i think i was unconciously looking for an answer and those things profided a temporary escape or something. psychoanalogy isnt my specialty. this year, the future closer and more prevalent, i started asking conciously, why? why do i have to do this? what is my future? why does this seem so hopeless? in june or july i felt like a bit of pain (i like disturbing movies way too much). that pain is reality and i cant resist creepy disturbing stuff. i watched the Daniel Pearl tape like 8 times, mostly because i couldn't believe it. so i rummage around and i find, of course, fight club.
Voila. there was my answer! how did they know??? just kept running through my head when they were describing jack's sad little life. which is everyone's life really. and there it was. there wasnt a big Answer, but came a lot closer than anything else. that was it. i even learned to surf because of fight club because the next day i was so tranced out on it, i didn't care about getting hurt or wiping out and i jammed like an all star. well, sort of. then fight club became Fight Club the book, which became Chuck Palahniuk, lord and savior. everyone said at the end of the summer i got better and praised the medication, but it was probably fight club and chuck. which brings us back to now. i was late everyday for probably two months to school and i didnt even care. i didnt care about my impending future or my stupid ho-baggity friends. fight club gave me a reason to do all of it because here was someone else who felt this way, a reason to, basically, live. i wasnt living large, success success happy happy but i wasnt suicidal. i finally had something that was all mine. i never get to have things that are just mine. there was dangerous angels last year which i discovered and lent to my "best friend" who i thought was worthy of the book. of course, she does her hippy stuff about how great it was and how she could relate to everyone and took the slang from the book. and then she brought the book to school and EVERYONE wanted to read it. and that pissed me off. i mean sharing a book may not be a big thing to most people but i take that shit so seriously. a book is so much, it could be life for someone! (i.e. me) but now i had fight club and i was absolutely determined never to speak of it. i was so careful. in every conversation i always scanned for references or anything incriminating. i have known many of my class mates for a very long time so i know many things about them. one of these things being when i graduate i am skipping the afterparty and getting the hell out of there to avoid their blablablaing about love, future, best friends for life. they are not at the top of the philisophical food chain in my personal oppinion. i am not in the "pretty happy girl" catagory, but i am the best friend. i always feel that they take so much from me: books, ideas, time, and especially ENERGY dealing with all their problems and being the support. fuck that. i finally had something that was mine and I. WAS. HAPPY! (well happier than i had been in a long time. complete happiness means completion which means ending. blech.) so of course, something has to go wrong.
i will summerize: you come to school and you see someone else reading your book. this person is the one who made all those fat kid stereotypes true. he is a rich whiney daddy's boy who takes a cab home from school, likes legos, and crys for no apparent reason all the damn time, and he is holding your book. what then? in a perfect world, he is roasted alive in the pits of hell. but this is not a perfect world