index | archives | notes Sunday, May. 29, 2005 3:10 p.m. << [ Magic is the Art of Distraction ] >> Makeup leaks down and presses itself agains the soft whites of my eyes, burning on contact. I'm staring at the place between the window and the car, that nice black line that separates the two. "It's funny, you know," I start in. "All the teachers at school are so proud of me. I'm getting involved with the recall, I did the website, and I'm organizing a walk-out. All these people are proud of me and think I'm a good person, and I can't even get approval from my own dad." I pause for a bit. "How fucked up is that." Fireworks, tears everywhere, I'm such a wreck, I'm such a mess. How can I even attempt to pretend I'm level-headed? I spend all of this time trying to figure out what's wrong with me, only to realize that what's wrong with me; my biggest problem, is my dad. << | x | >> whatiscopyright.org