The Prison of His Days

I've been around, mostly. Reading the ol' flist. I've just been...I dunno. Burnt out? Lazy? Around other people all the time, thus getting all my talking done IRL?

I'm back up on campus for the summer, working at the Art library. It's good to work somewhere no one looks at you funny when you smell the books.

It is deathly hot. I love the Science Library. It is full of air conditioning and love.

I'm sucking at writing. Sucking. I need to fix that. I do.

I've also been spending the weekends playing egregious quantities of videogame. By which I mean, last week I went, "Strangely I have a craving for Triple Triad", and came back to myself, stunned and horrified, when the PS prompted me for Disc 2. An isolated occurrence, you say? But then it happened again this weekend with the next disc! I am a binge gamer. It's a problem.

Well, mostly because weekends contain no verbs to perform.

Other than write.

Fuck.

I am such a failure.

So I appear to be becoming a compulsive liar.

Only of course, being me, it's not for something like getting sympathy or free stuff out of people. No, I have to be the kind of compulsive liar who always says "It's okay" even when that's not actually true at all.

So a couple days ago the program people told me that they'd gotten a letter from my host family saying that there were problems, and they thought I should move somewhere else. And they've been setting up for me to go live in basically a dorm. And I nodded and said, "It's okay", because like hell I'm going to whine and complain and insist on staying somewhere I'm not wanted.

But then this evening Barbara comes to my room and says that she doesn't want me to think she was fed up anyway, she just told the program about money problems I've been having (*expletive deleted* bank card) and that, though the program seriously encourages her to do things with me, I'm not...a very do-things-with-y person, and she didn't want me to be going home in three months having been miserable and not told anyone. And she said that if I thought living in a dorm-oid-product would be better, that's great, but I did come to this decision with the program, right, so it should be okay? And I nodded and said, "It's okay", because...fuck if I know why.

Because no, I don't want to leave. And I wasn't unhappy. I'm unhappy now, because I'm getting kicked out! I like it here, and they're nice, and I like them, and I've been trying to de-shell-ify, because I don't want them to think I don't appreciate how nice they've been. But now I've said, "It's okay", because I didn't get the impression the program was presenting me with any kind of choice. So how do I go about explaining that no, it's not okay, I hate moving and by the way you totally misrepresented the situation to me?

Pie for lunch, pie after dinner, pie presumably for breakfast tomorrow. Yay.

No, I did not drop off the earth, or even the Internet. I've been here, just not writing much. There's nothing to say.

Some days I just want to scream. Some days I want to grab someone by the throat and claw their eyes out or hit them until they beg me to stop. Some days I just...don't get it. How can I go from humour to anger so fast?

I can't scream--oh, wait. I can. There's no one here.

That feels better.