Far too much sleep
I've been doing a lot of impulsive and stupid things lately. I feel like I should come clean with you, and tell you everything that I've done. I can't bring myself to do that though. I can't stand the idea of having a record of the moronic things, the impulsive things written in concrete. And worse - written online. Sometimes I write things here that I can't bring myself to read over again. They're too personal. (And I'm sure that I probably disappoint here - if you want a tell-all journal, this isn't it. I'll be the first to admit that I hold back. Nevertheless, sometimes I write personal things.) There's an entry here from a week ago, and I can't read it. I can't even try to read it. I read the first few lines, and my eyes skip down to the last part of it, which is safer and less personal. So why do I do this to myself? Why put it such personal things in such a public place?
I've never understood it. I won't pretend to now. I've messed up with my online journals before. I know what not to do. I feel burnt, and hence a little cautious. Although, if I'm so cautious, why do I keep pulling these ridiculous stunts? An example, I know this needs an example. You're going to think that I am a moron, or you'll think that I'm exaggerating. Both are true. This isn't the end of the world. I'll just keep telling myself that.
I gave my English teacher the address of my journal. Before the blustery fight with my parents Wednesday night, I wrote her a hasty email. It was more than just the fact that I wanted to give her the address of the journal, I wrote it before the confrontation with my parents Wednesday. It's the lack of perspective that frustrates me. One confrontation changed everything, and I feel so shortsighted. I complained about my parents. I spoke too soon. Had I waited a few hours, I could have written about all the changes that had happened. Instead, I spoke hastily. I'm disappointed with myself. I'm certain she was disappointed in me too. I'm kicking myself over this, and it happened days ago. I don't let things go.
I saved the email, and wandered around the house. I didn't really know if it were such a fantastic idea. I have no excuse though. Without reading the note over again, I hit send. And felt my stomach drop. I could hardly bring myself to read the note she sent back - saying that she would not read my journal, and that I really needed to confront my parents. She said that I couldn't run away anymore. I wrote back telling her that my family had talked. I wrote back telling her that there are no secrets anymore. I'm afraid though. If I had had a little more self-control, if I had had a little more foresight, I wouldn't have disappointed her.
The sad thing is that I do this all the time. I don't seem to learn anything. It would be one thing if this happened to me, and I forgave myself and promised to be more thoughtful next time. But each time I'm burnt, each time I speak too soon, each time I screw everything up, it happens again.
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I slept constantly these four days off from school. Yesterday, I fell asleep in the living room at two in the afternoon. I hadn't been trying to sleep, I had been trying to read The Dispossessed, by Ursula Le Guin. Two pages, though, and I passed out. I was freezing. It was fitful and uncomfortable sleep. I could hardly wake this morning. I'm in a haze.
I haven't done any of the work for school. I had four days off, and I haven't touched any of it. I just don't want to face it. It makes me sad that I'm such a coward. It makes me sad that I'm following in my family's footsteps. Just hide from anything that bothers you, and just don't talk about it. I just don't feel like doing any of my work. I'm completely giving into sloth, because it's easier this way. (I'm sitting here, complaining about the rut of school, but I've just had four days off and have a week off coming up. I really shouldn't be complaining.)
My father woke me at six o'clock last night, and asked me if I had done my work for school. And, lightly, I said that I had. I lied, and he left me alone. The house reeked of pot roast. I ate a bagel, and fell asleep again. This time in the order and warmth of my bed, but it was still fitful and unrestful sleep. (It's a strange thought, my bedroom is chaos and the only place of order is my bed. Maybe that's not a strange thought. I'm at school, and am out of my head right now.)
I'm so whiny right now; I think I will have to edit this entry when I get home.
2000-02-14, Too much sleep
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