Tuesday, July 24         An overall view of my personality: "You are mature, reasonable, honest and give good advice... You are concerned about your image and the way others see you. This means that you try very hard to be accepted by other people... You are confident that you will be successful in your chosen career and nothing will stop you from trying... You are very serious about relationships and aren't interested in wasting time with people you don't really like. If you meet the right person, you will fall deeply and beautifully in love... You are ready to commit as soon as you meet the right person. And you believe you will pretty much know as soon as you might that person... You are a true romantic. When you are in love, you will do anything and everything to keep your love true... You are down-to-earth and people like you because you are so straightforward. You are an efficient problem solver because you will listen to both sides of an argument before making a decision that usually appeals to both parties." There was a lot more than just that, but I felt that this stuff was more like me than the other jibberish that was included amidst the answer. Take the test yourself, see what kind of person you are. It sounds more correct than the other (it seems) fifty personality-related tests I've taken in the past twenty-four hours. But, then again, I may be biased and tired.

So, I'm home. Nothing much has changed around the area, minus the fact that it actually rained for once. And that people, from what I've heard, have suddenly decided to alter their hair in one way or another. Patsy traded her usual brown-red tint hair color to a (self-described) "grape jelly" shade, Kelly is considering the idea of losing her red locks, and James randomly cut his hair at four o'clock in the morning. It's odd that similiar items as that occurred in the same time span -- situations like that have happened before. It's similiar to how my aunt and I both saw America's Sweethearts on the same day, in the same town, but at different theatres. (By the way, America's Sweethearts was an okay movie -- abruptly ended at the end, but alas it's okay.)

So, my goal for the rest of the summer is to learn all of the lyrics to Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire", which I saw last night on VH1. It's basically reviewing forty years of history using people's names and unspecific events (trouble in the Suez, and so forth). The song has already been downloaded from the internet and is currently considered to be a "work in progress". I have three weeks. I can do this.

Wednesday, July 18         I'm extremely happy with how my life is turning out: I'm going out of town for a guarenteed fun-filled adventure for five wonderful days with a great person, James and I are doing wonderfully, my job is doing okay, and there's a really good song playing right now. However, there are some low points: my feet are badly torn up, I have to work six hours today (and close), there are three books to read before school starts, and the friendship with Patsy has yet to become resolved, and I doubt that it'll be anything finished with in the near future. But I'm being an optimistic person, because last night I began to think. I began to think about how much I hate the word "fuck" just because it seems so vulgar. I mean, look at it: fuck. It just looks as if it'd shatter an ego. I sat there, around one o'clock in the morning, drinking a Coca-Cola and slurping on soup, and thought about how much I disliked to use the word "fuck" and how some people use it so much that it didn't seem as effective of a word as it could be. And I felt sorry for people who had to continuously curse to prove a point. I'm trying to not curse as much as I used to, especially when it's unnecessary to express emotion. I'm really trying hard, and it's hard because I tend to do it a lot when driving. So, if anybody I know personally is reading this, then please flick my arm if I curse around you. Because I'm trying to be a better person. I'm trying to be less passive, less fake, less of a lot of things. And even though this idea of a "rebirth" came a few minutes ago, I feel that I'm already alternating into a better whole-living person. I guess that's a good thing.

And I find myself lacking proper words to describe anything in my life beyond the shaved top layer. I mean, there's a lot to say about things and there's a bit of anger that I hope will diminish very quickly from the depths of my soul. Because being angry for a while gets to you and takes over and then you are controlled by anger and nothing else. I don't think that's a healthy way to live one's life, if you'd ask for my opinion upon the topic. I mean, one who is depressed will eventually have to grow out of it, right? I wouldn't say that I was depressed at any major point in my life. Or, rather, I was angry and frustrated at times, but I didn't let any of those feelings overpower me to a point of distraught and "depression". I never felt that my life was bad enough that I would have to attempt suicide, minus a few times of anorexia-driven madness (which I really wish I didn't do, or else I'd have healthier eating habits now -- and be a little less than skin and bones and hips). I know that anyone out there reading this that is in a bind is probably saying, "Congratulations, Diana, you're one of those WINNERS!" But I'm not. I'm just trying to live my life without messing it up all the time like I used to. That's the only advice I could give to anybody at this time: just be a person, be positive, don't let the man get you down, damn the man, and every other possible reference to Empire Records. Which, by the way, I saw last night for the first time in (it seems) half a year. It's sad that I still remember all the lines and all the music from it.

