My headache is gone now. I’m not so bitter. I’m trying to accept how things are.

I just watched Ghost in the Shell. It was quite interesting, but the end was lacking.

My mom thinks I’m dropping out of college by not taking any classes next semester. And in a way, I guess I am.

Oh well.

I know I’m going to succeed. That’s all that matters.

All she ever does is cast doubt in decisions I make for myself. She wants to control every aspect of my life. How dare she tell me what a year in Crescent City alone is like. Fucking whore never listened to me. She knows nothing about me. This is a common mistake: you can’t truly love someone unless you understand them. And my mom quite frankly doesn’t give a shit about the person that I am. I am her immortality, and she doesn’t want to let it go.

I can’t help it. I am Meursault. I’m not even real. There is no such thing as ultimate reality. I’m just the people I read about in books. I am a perpetual chemical reaction. My cells are a store of information. 1% of my genetic material is all it separates me from a chimpanzee. I don’t know. That movie just asked the old Philip K. Dick question of when you have a synthetic brain and a synthetic body and a synthetic autonomic nervous system, are you human? What is being human even mean any more when the synthetics can outperform you in any conceivable way.

What is synthetic? If it has amino acids is it human ? what if it’s made from silicon?

None of these questions have any answers. There are no answers for anything. That’s why I felt cheated at the end of the movie.

::SPOILER ALERT::

When the “A.I.” finally got a body of its own and was free of its human masters, it looked over the city talking about the vast, infinite network… and then nothing. There was no purpose. For all practical purposes, the new life form could get a job at a convenience store. I mean, it didn’t really ask the question of what the meaning of life was for a human or a pseudohuman.
Misty left this comment on my MySpace today saying that we should hang out today, and I left another message on her answering machine (this must be at least the fifth).

It’s official.

Fuck you, Misty. Instead of leaving me effervescent messages on MySpace, why don’t you fucking call me, bitch? Jesus.

I’m bored again now. Family Guy was a repeat, so I didn’t watch it. I want my books to arrive, damn it. I started reading this Jane Austen novel out of boredom in hopes that it wouldn’t be stodgy and English and boring… and I delivered on all three fronts. But then again I only did read the first chapter. Still… all the characters seem flat and I can’t distinguish one character from the other. And it’s not like Ballard, she doesn’t seem to be doing it on purpose. None are described physically. I just don’t see the point in reading all of this old stuff. It’s no longer relevant. But I guess it is important in that millions of people liked something about it enough for it to become famous and get reprinted for 300 years. I don’t know. If it fails to interest me by the second chapter, it’s going in the dump.

I wanted to watch The Living End, but I shouldn’t. It will just made me more cynical and lonely.

I should watch that movie that Ben lent me like four months ago, but I feel like I’ve given up on his friendship. I’ve given up on Misty. This is the season of quitting. A friend a long time ago liked to write a haikus. I was hooked on it. We wrote innumerable haikus. I’m thinking of starting it again, for sheer nostalgia value.

Lonely in my room
Summer is almost over
Why must I be here?

So I sit in my room hating everyone and letting them win. And they don’t care about me. I’m a lonely person. What can I do?

I’m picturing Misty’s living room. I’m picturing the look on her face when she rattled off all the flaws of everyone she’s ever known. I’m picturing her telling everyone why I’m a bad person. Like a fucking laundry list. I’m this close to leaving a sarcastic comment on her MySpace. But I shouldn’t. That would mean that she really got to me. And she did. Every new friendship teaches me to never open up to people. To never tell them the truth. To make every friendship superficial so that I’m never hurt again.

As much as I hate to admit it, I think I only hung out with Ben because he was attractive. Why do I find myself doing things I myself hate people for doing?

I picture him now. Getting drunk with his “sister.” What the fuck ever. I can’t ever picture him crying. All of his bull shit teenage “depression” about Justin leaving. Fucking gag me.

You have never felt any emotion in your life, you shallow fuck.

Blah blah blah, I never had any friends. Blah blah blah, I was fat. Pity me. PITY ME. PITY DARIUS. GIVE ME ALL YOUR FUCKING PITY. I’M so fucking pathetic that I have to rant about how much I hate people as a defense mechanism. So they don’t know I’m dying inside. So Misty doesn’t know that I waited all day for her to call me back on multiple occasions. pity pity fucking blog pity party on me. I hate people who do this. I hate people like me. People who can’t relate to others. Stupid malcontent misanthropes. I hate myself. I hate myself so much. And it’s because of how other people treat me. I can’t value myself as an intelligent person unless others tell me so. I can’t think of myself as beautiful unless Misty tells me she loves my haircut. I can’t think I have a fashion sense unless Selena tells me she likes my shirt. I just want to cry. But I can’t. I’m a coldhearted near-homeless bastard who hates his mother.

Why can’t this just be over?

I just told my mom that I’m leaving. She gave me all this bullshit, as I expected. Fuck her. It’s my life. I’ll do whatever the fuck I want.

I hate her so much for pretending she knows what my life is like.