02 X 2001 - 22:47 - tristitia3/ira2

I don't feel like recasting all the sentences in my English essay so that I can avoid semicolons. I think semicolons have their place, but I'll be the first to admit that, yes, I probably overuse them. Still, I'm lazy, and I'm a really good procrastinator, and since I'm can't really put it off until tomorrow (latin dorks, unite!) I should probably get going on that. But I don't feel like it, because I'm in my I-don't-care mode, and that's really awful, because part of me does care, and... argh. I don't care about drawing the arrangement of atoms in a molecule of paradicholorobenzene. What on earth is that going to do for me?

Scenario: a mugger comes up to me, holds a gun to my head. "Quick! Tell me whether sucrose is composed of ions or atoms, whether the bonds are covalent or ionic, how many valence electrons each atom has, and how they're bonded! And if you don't, I'll... I'll... shoot!" Yep. Real likely.

I suppose it's an end in itself. And tomorrow, I will be gung-ho about learning all of this, because knowledge for the sake of knowledge is one of my gods, is right up there in the pantheon with Guilt and the God of the Anal-Retentive Folk. But as I mentioned earlier, I don't care.

Not when one of my best friends (one of the people who means probably the most to me right now) is on the outs with someone who really matters to her. Not while I can't do anything about that.

Not while I'm on the outs with the person who is alternately one of my best friends and one of my worst enemies. Because she knows me too well and yet she doesn't know what I'll do to her, because she hasn't yet learned that pulling my hair is a bad idea, because she hasn't learned to *get out of the way* when my controls are down and I want to hurt and to be hurt, because she hasn't learned that, pound for pound, I'm better at hurting than she is.

I'm even better at hating me. Which I know should technically be "myself," but I want to make a distinction: I could be better at her than hating myself (she could hate herself less). Or I could be better at hating myself = me (she could hate me less).

Because I don't have the patience to deal with her and I don't have the energy to deal with the disgust I feel for hitting her when she forgets it, I know she does, and I don't have the patience to deal with myself and I don't have the resources to deal with any of my friends, not really, not now, but I have to pretend. Because that's what I'm good at. And if it makes them feel better, well, who am I to deny them that?

Because I'm incapable of taking my own damned advice and taking care of myself first and making sure that I'm in decent shape before I tend to others.

Because I don't want to stop caring, but I'm too tired to care.

Because it's begun to lost all meaning. It's merely what I do.

Because I'm the demon comforter and what I do is meaningless and I feel no rest when I'm comforted by others and so I go on trying to give what I can while feeling hollow - my god, because I'm not the care bear with fangs, because I'm human and falliable and I'm young and stupid and reckless but I and others seem to refuse to see that, and I refuse to allow myself to see it, because I've got *nothing* down but the guilt -

Because I disgust myself, and there's no escaping myself, and I can run away from my friends and my fears, but in the end, I have to come to at least an armistice with myself -

Because I disgust myself.

odium, odii n. hatred