My pa said to me, "So what're you into today, baby?" and I wanted to say, "I'm biding my time in Brooklyn." But, if he'd been listening-- and I answered with something different and he didn't respond, so he wouldn't have been-- he wouldn't have gotten it, and he would've made me explain, and I hate explaining things like that to my dad because it makes me feel like a dumb little kid.

Like in Banner Elk, when someone mentioned The Bell Jar, and White said, "Sylvia Plath, baby!" and held up her hand to me for a high-five, and I was like, no. 'Cause that would have made us dumb little kids.

I have a confession to make.

I've been half-writing a letter to Josh Chasez in my head. saying things like, "I know how some things go, man."

I've become completely incapable of sending feedback to people. I used to feedback all the time, but my circle kept shrinking. Like: I'll only e-mail writers in the comic fandom; in the X-Men fandom; in the X-Men slash fandom; in my small circle of people I talk to on a regular basis in the X-Men slash fandom; people who directly ask me for feedback; no one.

Is this part of a general mist of apathy settling over my life?

No fucking way, man. I don't feel apathetic. Don't be talking shit like that. That's the most dangerous game at this stage in my life. The only thing I have going for me at this point is chutzpah. Also: the tunes. I'm just lookin' for tunes.

Is it a feeling of disillusionment where the X-Men are concerned?

Um. Very possibly.

I went to the comic book store for the first time in months, and I felt-- hostile. Defensive. Looking at the rack of X-Men comics. Thinking, "You think you know, but you have no idea."

*shrugs*

It's vanity, I know. Regardless, I feel completely uninvested in these characters, and that's a fucking crime. Because . . they're my . . I don't know. My little people.

I don't know. Criminal.

I'm gonna go the book store. Do a little writing, maybe. Do some reading. It'll be nice. I'll spend money I don't have on some hot chocolate: because things tend to be forgiven when it comes to chocolate.

I love you.

I, eh. I hope to see you there, is what I want to say. But I'm wincing, right now. You should see me.

You should see me.

I told Devon I felt like I could talk to days, but it's not working out like that. I wonder why.

Alestar
The scars haven't healed nicely, and they hurt sometimes, especially when it rains, but they're a part of him. The therapist makes him talk to them, and Julio tells them dirty jokes because the whole situation is bizarre.