Casey sent me an email this morning, he had been up
all night and was inspired by a leaf he found outside.
Earlier we'd been talking about how people seem to
find comfort in metaphors, that it's easier to deal with
your problems by putting them into a different
perspective. It's true. But anyway, he wrote this poem
about a leaf, and since I know Casey and I know what
he's going through, I was able to read between the
lines and see what he was really referring to. As it
turned out, he noticed a strange pattern in his poem
and rewrote it as a "structured" poem. Maybe I could
post it up here, with his permission. Not that I really
think anyone reads this.
In any case, I'm at school in the computer lab. I
missed my english class again this morning, so I
wrote my proffessor an email and apologized. If I get
booted from his class, I'm screwed. It's a three credit
class that I REALLY need, ps my mom would kick my
ass. She's really keeping close watch over me on
account of last year being one huge, academic fuckup
on my part. Two semesters in a row I wasted her
hard-earned tuition money. I payed her back, of course.
But I'd really feel like an asshole if I did it again.
Why is it that we thrive on our misery? Why do we
feel that this depression is so important for us to feel?
Why do we believe that these morbid wastes of
melancholy youthfullness are ourselves? Why is it so
important that we get drunk, feel sorry for ourselves,
whine about our problems to our friends who in turn
whine about their problems, and listen to
heart-wrenching music that by definition is supposed to
make you want to slit your wrists? Alyssa told me that
from now on, all she's going to listen to is pop-punk,
because it's so happy. "No more of this emo shit," she
said. "It's too goddam depressing." But even she, the
other night, got drunk and sat at her computer for hours,
downloading one dashboard confessional song after
another. Jacki did the same thing last night, although
she's just trying to be sad so she can fit in with the rest
of us. Jacki's life is one big attempt to be like everyone
else. I think that's probably one of the saddest things
I've ever heard. She doesn't know who she is, she's a
product of her sister, her friends, and Jay. She's all
different pieces of us put into one perky, pink-clad
person. I think Jay has influenced her the most.
Although they broke up two years ago, she claims she's
still in love with him, but sometimes I wonder if she
knows what love is. Sometimes it seems real because
I know she would take a bullet for him. There's nothing
about him that she would change if given the
opportunity. I think in a lot of ways, that is love. But
there's more to it than that. I don't know, I'm tired of
analyzing what's real and what's not. I'm tired and my
head aches, my stepdad forcefed me sleeping pills last
night and they haven't fully worn off yet.