19 april

Our pride & prejudice is over now. i can now of course return to a normal-esque pattern of sleeping and homework and eating, but there is always that melancholy that accompanies the end of a production. i will miss my people-watching and my people-loving and my people-discovering. and i hope that all the machinery that has begun to whirr in me since moving from molded to molding and molder will not cease to whir, for i am feeling human once again, and wish to stay this way. the heavyness of my dead selves does not press so frequently and i can feel genuinely, actually happy.

I am still fascinated by H. we are too much alike to become very close; we are both the reactionary, and sometimes quite unstably "ourselves". but she strains me, makes me work; i sense her pert social ambition in every perfect molded state and every well-turned phrase. she worries me like a strained muscle. (but, after all, a muscle that i have grown quite fond of and attached to.) but still she is vulnerable in ways that i am vulnerable, and even in our shallow friendship we can use and love each other. me, i am the opposite; my guard is too often down instead of always at sentry. reactions do not meticulously form themselves, they erupt without warning and that is what makes me the way that i am. that is what is making me human.

And J, of course, still itches in my side like some unscratchable malignancy. if i did not see him half so often, and he did not regard me as though i were a lingering unpleasant aftertaste, it would not be quite so disquieting. but as it is he is always present, in his apathy and mild distaste; now blown open as he and i have been to the strange addicting fragrance of loving and worming his way into diverse new hearts. oh it is still every time like a scab is ripped off, but i am conditioning myself to be quite independent.

(for this is my statement to the world, to both the gossip-monging and actually compassionate: He has acted such that nothing he could do at present could possibly hurt or humiliate me more than he already has. I have come to the conclusion that he is incapable of even that vague warmth common to horses; and can only hope that this failure will cause us to, however disparately, grow.)

I am very happy to be once again human. The dead bits are still sore but in my humanness quite tolerable. See, how i regrow bits of my Self like a newly-severed earthworm.