12:57 a.m. - January 01, 2002
no idea
something something being held hostage... something as the skies darken something something staging a traffic jam something something my dad thinks says a constipated announcer his conversation, I think it sounds more like constant pain announces its compensation, but either way the song has made its way into my car driving home from a New Year's party; fitting somehow since it did turn out to be my favorite song of the year (Daniel Johns & Paul Mac - Staging A Traffic Jam). And, happy new year. Because... 2002. Of course everything is changing. Of course everything will be different. The past doesn't matter...
And you come out of your champagne-induced reverie and I am sitting here next to you in my long maroon sweater, shaking a finger and saying, "bullshit". "bullshit", I am saying, because of course the past fucking matters you fucking idiot and the problem with everyone sitting here is that they think they can start over with a clean slate every year. That would make sense on a more drastic level, like that part in A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius where the author and a friend talk about everyone tearing down the world each night and rebuilding it every day... well, even that strikes me as a huge fucking cop-out. "bullshit" I say, because I am not only a cynic, but a cynic with no backing to the point she is trying to make.
I think.... I am upset that I go as yet unkissed. For a long time, anyway. I think.... I had hoped to attain some sort of closure with certain people a long, long time before my graduating year. .... that something would have changed by now.
I hate seeing people that remind me of how I was four years ago and then talking to them and realizing that I am not so different from how I was four years ago because this perso not only reminds me of my past, but also my present. And it pains me that I don't like her. This manifestation, I mean, not her as in myself, though by process of extension one could argue that they are one and the same.
I miss Erik. I meant to call him today before I went to the party, but I didn't. I don't even know what he's doing or where he is. I didn't think about him all night until now. And now it hurts. Erik... I wanted to hug you at midnight tonight, not people I barely knew drinking champagne and eating hors d'oeuvres in the spacious living room.
I miss Taylor. I miss him even though you can't, technically, miss someone you've never had, but oh, I miss him. All I wanted was a quick hello, a quick reassurance, a quick 'happy holidays', like every other year, every one, except this one, and it makes me worry. Taylor, I wanted your presence lingering in my mind driving home, instead of loneliness; your taste of mandarin, your smell of pot, your beat of the ocean.
I miss Camille. They shouldn't have made her go to Arkansas for her last year with her friends. She should have been at the party; understanding things nobody else could have. Being the only other one not giving in to the hysterics that abounded. Camille, I wanted your sanity; not everyone else falling apart.
Most of all I miss the times when I truly thought that I was a beautiful child, the my blond hair set people afire, that my green eyes pierced. When I actually believed that I was strong enough, and infallible, and that my long-fingered dreamer's hands were pretty, and my freckles were sophisticated. Because there were those days, such a long time ago I can't remember what it feels like not to know how I come off to people and how awkward it is to know that I come off as such, and to know why they don't come closer. Now I know. And I miss those times when I had no idea, no fucking idea at all.

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