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Hatred; Weekend; "Catcher in the Rye"
2004-07-25, 11:55 p.m.

WARNING!!!! If you know me personally, you may read my diary, but if you do, you take the chance of reading things you don't want to know, misunderstanding what I've written and being hurt by it. If you are unsure if it is okay to read, save yourself, and me, the grief and heartache, and ask first!!! Please note that this is a DIARY, I.E. my subjective feelings, hearsay, suppositions, and outpourings of ranting of the moment. It does not represent objective news, the whole of what I think of a topic or someone, or even a thought-out representation of any of the above. This I hope you keep in mind, and thank you for reading.

In life, you will work with people you don't want to work with. You have to deal with some low life shit that you will hate. Hatred is a part of life and you have to deal with it. Complaining is a part of life. Is it possible to have a 100% perfect life? I hope to God I find out. "You are a lowlife, I hate you" are the words I just said to my mother because I was not thinking straight and I gave her something to fucking think about. The goddam Fat One may work on the farm this summer with Grandpa and I, bailing straw. What the fuck is with that? It depresses me, and pisses me off greater than anything right now. I am sick and forming a headache. I want to be away from this hell hole of a house and be able to shit in my own backyard.

Lets stay on that thought for a while.

What I mean when I say that, is that I want to have my own house, and not have to live here. I hate my house, my family doesn�t take care of it, yet when we �vacation� at the �cottage,� we clean for four hours before we leave. Even for a fucking weekend, we clean the goddam house up before we head back home.

I don�t want to live here anymore. I�m sick. I�m tired of it.

I haven�t cried in forever, and I feel like crying, but my eyes only hurt. They hurt so bad. They hurt, giving me a headache. Life doesn�t suck for long, so don�t ever think that. On the way home from up north today, while listening to the Alan Parsons Project, I thought about how my future is all nice and ready for me and I just have to get started on it. Well, I�m waiting for fucking High School to get the hell over with so I can move on.

I have an attitude problem right now, and I say a lot of bullshit and try to get myself in trouble when I have an attitude problem. For one thing, I don�t hate my mom�I don�t hate anybody�except for the Fat One. My hatred for her is so great, meaning large, not good. I hate her, she�s as annoying as hell. I hate her, she is annoying me, purposely trying to annoy me. Right now, I feel strong enough to say that if she were to die, I would only feel happiness.

She sits at home all fucking day on her goddam ass, watching the TV, watching soap operas. Soap operas must make her feel like she has a life or something, because she�s getting in on somebody else�s life. I don�t know. I don�t understand soap operas. I think they�re funnier than some sitcoms, but only because the acting is piss poor, and it�s just so funny to watch them. �Oh, Sonny, look at our child, he�s so cute, and yet he�s having surgery on his anus to finally get that fire truck removed, oh God, he might die! I will kill myself. *Sobs*�

The Fat One wants to work with Grandpa for three reasons, and these are my guesses. One, to fucking annoy me, like always, but perhaps that�s just a perk from the other two reasons. Two, to get money, and I�m sure of this because she once looked at my paycheck, because Grandma left it with her to give to me two years ago. Three, to exercise, she�s all about healthy shit. �Oh, these�ll give you calories, but the beans are healthy for you *farts*�

She makes me sick. If there is one thing my mom taught me throughout my whole goddam life, it�s that you will work with people you don�t want to. Mom recently got a new boss, and he�s a great guy, I met him. Lucky her, because she no longer works with people she doesn�t like. Now, all her stress is only from the work itself. She chose the fucking piss poor career as a secretary in the first goddam place.

~

Over the last weekend, I read �Catcher in the Rye.�

One of the big questions I had about that book was why it was called that. Well, I had that question answered. But I didn�t see the big deal about the book. It wasn�t so great. It was about a boy, Holden Caulfield, he got �axed� from school, meaning cut from school. He failed all of his classes except English because he�s a good composition writer. So the book was about the couple of days after he found that out. First, he introduces us to a couple of his roommates at his school. One is a jock, a good looking guy who goes on a date with one of Holden�s old friends, a girl, almost obviously. Another person is a nasty guy who doesn�t care about personal privacy, does what he wants, but is somehow still somebody good to talk to.