So, I depart this weekend in hope for a journey that is a little better than being in Savannah. The Phone (or, rather cell phone) will be staying in this lovely city, so (if you have the number) leave lots of cute messages that conceal your adoration for the color green. The voicemail message I have on there is almost guarenteed to bring a smile to anybody's face! (Well, not that's an over-exaggeration. It's a nice cute little message for you to listen to again and again, and it fits perfectly in there, so maybe it is humorous. But if you'd like to avoid hearing it, then just put the star key -- * -- and all of your troubles will melt away. If you don't have the number, then don't worry -- I'll explain what the message is when I get back, just because it's fair to do so that way. And I apologize for the lack of topic in this episode of Diana's Life, seeing that it doesn't fluctuate much from day to day. Don't worry, my written journal's growing dust on it, too.)

And with that, I depart for the wilderness and beyond. Adios. »

Sunday, July 15         Airplane crashes are freaky to watch, even if they aren't experienced first-person. The knowing that there is someone on that plane, and they are experiencing that level of heat from the gastank explosions is horrifying enough to set someone anti-airbourne anytime in the near future. I say this because The Learning Channel (better known as TLC) is showing a television program later in the night called "Air Disasters", which basically covers all grounds of crashes, including the testing of better airplanes, airshow catastrophes, footage of crashes, first-hand accounts, reactions from the NTSB, and everything that is involved around this horrifying form of death and destruction. If you're unable to catch the program for whatever reasons they may be, I highly suggest at least checking out videos and eyewitness accounts found online. Or you could just jump back in time and revisit me talking about this topic last November. Either way, I highly suggest it to be explored, just because it's a topic that is horrifying and (sadly to say) exciting at the same instant. It's one of my favorite topics.

A few nights ago, I experienced the revised and revamped version of the band The Equators at a coffee shop. Perhaps what made everything so wonderful was the audience. Meredith played the drums (or at least the cymbal and malfunctioned snare) exceedingly well beyond anyone's expectations (not that we didn't think she could play, I know she's a good drummer), James was a master at the guitar and a wonderful backup singer and improv jazz performer, and Kate has the voice of bewilderment. All of the songs were played at the correct times, mixing originals ("Bring Back the Magic") amongst covers ("American Pie") and associating a trumpet in places that didn't seem like it would be right but eventually felt as if it wasn't a song without it. Afterwards, the band got dibs on free food and drinks from the coffee shop owner, in which I took full advantage and gulped down a few sips of Meredith's frap-wrap-whatever. Frap.

I gave Kelly and Stribling a ride to the mall (where the coffee shop is), and it was hilarious. We made cracks at how "frap" would perhaps be the toothless version of saying "crap", attempted to put bubble fluid in my portable fan without any exciting results, silently ransacked a Best Buy to waste time, and eventually resulted to Kelly and I declaring our love for each other every few minutes. And afterwards I drove Meredith, Kelly, and Stribling back to the islands, singing Christmas songs as we got off the parkway, listening to the Rushmore soundtrack I splurged upon (my first CD of the summer, mind you), and the occasional accidental beating of the cymbal in the backseat, making me think that parts of my car were falling off mid-drive. None the less, my car was eventually parked and the evening was quiet and calming for the most part.

