We're forming a sight to behold.

At musical rehearsal tonight, the actors were doing some dance stuff so we all walked the props back to the music room. With two boxes of cardboard typewriters I strut out on my own, and then I'm alone. The singing is fading away, and that crazy little choreographer woman is yelling something. She gets the whole group so energized, she's just amazing.

The thought that hits me then is how much this feels like those moments in movies when The Heroin steps outside of a party and then The Villain (or variation of such) comes out and 'gets' her. I'm kind of walking slower now, liking the silence, but I don't really think I'm much of a heroin. My hair is never styled right, you can see where the mascara brush left footprints around my eyes, my skin is red, my lips are too small, my jaw is too big, and then I just want to throw those damn cardboard typewriters and their dented pieces of paper and watch them all tumble and flutter away in the wind and just turn around and walk away from everything.

I want meaning in my life. I love musical tech, but it tires me out so quickly. I'm not meant for this - talking to a billion people, remembering a billion random things about vanity tables and patching lights and sliding doors, trying to be in control without becoming The Scared Angry Bitch who uses aggression as defense. It's fun, but it's too much.

For a long time I thought meaning meant having really close friends and having a boyfriend and the like. Then, whether it was me or them who started it, I sort of built a wall between my deeper self and the world. I might have planted each painful brick, but it was the people I knew who slapped on the mortar, every time they didn't ask me how or why, every time they took a single 'no' as an answer from me, every time they forgot to pick me up from school. Even my immediate family feels kind of foreign to me at times.

I still have those dreams about people reading my diary and finally feeling like I can have friends who really know me, but I don't try so hard anymore. Instead I wrote in lj, but after that just became a pile of drama and bad feelings, I started to write here. I don't really expect or need people to read these long-ass, stupid emotional rant posts, but somehow it just feels better knowing they could. It gives what I write the legs to walk and the will to live.

High school sucked, but I seem to have luck for a better chance at life every four years or so, and so I'm excited for college. I learned a lot about people and about myself at San Marin. I'm so much different now than I was when I came here, it's amazing.

Now I'm tired and I can't remember why I even started this post, ugh... The time I waste trying to sort out this stuff in my head.. ridiculous. AND I DIDN'T DO MY BIO HOMEWORK. UGH. "Screw that class, seriously," says the girl who wants to be a biologist.