“i think its more important to experience everything then feel trapped and stuck in a rut”

“It's so much easier to whine about being in a rut than to act on it”

ha so easily said. I can’t really write much about what I am feeling here but those two quotes describe it well.


I had a lot to say and now I can’t remember any of it. I was excited to come to diaryland and write it all. Now I am at loss, and I think it is due to lack of sleep. Probably


Derek came home today. Oddly enough after not seeing him for so long everything seemed exactly the same. Like he never left at all. Except he is a little bit tanner, put on a little bit of weight (not fat but muscle) but basically that’s all. I mean he came over, we sat on the couch like we always do, we talked, we watched a little bit of ESPN while I zoned out and came online. We play fought which is always interesting and of course I acted very dorky but when don’t I. We got into his car, went to his house I played with the dog etc. etc. I’m just trying to get the point across that nothing changed at all.

I am really aggravated that I can’t remember exactly what I wanted to say earlier. There was so much and now I am sitting here staring at the window and my mind is completely blank. I think I might try something, I think its called free write, if I remember correctly. How it works is I type anything and everything that comes to mind and I am not allowed to stop typing at all. Here, there are no rules that apply. No grammar checks or spelling checks (which I will go back and look at anyway) if I don’t know what to type I simply say that until I do have something.

it goes, I don’t know what to write. I can’t think of anything at all and I am frustrated. My eyes are droopy and I want to sleep but I know that as soon as I change into my PJ’s and put my head on my pillow my mind will start working at a mile a minute. I will start thinking about everything that I want to escape from, and that will prevent me from sleeping. I will stare at my ceiling thinking about nothing at all while thinking about everything at the same time, all in chaotic confusion and whirls or nothingness. Irrelevant nothingness. I will probably put my head down and also remember what I wanted to write in here. And that will annoy me so much to the point that I won’t be able to sleep, that my fingers will itch with every thought wanting to go downstairs to the computer and type away. But I won’t go downstairs just because I know that the mad tapping at the keys will wake my parents, and knowing that by waking my parents I am asking for another endless lecture from them, asking what I can possibly doing up so late, then to hear myself say “I’m writing in a journal” then to see their puzzled faces look at me as almost to say “why do you keep a journal online? What a crazy child why don’t you just write it down, its safer on paper where random freaks online can’t read it” Well in fact I would rather have random freaks online read it then my parents who thankfully are computer illiterate, but not incapable of searching their daughters room and reading her private thoughts. And thinking about that again makes me cringe at the fact that the people I though would never do that did. And I cringe at what they read. My own personal thoughts. My confusion, my temper and my resentment toward people, sometimes them. I mean to think that after getting yelled at and writing some pretty hateful things about them in it, and they read it all makes me sick to my stomach. Mainly because when I write things I often look back and see how things have changed since then even if it was a few hours ago, and I realize that my journal is an escape for me at that moment that a certain thing happens. It is my fire my rage it is my escape to the world and I make the rules. I write what I want to write and no one can make me change it. I can say what I want to and no one can criticize that. It is mine; it is how I am feeling even if it is just for that specific moment. And then again I cringe to think that what I felt, my privacy, almost in a way my own world, was broken into, read. I was read I was looked deeply into and my secrets were discovered. My secrets that were for me and only me became for them. And I think about this while typing and find it ironic how I have this online diary. Open to all eyes. Publicly read by who knows how many people and somehow I am okay with this. And now I think about my parents look and how it says “why do you keep a journal online? What a crazy child why don’t you just write it down, its safer on paper where random freaks online can’t read it” and I guess what I say now is that this isn’t completely like the diary I had before. Maybe my diary writing has had a change in it since I have become afraid and hesitant after having my diary read into and my thought known, my personal thoughts. Maybe this diary I have online isn’t a “real diary” maybe it is just something I like to write in to keep my self partially sane. All I know is I like it. I like to write in it. I find it almost in a way therapeutic. Even if I can’t and don’t say exactly what I would like to say how I would like o say it. And again that is what my private journal is for, and that is what my mind is for. Some things are better kept in my mind where no one can really get to it. And now as I sit here typing I hear my mom say “Nicole it is time for bed” I chuckle because I find it humorous that I am almost 18 years old and my mom is telling me it is bedtime. Maybe all mothers do that but I know as a 17 year old I know when it is time to go to bed and right now I can not sleep. So as I said before I will go up to my room and stare at the ceiling for a while.

then || now

11:54 p.m. || 02.23.03