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| Thoughts |
September 29, 2005 at 9:38 PM

I found this on a Starbucks cup:
"My only regret about being gay is that I repressed it for so long. I surrendered my youth to the people I feared when I could have been out there loving someone. Don't make that mistake yourself. Life's too damn short." - Armistead Maupin - Author of the Tales of the City series and the novel The Nignt Listener
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When I was younger, way back when we lived in Lamar, we had a neighbor who was a very messy bachelor who was pretty antisocial. He did have a dog though, and I talked to it once in a while. I didn't talk to him. But one day, while I was playing outside, he thought it would be his business to tell my mother that I changed clothes too much. But, I was too young at the time, so I didn't care.

But now it's really starting to become more apparent. Today, I changed clothes four times - not counting changing out of pajamas, of course. And they didn't have any reason for the change, other than changing out of work clothes. For no reason. Whenever I get tired of what I'm wearing, or when it doesn't fit my mood - I change. All the time.

I have way too many clothes as it is - my mother has said that I have more clothes than the entire house combined (which is my mother, my dad and my brother) Which is true - I have SO many clothes. I do wear them though, on the whole. There's a few things that I wear every once in a while, but by and large, I wear them all. Am I too much of a cliche?
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While I was driving back from Starbucks today, after having to get my brother a latte, I was stuck behind this van. The stupid woman smoking while driving was taking FOREVER to drive down Railroad, and we passed the theatre at a snail's pace, and for some reason, I thought about my mom just sitting there, reading, waiting for the movie so she can close up and go home, and wake up early in the morning to go to work. And I felt sad. She's only wanted the best for me, and she's been so patient with me, making all my mistakes, and she's never given up. Even after all this shit that's happened, she's still trying to help me, thinking about what will make me happy, about what will help me through this. And I hate to think about how much I make her hurt. Her in particular, because she's the one that's always been there, that's always been the parent. And really - the entire last year of my life - from birthday to birthday, I've done nothing but fuck up. And I feel bad, because she just wants me to do well. She was in college when she got pregnant with me and she never got to go back, because she had me. She wants so badly for me to do well, to do better than she did in life. And I don't know where I'm going with this anymore.

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| last five entries |

Freedom - October 13, 2005
Space 3 - October 20, 2005
Space 2 - October 20, 2005
Space 1 - October 20, 2005
Design - October 20, 2005