Tell me something nice. All I want right now is a fresh cup of words, something that slides down my soul and gives me shivers.

I am flipping through The History of Love and it is beautiful but depressing, which I think is how I used to think of life, but then I learned about lyfe, and since then things have been looking up. Today is just one day. What used to scare me, is becoming a comfort. I always have myself. No one knows me better than myself, which means that I always have a scrap left of dignity, if not more. My problem has never been lack of self confidence, but lack of confidence that the things I know are good about myself are things that other people get to see. Last year I told mom "I am learning to get along with myself," and I feel like I am as close to that as I ever will be.

Weeona in three weeks. Sarah in a little less. All I do in the summer is think, which is probably why I never think of summer as being a season I like, but Sarah and I can just spend hours talking about life in shitville and life in wonderville and our "feelings". And weeona, well, at weeona I don't talk at all but work out my inner turmoil through lots of swimming and wandering away and sitting in the chapel singing and staring at the stars because I am crazy and think that the stars and moon actually know something about me. The things about myself that are a comfort to me are the exact things that are a nuisance to other people. Sarah always says that we love hard. She says it's a good thing. Good for who? Not for me. Not for the people being loved. I am learning to love more well roundedly, to maybe just keep some of my love for myself. We love people until they can't breathe. We love people until we can't breathe. I seem to have no control over my emotions, I don't know if that is normal or just Welchy, but they are always strong, rarely dimmed, like they are screaming at the tips of my nerves, like they want something from me, and I can not give it. I never quite understand this. How my body itches for things that it can't have, I don't understand why together my body and brain can't be a little more resourceful. The other thing I just can't wrap my head around is how we all want the same fucking thing, happiness, and certain days it just seems so silly that anyone would ever be sad when they could be happy instead and then other days you remember that we can't seem to control what makes us happy, and we can't seem to properly attain the things that make us happy. I grind my teeth.

I am a dawg, a slobbery, eager, hopeless little mess, with too much love and not enough tact. I am working on it. I am going to go to sleep and think about how lovely my mother is for being my soundboard.