Holden then goes out into the city, New York and meets all of these different people. There�s the lady on the bus, who is coincidently (maybe) a mother of one of the students at the school. Then he meets a couple of very nice nuns that don�t seem like nuns. He gives them $10 in their collection that they had, of money. They were probably his favorite people he met (as he said in the end). He also met a couple of ladies in a bar, a great piano player, a prostitute and her pimp (who bullied him up a little bit because he didn�t do anything with her and refused to pay all that she asked for), and he talked about a couple of people he had already known. The book was about him worried and scared to come home to his parents, who would give him hell to pay once they found out he �got the axe� from school.

Holden goes home, to see his sister, Phoebe, and she is a cute young girl who Holden has a lot of respect for. In the end, this is, he talks to her, and she figures out for himself that he got the axe, and she keeps saying �Daddy�s going to kill you.� Holden talks and talks about how much he hated the school he was going to and said that he didn�t like anything that was happening.

This is a short passage from �The Catcher in the Rye� written by J.D.Salinger:

Old Phoebe said something then, but I couldn�t hear her. She has the side of her mouth right smack on the pillow, and I couldn�t hear her.

�What?� I said. �Take your mouth away. I can�t hear you with your mouth that way.�

�You don�t like ANYthing that�s happening.�

End of passage.

Then Holden tries to tell her that he does, and he tries to think, but then he just can�t concentrate. He talks about a boy at one of his old schools that he really liked, but then he started talking about how he didn�t know him. The boy said something bad about another boy, and Holden liked how he stood up for himself, and wouldn�t take it back. This boy that said something that he wouldn�t take back jumped out the window, killing himself. Holden had lent him a sweater, that he died in, but he didn�t even know the boy that well. That was a random story, but Holden talked about how he liked him. But the sister still said �You can�t even think of one thing.�

Then, Holden really does think of something. Here�s another passage:

Talking about the poem �If a body meet a body coming through the rye,� by Robert Burns:

�I keep picturing these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody�s around-nobody big, I mean-except me. And I�m standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff-I mean if they�re running and they don�t look where they�re going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That�s all I�d do all day. I�d just be the catcher in the rue and all. I know it�s crazy, but that�s the only thing I�d really like to be. I know it�s crazy.�

Old Phoebe didn�t say anything for a long time. Then, when she said something, all she said was, �Daddy�s going to kill you.�

End of passage.

The book wasn�t really good, but it definitely wasn�t bad. Whenever I finish a book, I can�t help but feel somewhat proud of myself for doing so. When I was in middle school and even now, while I�m in High School, I only start books, and never finish them. I hate reading books for school, because I just hate school so goddam much. In �The Catcher in the Rye,� the author, speaking in first person always, when talking about an object, called it a goddam whatever. For instance �The goddam baseball,� or �the goddam table.� He never talked about baseball, though, which you would think he did because it�s supposed to be the �Catcher in the Rye,� but he�s talking about catching children off some crazy cliff. I think the book is too goddam random, if you ask me. I�m talking like Holden was. Now, I don�t think that the author is Holden, but this book really did seem real. It seemed very real. The author repeating statements as I am now. I didn�t like the language of the book, though. The author said �though� a lot at the end of his sentences. Each character had an accent, or a way of speaking, and the author made sure that the reader knew that. It was a well written book, dammit. It was, I admit it.

If I had to read it for school, I would never have wanted to. But this was on my own time. I had fun reading it, and my dad was even proud that I was reading it. Whatever.

