Sunday, 04/18/04 - 11:30 pm.
One of my favorite things in the world is wind. Perhaps right now I should be feeling down, because it seems to be october and I'm listening to Elvis Presley's burning love.
I should be aching over that, because those two elements would bring me to a third one: D. I used to sing that song all day when I discovered I was in love with him.
But hey, who would've thought, I've moved on completely. I'm kind of aching but it's just the scar, the pain of what he did to me. I don't miss him anymore, nor I want him back. Yuck, no, absolutely, no way. It's been two years and a half, and now I can finally breathe for days, weeks, MONTHS, without his memory getting in my system.
That's just a sudden tangent that came to my mind. I wasn't planning on bringing up D in this diary again, let alone today. He's just not important enough to take space in my mind anymore. I just happened to be listening to music right now (now that I have a CD burner I'm making an effort on recovering all the songs I've lost because of the old computer) and burning love came on. I thought of my nights with him, talking online for hours. Oh, puppy love.
Now he's just a bastard and burning love belongs to the Lilo & Stitch soundtrack.
My wasted time is in my past - "Life at a glance", the Joe Perry Project.
You know what's funny? I don't think I learned anything while I was with D. I mean, yes, I learned a lot of things, but in retrospective, it wasn't anything mindfucking. Except for the self-harm part. Probably I'd have never gotten to the point of cutting myself if it wasn't by his walking out on me. I do get a kick out of cutting now, though. But I don't plan on telling anyone that, as I don't want to hear: "Jesus, what is wrong with you, freak?!". Nothing's wrong with me, freak.
I'm starting to forget all those times completely, I don't remember half of what I wrote in 2002. I suppose it's natural. Carmen was telling me yesterday that she'd forgotten a lot about her life, specifically those times in which her parents were divorcing. Suddenly, she told me, when she discovered she was gay, she started to remember those days in dreams.
Oh, man, I love Freud.
I'm particularly in a good mood today. Because of the wind, and because of the music beating the hell out of my eardrums. 'Cause if there's something better baby, well, they haven't found it yet.
I'm in a good mood, and yet I feel this...soft spot in my heart (alright, yeah, technically it's the hypothalamus). It's like a bruise. I'm convinced it's part of my nature, feeling sad all the time, however happy I am. But it's still odd.
I'm going to wrap this entry now. I can't possibly write while listening to music. I write lyrics all over the entry, here, there, in the middle of paragraphs, everywhere. You've no idea how many times I've highlighted and deleted a phrase, just because it was the song I was listening to at the time and it really didn't have a connection to what I was writing.
Speaking of writing, I'm trying to write a book. In my spare time I am not inspired, though, only in my periods of midterms. And in my period of midterms I have no spare time. So I may not write a book after all, what do you know. My inspiration has terrible, terrible timing.
Instead, I'm currently reading eight books. One about Freud, one about dreams (BY Freud), one about human development, one about neuropsychology (midterm on friday), two about methodology of investigation, the stranger by Albert Camus and in his own write by John Lennon (I'm always reading that one, silly self). I've been having the most valuable headaches ever. No, it's a good thing, honestly. At least it hurts over a good reason. One day this headache will save lives.
I'm going to say this, for it makes me feel hardcore: