(no subject)

My brush has gone missing. I have no brush. This is madness, I say, madness!

Also, my mother is a bitch. But we all knew that.

I really want to write chapter two of "Behind the Eyes" now. Perhaps I should, as otherwise I could get distracted and it won't be up for weeks.

Do you realize that this trilogy is coming up on two years in the making?

I procrastinate so much.

Mrrh.

I had things to say. Now I don't think I do.

I notice I've been posting less since vacation. I'm not sure why this might be.

I should be writing. I should be betaing. I should be doing many things which I am not, in fact, doing.

How is it only the fifth? How can I only have three weeks of summer left?

I don't know if I want to go back to school. On the one hand, I do tend to love my classes, I've missed seeing my friends, and I need them desperately to force me to write. On the other hand, I will miss this - being able to be here all day, keeping up with all of you.

Of course, the bad thing is, it's entirely possible that if we can't work something out, Mom will have to quit her job to be able to pick Jenna up from school. I don't want this. I don't want to have to come home to her every day.

I had a dream on vacation where I killed my parents. I didn't want to. I had mind-control powers and I was scared. I made them walk into a river and I told them not to come out again. It was awful, to watch them obey me, blank-eyed and smiling faintly. I woke myself up immediately, and I was horrified, and I hated it.

Of course, within a few hours, Mom reminded me of all the reasons I hate her in the first place.

Isn't it odd, to love and hate in this way?

I hear those stupid actors on the Disney channel in some of those commercials, talking about how parents are heroes and supportive and wonderful. And I wonder what's wrong with mine. They're about as un-supportive as it's possible to be. They don't talk to me about the things I want to talk about, they just whine about how "horrible" Kerry is and how much trouble we're in if, God forbid, gays are allowed to get married. They must have raised me wrong, because otherwise how could I be so different from them?
My parents are not my heroes. They have never been my heroes. They never will be.

I know I will cry when they die, because I already have. I watched them walk into that river in my head.

The problem is that I cry so much now, from hating them.

And how did this happen?

Remember how I keep talking about insanity?

My God, it's everywhere in my stories and I didn't even notice.

Nicholas, Joseph, the serial killer who shall remain nameless, pretty much everyone in "Behind the Eyes." Not to mention all over those story ideas I haven't picked from yet.

I can't believe I didn't notice until just now.