Sun, Aug 21, 09:07 pm

Is this what numb feels like?

So I finally slept at six in the morning. I got to text Doug for a little bit before I went to bed. The sky was getting bright - I wanted to sleep before the sun was completely up. I can't sleep in broad daylight. 

Then my dad woke me up at nine. We had to practice driving before it started storming, he said. So I drove to shoprite. Huzzah.

Later he, my sister, and I went to Best Buy to pick up a PS3, and then to McDonalds. Saw Mikey there. He's a manager. I thought he'd be off to college by now, but he wasn't. I said hi. He couldn't really talk at the moment, so he said hi and went on to do what he was doing. Poor kid. He's always stressed and overwhelmed. 

Then I did practically nothing for the rest of the day. Exciting, right? I kept trying to write my book, and all I managed to do was read what I've already written. The TV kept distracting me.

I caught my reflection in the mirror, though. My eyes are red. Bloodshot. I guess that's what three hours of sleep does to me. It probably looks as though I've been crying all day, but I haven't. I'm still in the fragile state, though. If I think of anything remotely sad, I'll break.

My sister Marina, the one who went to Best Buy with us, is sitting next to me on my bed, watching the OC on her laptop. My other sister - the autistic one, Tina - is in her room screaming for no reason. I can't think straight. 

I skyped with Doug about an hour ago. It lasted nine minutes. He's in a hotel room in Ohio with his parents and two younger brothers. By younger, I mean 8-10 years younger. They were intruding in on our conversation, and Marina was contributing too, so we couldn't really talk - not about anything important. So now we're just texting more.

I hate all these distractions. I can't think. If this entire journal entry comes across as choppy, it's because I had to pause every five minutes to regain my train of thought.

Author's Note

I'm not Anne Frank.