06.12.02 when i was in high school, probably freshman year, Paul and i used to stay after school to do service work, making sandwiches or whatever, cuz, well, we had to, it was like required. i think this is when he first told me about the chick he had a crush on, Dara Pearson, a girl in our homeroom. i was probably one of the first people he told about this, and he, in turn, was probably the first person i told about my crush on this girl, Melissa Stark. he, of course, told a bunch of our friends, but i'm pretty sure it never got back to her or anyone that would have told her. i forgave him rather easily, and didn't really make any attempts to deny it at all. Paul used to do stuff for Dara, like hold her books, or keep some of her stuff in his locker, or hold the door open for her all the time (if memory serves me). so i took to calling him Dara's Whipping Boy. when i wrote a song, i titled it Whipping Boy after Paul. in my senior yearbook, he signed his name, Paul "Whipping Boy" Rasimowicz. today was Paul's funeral. he died of an aneurysm last Friday. when we arrived at the funeral home, there was a lobby type area, with a bulletin board with pictures of Paul from college. i hadn't seen him since a little bit after high school ended, so this wasn't the Paul i knew at all. somehow, it just felt like we didn't belong there. before entering the viewing room, in a little hallway, there was a book for guests to sign. kinda like a yearbook for the deceased. i hope he got a lot of signatures. after Mike and then Justin signed it, i signed it, Khalid W.B. Quesada. maybe, wherever he is, he saw this and smiled, knowing what it meant. what it meant to us.
17.12.02 my mind is not made up about things beyond my control. my heart feels like an open wound and i'm hurting the people i love without words. i'm impatient and paranoid and fickle and stubborn. i want things i cannot have. i think words i cannot write down. i am so fucking tired of being who i am, sometimes i tend to forget who it is i want to be. i'm just playing games with myself and i'm not being completely honest about anything. or so it seems. i don't know. i wish i had the courage to always tell people how i feel. all the time. even if it might cost me the moon.
25.12.02 Mary Cris-Mess end two aw la gewd neight!!
28.12.02 yet another day full of let-downs.
19.1.03 new year, same life. just 2 months shy of our one year anniversary, and my love and i are apparently no more. i don't feel like talking about it, so i won't. i just feel sick.
29.1.03 disregard the previous post. things are good now, between us. i wish i could say the same about things between me and everybody else. i've lost touch with everyone. there is no more connection with anyone. it's really ironic that when you're trying so hard not to hate someone, they seem to make no fucking attempts to sway your vote. thinking about it makes me seriously consider complete and utter isolation. reclusivity. or self-destruction, if it's fitting. whatever. i hate them all.
12.02.03 i have fallen into the deepest despair i've ever known. i don't know how long this will last. i don't know if i'll ever be happy again, not completely anyway. i just want to die and be remembered as something more than what i feel like i am. you know, a total fucking failure. i don't know. i'm tired.