I knew the words, but they didn't sink in.

It's weird that I was thinking about it today. I don't even know what sparked it in my mind- no wait I do. I was following a car like the one her parents drive up the hill this morning. It's interesting to think of the way that I impacted the lives so many people. Yes, I realize how completely conceited and ridiculous that sounds. I guess the entire situation just proves that I am not a decent human being. It's not just the way I always put myself down in an effort to be pleasantly surprised. It's just the truth. Some people are good and some people are not. I'm just one of the people who isn't. And don't get me wrong, I've tried to change, I'm always trying to improve upon myself. Anyway, I'm straying from my point. I'm not sorry for what I did. I mean I guess I really shouldn't have to be sorry. I had no idea how many layers there were in the whole situation. But that's not an excuse, really.

Five months ago I came into the picture, knocking it off the wall. I fucked up their happy little fucked up world even more. Not a day can go by without he or I thinking of her. Her possessions still litter the apartment they once shared. Her scent still lingers in that stale air. Her impression has been made on both of us in different ways.

Still, though. When I let my mind wander to these places I feel a sense of power. And that's how I know that I'm not a good person, I'm just not meant to be a kindhearted individual. Meanness and spite are just embedded so deeply into me that I don't think I can change it. It's just how I am and how I am meant to be, niceness from me is foreign, often forced, and sometimes faked. It's like how you can look at a little kid. When you look into the face of a child you're supposed to see softness and innocence. But sometimes you just don't. You can tell when a child is mean-spirited, it shows all over their face. Adults learn to hide their true selves. But children, children can't. They're honest no matter what, even if they don't mean to be.

Pray for the people inside your head, for they won't be there when you're dead.

Reading always makes me feel like writing. Reading about the lives of more interesting people makes me want to explore what could be potentially interesting about my life. Sometimes that's the case, but sometimes I have a connection with the words on a page, like those words could have come directly from me or directly from someone I know. That's the one thing I love the most about reading; when it feels like home between the covers. When something sounds so familiar that you have to remember that these words are too eloquently used to be yours. I love that, I really do. I wish all aspects of life could be as simple as a good book.

I started Girl, Interrupted today. I'm on page 92 and so far I'm liking the movie better as a whole. However, the book has these few, perfect moments where the words layed out in front of me sound more like my own than Susanna Kaysen's.

Other than that today was a decent day. I got called back for a job and have an interview monday, training tuesday and hopefully a job by the weekend. I'm in a weird place right now, between anxious and tired and I think I'll let the tired side take over. I don't want to spend my night to go to bed early worrying about people and silly things. I want the future now. No more waiting. I don't want to be caught up in tiny things, I want to have my love, a car, a job, and an apartment all now.

I wish I would have "borrowed" another book for Monday.