December 30, 1992

God, I can’t wait until break is over.

It seems as though I’ve spent my life being different from my natural self in order to fit in. As if I must conform to the identities of others, interpret their identities and apply them to fit in. The longest phone conversation I’ve had with E in a very long time was one in which we discussed the navel and parties. 

Because I wrote in giant blocks with no breaks it’s hard to say whether the first part of this has anything to do with the last sentence. I will say that based on the next day’s entry in which I will describe myself attending a party, I probably didn’t, naturally, have all that much to say on the subject of parties. The navel, though. That’s weird. I could see discussing that.

It wasn’t a very good idea for me to write down all my faults yesterday. I was angry at the world yesterday.

This goes on for a while about why I’m angry. I’m sad because no one asks me to go out and do anything. I explain that I probably wouldn’t go if they did ask and that they know that I wouldn’t go, but that I want to be asked so that I know that they are there and that they like me. This is pretty typical, I think, for the socially awkward and depressed (call your depressed friends, even if you know they’ll decline!). It was kind of a lot to ask of teenagers before the internet, though.

I then start talking about family members and our names and a story I’d like to write in which Diogenes meets my dad and makes him pancakes and then ends up living with him like Mr. Belvedere.

I made this for you. I don’t know if you can tell.

Anyway, my dad drives around in his plumbing van all day talking to himself in various accents and [scribble scribble] bad pun-jokes that he waits for a chance to use…I think my dad would have liked to be a comedian. I also think that he wants me to be one. I just don’t think I’m very funny. How did I end up writing about my dad?

FYI. If you’re a comedian and you’re looking for joke ideas, feel free to get in touch. My dad has some for you.


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