~

I took Shadow for a walk today, on the beach, and after we passed this scary guy who was watching me, Shadow and I walked barely any farther. There is a person that everyone talks about up north, named Bill. He actually lives in Williamston. Dammit, there are many people who live in Williamston with cottages up there. Bill is a guy who hates other people, it seems. I think he�s somewhat of a hermit, he never comes out. I sure as fuck haven�t ever seen him, but all of my neighbor�s up there complain and complain about him because he hates people coming down to his beach. Well, anyways, Shadow and I were walking past SOMEone, and then Shadow decides to do a number 2 on his beach, where there used to be a bunch of seagulls (they flew away as I walked by them). To do a �number 2,� means to take a shit, if you don�t know. I hope you would, but I need to say that anyways.

I panicked, there was this man, who I thought was Bill, and it scared the hell outta me. I panicked. I have seen my dad cover up the shit in the sand, but I didn�t because I panicked. �God damn you, Shadow� I almost yelled at her. Well, now I was too damn pissed off at her, and I couldn�t think straight. When I take walks, I go out there to think about stuff. To think about shit, but not THAT kind of shit, dammit! So we turned around, and as I walked by this scary tall guy, with dark hair, who damn reminded me of Saddam Hussein, and I kinda smiled at him, though I was wearing sunglasses. I was able to make it look like I was smiling although I was quite pissed off at the dog. The only reason I was smiling was because I was trying to be friendly. Then I said �Hello,� and he said nothing back. He barely smiled at me, but said nothing and continued his little walk. He had been standing until Shadow went number 2 on the beach, and now he was walking the same way I had been before Shadow and I turned around. So he was walking where he would see where Shadow did her business.

When I got far enough away from him, I turned around and looked at him. He appeared to be standing over Shadow�s number 2, and just staring at it. If it was Bill, I�m afraid that he would have done something with it to try and make a law or something so no dogs would be allowed on the beach. I may have gotten myself into some trouble. I told my mom just now, after I told her that I didn�t mean what I said about hating her. She kinda laughed, but she also said that Bill was short, with white hair. So I don�t know if it was the same guy. I mighta pictured him wrong, but he damn well scared me. I was afraid of him.

So my weekend up north was plenty of walks on the beach, all of them without Shadow, except for today�s short walk. I got much tanner, but used sun screen, so I don�t get skin cancer when I�m older. Diana had a friend up there, and they were telling me to shut up way too much. Her friend is actually a little brat. I�m trying to be funny, and they think they�re mature by telling me to shut up. I don�t get it. I have a lot of time to think and read up north. At night, we always watch movies. Last night, the girls fell asleep to �Anger Management,� so I watched �Bad Boys II,� and had a lot of fun watching the movie, by myself.

The northern lights were amazing, I have to admit. We saw them this weekend. They are very faint, but once you spot them, you can see how great they are. That was really amazing to see. They�re hard to see at first only. My parents watched them for hours, which I don�t really understand. The Fat One said that the northern lights were �frequencies,� you know, radio waves. I swear to God, she is fucking retarded. She�s a retard. She asked me if I had ever seen the movie �Frequency,� which makes the radio waves look like northern lights. You cannot see radio waves.

The northern lights are some kind of light reflecting off the polar ice caps. My dad acted all smart when he started talking about ionization, being the northern lights, but who knows. Scientists are even unsure. The only thing even scientists could be sure of is that the Fat One is a fucking moron.

I dislike the term �fucking� in this case, because it sounds like sex, but I�m definitely not talking about that. She�s a bitch, an annoying bitch.

Tomorrow, I may work on the farm�where the Fat One will be coming as well. I will have to drive out there myself, bringing them. I�d lose my keys if I went without them, so I had better not try that. But the Fat One had better not sit in the front with me, I�ll be pissed. She feels like she can sit in front when I�m driving for some damn reason, I don�t get it. Damn, she pisses me off.

*Wondering about my future* It�s a scary thought. I�m hoping that people will quit their jobs after summer is out, to go to school. I�m hoping that will give me some job opportunities. I hope to God, please God. I have a dream, and I need money to help me. I don�t need too much school, although it would help me go to college. This is my prayer.

Goodnight, all.

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