miserable beauty
December 01, 2003 � 8:20 p.m.

First Entry Today

would like to start this entry by screaming at the top of my lungs:

I LOVE MUTHA FUCKING SUPER NATURAL BIRTH MACHINE!!! I WANT TO BE SATAN�S LOVE SLAVE!!! I WANT TO GO TO EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEIR SHOWS NO MATTER WHERE IT IS OR HOW FAR AWAY!!!

I LOVE SATAN�I LOVE SATAN�I LOVE�SATAN�FOREVER AND EVER�

AMEN!!!

So yeah, I had fun at the show. Needless to say, I didn�t get too dressed up, but the twins were out of control!! I guess because it�s close to crimson wave riding time they have swelled up a bit, but damn�Friday night my tits held up my face. More guys looked at them then directly at me. Even Satan�s eyes would dart down at them when he would talk to me and he would look me back in the eyes and smile�the old horn dog.

And me being the Satan slut that I am, I was happy as hell.

I don�t like the way I look, nor do I find anything about myself attractive (well�just my eyes�and smile) but I LOVE having big boobies!! It�s like�power, man!! You don�t have to be cute as long as you have big tits. Tits can get you along just as well.

I have no idea where this is going so I�m just going to say that I am glad to be a big gal with big tits that can swing my ass when need be.

Well�at least I am today. Tomorrow I will go back to hating everything about myself.

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I haven�t heard from Swiz again. I don�t know if that is good or bad. I mean, for me�I don�t know if it�s good or bad. I miss him so much and there are times I have to put my phone away from me to keep from calling him, and instead of my feelings fading or mellowing out, they seem to be getting stronger. I hate being so backwards. I hate being the girl whose heart actually grows fonder from distance and colder with proximity. Him not calling should be my opportunity to break free, but instead it�s creating a greater bond and I am afraid that when he does call or come over, it will be all over for me. I will hopelessly lost inside of him. I will lose my way. I will lose my heart�again.

I sit and smoke and wonder about where he is and what he is doing and if he is thinking about me. I wonder if he regrets what we did. I wonder if he just used me to break free from her. I wonder if things are well with him. I wonder if how different things would be if I told him how I felt. I wonder, I wonder, I wonder�.

I wonder if he still loves me.

I try not to think about it and obsess over it, but I do�I always do�because everything always comes back to thoughts of him, dreams of him, prayers for him�wishes for love.

Sometimes I am so fucking complicated that I even baffle myself with my complexities.

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We went to see my mom yesterday and I saw the sadness all around her. She tried to keep talking and distracted, and it wasn�t until we were leaving that I realized that she had barely looked at Darryl the whole time. I came out of the bathroom and I saw him rush past and I saw her sitting at the table. I mean, I actually SAW her.

She looked so small�so tiny�so afraid. I saw the tears and I told her not to start and her face crumpled up like a child�s but she fought the tears. She reminded me of someone then. Her face. Her eyes. Her misery. Her smallness.

She looked just like our grandma for a moment, but the longer I looked at her the more I saw who it really was I was seeing.

I saw myself.

Her face was the same face I made when I heard the news. The same face I make when I cry�when I am in pain�when all I want to do is die because I feel so stupid and insignificant.

In misery, I look like my mother�right down to the way she wring her hands. And she looked just like grandma sitting there�right down to the way she used to wring her hands�and I felt as if I was looking at my future�at what I had to look forward to when I would be her age�miserable beauty.

I hugged her to my chest, and she held onto my arms and buried her face deep, as if at any moment she would break down. I stroked her hair and held her tight and told her it would be alright�that we didn�t know anything for sure about him going to Iraq�and she pulled away from me, nodding like a good little girl, the sadness so horrible, it literally broke my fucking heart in two.

My brother might be leaving us.

We went home and watched Carnivale before he went into work, but when he left I sat in the middle of his funky mess and cried.

I cried for my mother. I cried for my brother. I cried for me.

When did the future turn from being a promise into being a threat?