I worked today, again. They've been working me a lot lately, particularly since I requested three days off of work and ended up with five. I'm out of town next weekend, which is fab. And the weekend afterwards, I may be out of town once again. I don't exactly know the plans as of this moment. All I know is that I'm sleeping all day tomorrow (seeing that I don't feel too good about being active tomorrow... plus, waking up at seven o'clock two days in a row takes the air out of you), I'm busy already for Tuesday, and I work in the evening on Wednesday, from 4:00 until closing. Which sucks, because I don't like being there when they close (I hate having to count the cash drawers because I despited math of any sort) and the fact that this upcoming paycheck won't be nearly as impressive as the previous one was. The last paycheck was $135 USD, but $30 of it was donated to "Diana's Long Distance Cell Phone Bill" fund. My latest phone bill came in on the day that I got my first paycheck ever, and it totalled to be a little over $200, but my parents and I made an agreement that I was to pay every phone call that totalled over $5, which left me with owing my parents $90. I find the entire ordeal extremely hilarious, especially knowing that one of the phone calls alone was over $50. That phone call was 95 minutes long. When I go out of town soon, the cell phone is indefinitely staying home... so, if anybody gets REALLY bored, then leave a few kind words for me to listen to upon my return.

On a final note, which isn't a happy note to end upon, my mother has a cyst. I know it's not such a big deal, because she's had them before and they've been suppsedly fixed so that they don't return. Well, it did. The first one was in her uterus. And now there's one on her ovaries that's roughly occupying two-thirds of the organ. I know that cysts aren't as bad as tumors, and I know the doctors said it'd go away on its own, but it's not normal to have things like this happen... is it? I'm just afraid of her resulting in getting cancer from this. Or her experiencing any form of pain with this, because I know she is. She mentions the aching all the time from it. She's trying not to let it bother her, but it bothers me. It bothers me that she's continuously facing problems from such things as this. I told Mark about it, seeing that I was on the phone with him first after I was told of it. I really wish he had cared more about the situation. Mark's a good person, don't get me wrong, but it just felt extremely insecure with me saying this to him, he pausing for a moment, then going on to question about James. It's not like I expected for him to drop to his knees and pray for the demons to evaporate from my mother's "womanly parts" (to quoth King's Carrie) or anything. I just expected an "I'm sorry" or sorry. Maybe I'm over-exaggerating such a situation as this. I mean, it's only my mother. And it's only another possible painful surgery and lots of worry. Nothing big, right? »

Wednesday, July 11         Everybody go see Rushmore, just because it's a good movie even though the main character is a pretentious bastard. I actually rented the movie a long time ago, but decided that seeing it not a second, but a third time wasn't too bad. It's one of those movies where you're unsure if you are supposed to feel sorry for the lead character or not, just because he lost a love of his but yet he takes the situation clearly to an alternative and high-flying level. And the fact that Bill Murray is in it makes the movie so much better, just because he's Bill Murray -- the same Bill Murray that I watched last night in Ed Wood, pearls and all. By the way, Ed Wood is a very good movie as well, especially after you watch it a few times and get used to Johnny Depp's exotic emotions and facial features. And after watching Ed Wood, it's almost mandatory to then proceed into watching the horrible yet hilarious Glen or Glenda? I was going to rent Glen or Glenda? today as well, but I decided on just renting Rushmore and Clerks, which I have never seen. (By the way, if anybody who visits this page really loves me, they'd buy me the soundtrack to Rushmore.)

I can't say that I'm feeling bad at this point of my life. A lot of my emotions have been hidden from everybody, just to sort of build a wall around my personal space and allow a few to glimpse any real feeling. A private written journal is, however, coming into great use for feelings and thoughts and actions at this time of my life. Yes, I have a a private journal, which seems completely logical to me. And it's the most amazing private journal that I've ever owned, with the only acception being the Barbie-themed one I kept as a wee one. The journal itself is so amazing that I really wish I could show people it without having them read what was on it. That's because I actually take care into designing what each webpage looks like and how each of them appear to be a mirror of my feelings. The journal itself was a gift from Stribling, a late present for my 16th birthday back in April. She gave it to me, coincidentally, on April 20. And since that day, this little black book has been a little adventure of what has occurred thus far, in nearly three months' time: the aftermath of the breakup, my little schtick with the newspaper, those Friday nights at Meredith's (including the police ride), me and my driver's license, suicide attempts (not my own), conversations, e-mails, skipping classes, the ending of my sophomore year, graduation, James, a wedding, denial, paranoia, this job that I have... all of that happened in the past three months, which seems quizzically unbelievable and perhaps a bit wacky. And now I sit here, typing this and writing down more thoughts that come to my head.

