and brown.
m: i'm not, i'm all pasty and white. (i show her my veins through my paper-white skin)
n: are you anything? like how i get to be indian?
m: nope, i'm just white. it's pretty boring.
n: you could be an indian if you wanted. you could get a costume.
m: i should shouldn't i?

we had another, sadder conversation:
m: the book's called 'my best friend leonard'.
n: is it really leonard?
m: yeah, do you know someone named leonard?
n: yeah, my uncle leonard, i'll always love him.
m: that's good.
n: he's dead. he was gay (giggles then really serious) he's in hell.
m: i don't know that that's true.
n: yep, it's true. mum says. he's in hell. he's gay.
m: was he a good person?
n: yeah.
m: well then maybe he's in heaven.
n: no, he in hell, we don't know who killed him.
it was so awkward. double awkward. sad and strange how kids are about things. but i don't feel sorry for her. i mean, my uncle died too. and it's just life.

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i was talking to ellen on the telephone and out of the blue she says 'fucky, computer not worky.' what the hell ellen?

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i want to go to the peace conference but i don't think i could stand the awkwardness of seeing alisin there. holy. i have no idea how to talk to her. 'um.....i need my bathingsuit....?' it's like we had a bad breakup and now we have to avoid each other. also i'd probably cry and go smoke in the bathroom. i just can't move on with things as they are and as they have been. i have always been the bad guy from her point of view. and i can't continue on as such. i can be a bitch sometimes, but can too, if not moreso.

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i'm going to vomit with unhappiness.
it makes me crazy how unhappy i am. i have yelled at my mum so much. i have no concept of hurting her feelings. i bothered my aunt this weekend too i know. i can't give people hugs or nice words. it means too much to them. it hurts my.....something. it hurts my anger. my mum said something along the lines of; you're not a good person these days, you've just been really really bitchy. and it's so true. it's almost that i use up all my nice at work. and i come home and there's no one has called. there's no one to call. i've alienated my best friend, any thought of relations i've had recently make me physically ill (i dont' mean you andrew. i mean....it's just like pretending it's last year.). every friend that i think i have disapoints me. too high of standards i guess. but so few make an effort for me. at all. ever. and i am exactly the kind of person i would never be friends with.

i spend a lot of time thinking of people's diaries. and i hate the way they whine and never get over stuff. just like me. just fucking like me. and every fucking body else.

i'm sorry.

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i am stilted. and vomiting with unhappiness.

previously - and then

*oh random entry*

all the diarylands. - 2008.02.21
I move my head. - 2008.01.27
read the other one. - 2008.01.21
was Medium? - 2008-01-17
Or maybe I won't. - 2008.01.15

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