September 10th, 2001

Estie

I'm sick of this.

All of it. You name it, I've probably had it up to here and I want it to stop.

My computer has been failing pretty much daily since I got to college, and college itself sucks chinchillas. There's no heart and no point to these classes, and nothing can make me care. Consequently, I'm not getting anything done. Band? Don't get me started. Pushing my body further than it was ever meant to go, aching and crying under the knowledge that I'm not good enough for this and never will be, And for what? So I can screw up in front of a huge crowd that doesn't really care anyway.

It's not worth it. But what else is there for me? I've spent too long defining myself by an organization that gives me nothing in return. I have nowhere else to go.

I went home on Sunday to discover that my parents had shipped one of our dogs off to the shelter and didn't feel compelled to tell me until I was in the yard looking for him. Mom will say "we" over and over again, but I have a gut feeling it was all her idea.

My God.

A living, feeling creature that was already abandoned once. Take him in, care for him, give him someone to trust and love again, and then dump him when he becomes inconvenient. My God. They couldn't even keep him for a few more days so I could say goodbye. Last week was the last time I'll ever see him, and nobody cared enough to let me know.

I don't know if I want to go home again. I don't know if I have a home anymore. I have a guest room and a cell now, and nowhere to hide in either one.
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