@Driftwood: Oh lord.. I just now noticed your previous post! I don’t know how I missed that. That’s embarrassing.

I’ve linked the digital piece above, I have a traditional acrylic paint piece in the works, and I can post that when it’s done, too. It’s fluorescent, which is unbelievably exciting. (I don’t know if I’ve previously mentioned that I bought florescent paints along with the canvases, but I did.)

I also don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I finally told mother about the charter school, which means my transfer might as well be written in stone. She’s excited and looking forward to it. I’m genuinely terrified. Like when you’re in the line for the scariest ride at the amusement park. Sorry, I’ve seemed to have amusement parks on the mind, these past few days.

Distance is a slow, slow process. I still blame myself for every inconvenience, and it’s going to take myself a while until I don’t.

Trying to see into my mother’s eyes is like looking into a murky pond. The reflection doesn’t help any. I have no idea what she thinks, and her actions don’t seem to say anything, when you put ignorance into the equation. I think she just thinks that I’m sad, but not sad enough to worry about. Respect isn’t something she’s heard of, really. Or maybe she respects me, in the way you’d respect a house cat. And that’s a bit distorted, since I’m not a house cat. “Approach” is a word I can’t really comprehend, for this situation. I’m not sure what all it would entail, if that makes any sense. It might be the simple fact that it’s 6am, and I’ve yet to rest.

Oh, it’s easily a small trait of an abuser. I’ve endured it so many times. I’m a bit upset that it was engraved into me at such a young age, and I can’t find a way out of it. Anything outside of a friendly jab feels unbearably awkward and unnatural.

Yeesh.. The election.. In the wise words of Obama, “No matter which candidate won, the sun will still come up tomorrow.” Or whatever he said. I don’t know. Again, it’s 6am. I’ve been typing since 3am. I should sleep, now. Also, my dearest apologies for not seeing that post the first time. I keep kicking myself for that. I really wasn’t ignoring you, y’know. How could I go on without a lil Drifty in my life? It’s 6am. I’ll stop harassing you now, for tonight.

–

Oh, my father. So, he’s kind of stopped bothering, for the season. My friend opened up the art kit he sent, and found a long, sloppy and awkwardly heartfelt letter. Stuff about how he loves me and such and such. I can’t really remember much of it, besides a few unfamiliar names. It also came with some little unsettling gifts. A pencil (I’m homeschooled) and halloween-themed earrings (my piercings closed up over a decade ago). Everything’s scattered on the floor, beneath other things. It’s comfortable to think about, or even look at. Not sure why I have such huge feelings of discomfort on the situation. I really wish I could just get myself to put up with this guy for a handful of hours per year, and then be done with it. No guilt eating away at me, afterwards. I’m still yet to bother log in to my main Facebook, even though he hasn’t bothered messaging since my birthday.

(God – my neck is killing me. I should really, really sleep now. G’night.)