Tomorrow I have this hugeass test named PAES. All seniors accross the country take it, to measure their knowledge. That's a lot, because they ask general stuff, from language & literature, social studies, natural science and mathematics. 120 questions, 30 questions each subject. This is going to be rough.

But hey, at least I got a new 2HB pencil. And I'll get to take with me my mom's cell phone. Cool, yes. She barely uses it, so I'm taking it to call my dad to pick me up when I'm done with the PAES (it may take from 2 to 4 hours).

On a related note, I love text messaging, but my mom's phone doesn't has that service. Uncool, yes.

I cut myself again today, and cried. Yeah, yeah, for the usual (my friends, and mostly, Denv). Cel and Vic talked to me on the last recess, and I could sense they were sick of my self-harming. It was weird, it was like my parents were talking to me. Some kind of parental talk about getting off a mortal addiction.

- Vic: You see, it's good that you do it, but not everyday. It's good that you do it, if it makes you feel better. But in your case, it's not that way. It's not that fuckin' way.
- Cel: It's addictive, and I shouldn't have let you gone that far. I do it, you know we cut ourselves too, but with a *real* purpose, and not that way. Everyday is the same, you show me a new cut and ask me to make you cry...it's not good. And it's a big pressure on me. This is getting way out of hand.

You get the idea. I must admit it was somewhat uncomfortable. I kind of understand how Steven (Tyler, dammit) felt when everybody talked him into rehab.

But...yes, I am going into rehab. I just e-mailed Cel, promising her I'm not cutting myself at least until the wounds I have, until the 28 wounds I have right now have completely disappeared. That gives my arms a month or two of relief. Cool, huh?

I'm doing it for the both of them. And maybe for myself, too. Today when I was pissed off and I hit myself with my pencil case (some kind of small lunchbox...because I need space for posting Aerosmith pictures inside), I stopped for a second and asked myself what have I done?. I don't regret cutting myself...I'm just sorry I'm doing it for the wrong reasons. Like Vic and Cel said, of course it's good you cut yourself here and there, specially if it helps you release your feelings. But it will only help if it's not done excessively. If you do it with a purpose. I lost my purpose, and every time I feel bad for my "friends" it becomes a fake reason to harm myself.

I've always thought that one day I'd find people who'd really care about me, and that I'd do anything to keep them happy. I tried to keep my "friends" happy, but I can't. This is my chance. With the bonus that these people do care about me 24/7, not like Veronica and her what's the matter, sweetie? every four months. I have a lot of time that I'm wasting, right? well, I'm going to invest it in fighting self-harming. And as a collateral consequence, I'm making them both happy, because they want to see me in one piece. I mean...we're all winners.

Yay...or something.

That doesn't mean I feel better about my friends. But there you go. All I'm gonna do is cry and maybe hit and break stuff. Bleed no more. I've discovered I love seeing myself bleed. I like blood. My blood. But I'm not gonna do it for a while. Yes?

Yes.

So let's put aside this self-mutilation issue for a while, ok?

When the recesses finish, I'm taken over by a desperate anger. And that's when I cry. I try to cry during the recesses (that's when I ask Cel for help) but I can't. It's only at the end of the recess when I see all my "friends", and I see they don't even notice me when they walk me by (Denver's case is specially hurtful), whether they're laughing playfully or with tears in their eyes, I wish they'd see me. But they don't.

" (...) so you'll learn not to smash some people's fingers when you slam your door in their face.
(...) so I'm just hoping you're unhappy. Very, very unhappy.
"Discontent is the first step in the progress of a man" - Oscar Wilde. (...)

That's part of the note I'll attach to Denver's birthday present. His birthday is on monday, but I'm giving him my present (the Nine Lives burned CD) on thursday, because I want to get rid of it already. I don't want to brag, but it looks very neat. I worked hard on it last night.

Of course, the door comment is figurative. I just mean how hurtful he is when he walks away from people. When he walked away from me, so suddenly, I felt as if he had slammed a door in my face. And to add insult to injury (most likely, viceversa), he smashed my fingers with the door (which could translate in "hi, you hurt me").

I was going to study for the PAES, but while I was going through pages of my 9th grade science text book, I came accross a phrase: intuition is more valuable than knowledge. It is, because those 120 questions have already the answers below. There are 4 possible answers, you just have to choose the right one.

When I read said phrase, I thought: it's a sign from the Lord!!!, and closed the text book. Laziness or faith in the Almighty, I give you the benefit of the doubt.

The (unfortunately "my") president has a child out of wedlock. I found out that two days ago. His wife is getting divorced as soon as he stops being president. Yeah, yeah, the strike is still on, and it gets better and better everyday. The people are finally waking up and finding the truth about this lameass government.

On happy news, my brother Carlos got my package in the mail today: Disney Magic Artist. Whoo-fuckin'-hoo. He too ordered a CD for him, but unfortunately, Amazon sent him the wrong artist. Neat-o-ness.

Wish me luck (for many things).
*Simeon pops a paper bag*

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