Sort of related to that topic is that the newspaper is throwing a music festival/battle of the bands equation known as Music Meltdown. It's being sponsored by all of these places and planning to be a big event, but I fear that it won't actually take off and become anything worth remembering in the future. Unfortunately, I am forced to go to it and act as part of the public relations by doing interviews with local news programs and radio and whatnot, just because I need something to do in order to get my free t-shirt that says "staff" on the back. Plus, doing something that requires so much activity will most likely make the time period seem shorter - I'll have to be there for nearly twelve hours watching some bands that I've never heard of and drinking overpriced water and watching people make fools of themselves. But, hey, whatever. Click on the link to find out where and when and please support your local indie music, or something.

My original plan for today (which was to have a first-in-two-weeks speaking to Patsy) was voided this morning, so there is nothing for me to do all day except for watching Clerks and the rest of Rushmore. This town is too incredibly boring for there to be anything to do besides the obligatory "going downtown". I do have an assignment to do, and I do have to read three books for school, but that all can wait. I might just go for the cliche "walk downtown" today, like I did yesterday. Except today, I won't bother showering until I get back. I won't bother changing the clothes that I wore the day before until I get back. And all I'll have to my name is a full tank of gas and roughly $8, so it can't be too bad. I need something to do -- a motivation, a thought, a query, anything. I haven't been motivated to do anything for awhile -- that's why I'm doing miserable pieces of artwork and watching way too much television. And staying up until 3 in the morning by watching really bad reruns on MTV and VH1. Because that's how my summer is going: spend quite a while by myself, talk to Meredith every few days, see James every few days, download catchy theme songs, contemplate the meaning and essence of life, sleep on occassion, and work long and dreading hours with only one fifteen-minute break and a "sick" (see: hungover) boss to boot. It's not as glamerous and cookie-cutter perfectionist as last summer's nice little events were, but it's still a summer of growth. A summer of enlightenment. And a summer of everything else that isn't what last summer ended up being.

Here's food for thought: According to cosmosfactory.org, Allentown, PA, have been showing Rocky Horror Picture Show every weekend with no breaks since 1975. And if you want to see it near where you live, then go and find it, then invite me to go with you -- because, obviously, they don't find it necessary to have a midnight showing of it around here. Blah. »

Saturday, July 7         If you had to be stuck in a moment from your past for all of eternity, which would you chose? Would you feel the way you felt when it first occurred? What was so amazing about that one moment that it was worth experiencing continuously until the end of time? The reason I bring this up is because I watched a movie today that asked that question, and I sat there for awhile as the movie rolled on and wondered what my choice would be. And after losing the plot of the movie and sipping a bit of a carbonated drink, I still couldn't think of one, and only one, particular moment that it all seemed right and that I could live like that forever.

I wanted to tell you about us running. There was this beautiful sunset. And there was this hill. The hill up to the eighteenth green where Patrick and I spit wine from laughing. And just a few hours before, Sam and Patrick and everyone I love and know had their last day of high school ever. And I was happy because they were happy. My sister even let me hug her in the hallway. Congratulations was the word of the day. So, Sam and Patrick and I went to the Big Boy and smoked cigarettes. Then, we went walking, waiting for it to be time to go to Rocky Horror. And we were talking about things that seemed important at the time. And we were looking up that hill. And then Patrick started running after the sunset. And Sam immediately followed him. And I saw them in silhouette. Running after the sun. Then, I started running. And everything was as good as it could be...

