Saturday, 03/06/04 - 12:20 pm.
My parents and my brother are out of town for the day. I, obviously, stayed home. I didn't feel like going. I did feel kind of guilty for not going with them, though. Sure, I could've gone, for the rush of "whoo, I'm out of town". But it just wasn't very appealing to me. Or maybe I'm too lazy.
They left and I started to read the newspaper. There was an article about a Beatles Weekend on a radio station. 48 hours of The Beatles. The radio will be on for a long, long time in this house.
I think I'm going to the movies in the afternoon, with my sister and my nephew. This would be my third saturday on a row going to the movies. I love going to the movies, but I rarely go...no money, no companion, no ride (I can do without the second, though).
Am I the only one who walks around public places afraid of being spanked by a stranger? I went to the mall yesterday with my parents....ok, first off, it was terrible. I was kind of embarrased, walking about with my parents. I'm 19, this is the age in which I shouldn't be with them like I'm 11. Second, my dad finds friends at every step he takes, and engages in long conversations, catching up, so I get bored out of my mind in the meantime.
Anyway, we were at the supermarket, and I realized I was frowning, teenage-angst frown. Standing straight whenever a guy walked behind me. Later on, I realized I was actually hoping someone provoked me, so I could make a scene and embarrass whoever provoked me. But that didn't happen. It's a good thing, I believe.
You know what I dreamt last night? That D wanted me back...or something like that...When I woke up I thought: yeah, ok, maybe, after all this time, I'm still in love with him.... But then I thought nah....not really. Not really, really. He's too...plain for me. I have other interests now. Deeper interests. He can have all the victories of his adored soccer team and all of the blondes he wants. I want a revolution, I want to make a huge difference in the world (I'm still planning on dying at 27, so I must hurry).
Just last night I composed a few questions to send in an interview show, whose guest would be *the right wing candidate*. None of mine was read on air (they only read 3...to protect the candidate, I guess...he's such an incompetent wuss). I was boomed, but at least my dad said my questions were brutal and well elaborated.
I'd like to be a paperback writer. But I don't have the talent (that song is playing on the radio right now, though). I've discovered I enjoy writing, IF I have something to say. Like, say, writing in this diary everyday. But this wouldn't be a good material for a book, would it? It's just a journal.
Listening to:
Revolution, The Beatles (it's not my fault, it just came on the radio...it's the fast version, yayness).
(You can listen to it here, click on "escuchar on-line").
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