However, there was a time when a few of us were at Meredith's house. We were fooling around with her new camcorder and playing "O Verona" from Romeo and Juliet, and I ended up filming Meredith doing a really amazing interpretive dance with the music. That was one of the moments in my life when everything played out almost perfectly and everyone was in a happier space of time and the timing was marvelous and things were emotional and perfect. There have been moments that were as beautiful as that moment at Meredith's, but that one time with my hands around the camcorder, Patsy following behind me, Ophelya on the other side, and Meredith doing this wonderful (though I may be biased) improv dance in the middle of her darkened kitchen on just another Friday night... it was just something that I wished was still around. Since that night, the amazing footage of the dance was taped over. It's no longer available, and only still exists in the minds of those who ever were lucky enough to see the two-minute footage of a bunch of teenage girls and a camera. »

Thursday, July 5         Another turning point
A fork stuck in the road
Time grabs you by the wrist
Directs you where to go
So make the best of this test
And don't ask why
It's not a question
But a lesson I learned in time
It's something unpredictable
But in the end it's right
I hope you had the time of your life
So take the photographs
And still frames in your mind
Hang it on a shelf of good health and good time
Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial
For what it's worth
It was worth all the while
It's something unpredictable
But in the end it's right
I hope you had the time of your life...

No, there's no subliminal message involved in me putting that particular song on here. It just was the song that played when I felt a little less of a bitter taste in my mouth. Listen to it. It might make someone out there feel a little less mediocre at times, too. »

Sunday, July 1         Adjectives used to describe me, a compilation of input points: bitch, whore, slut, skank, anarchist, enemy, thief, liar (of sorts), hidden, scared, paranoid, worried, confused, angry, optimistic, pessimistic, whipped, hurt, tainted, bewildered.

I lost friends two days ago. It was not my choice to go to such extremes and be completely shunned from anybody's "friends" list, but it happened in some cases and there's nothing I can do about it without bending over backwards about it all, which I don't feel is completely worth such a struggle in a time of not being even fully accepted back into one's life at all. I wish I was Ophelya and could just go out of town for a month with nothing to keep in contact with anybody with. But, alas, I'm now a working person and I have to face this problem and pray for the best possible outcome to come naturally from everybody. No, I do not want everybody involved in it to think I'm some exceptional person -- anybody that experienced the angst that night at Meredith's house knows what occurs, and they know things that they can put against me and block me out of their lives. If they wish to not be a friend after all of this, it'll be their choice and not mine. I am not saying that my friends are worthless to me -- they mean the world, even if I do the wrong thing and hurt them in the most possible way. I am not, just as I said above, going to do backflips to regain their friendship. This is a test, I guess, to figure out who my friends are. Two of the people there have already contacted me and decided to become neutral stand-byers. And both of them were accepted back into it all with somewhat open arms.

I lost my friends over a boy. I lost my friends because I lied about it all and that I picked the fruit from the wrong tree. And, in a way, it's how Patsy described the bombs in The English Patient: they hid the bombs in fruit trees, and when a fruit fell, the tree exploded. When I picked the fruit from the wrong tree, the tree (and its surroundings) exploded and everything was blown aback. None of us -- especially Patsy -- did not know that in the brief hours that followed, what she had said would become an echoing metaphor for the next few days -- weeks -- months -- years. I really hope it doesn't last as long as a year or so, but I can go on wishing and hoping until my fingers deteriorate and I know that it won't be so easy to get out of this one.

I apologize to everybody involved in such a fiasco. That's the only solid word that I've used to describe this -- fiasco. Because it is one, and it did effect everything within its path, and it hurt people to such extremes that cutting oneself was the seemingly only fair solution. It wasn't. I lost my friends over a boy. That alone hurts to know, and it makes me feel like a terrible person. I know I did something wrong, because then so many people wouldn't be so angry about it. Or frustrated. Or anything. But. I picked the fruit from the wrong tree, and the tree exploded, effecting everything around it. And I guess that's what was supposed to happen, no matter when everybody found out about this little affair. It was going to be exposed by me. I was going to tell everybody, but not on the same night as other similiar actions were to occur such as that. You can believe me when I say that, if you wish. Or you can just pretend that I'm an evil lying bitch that doesn't deserve to be called a female. Or maybe it's not even pretending anymore, anyway. »

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