Shush!
Summer Days Not In Grease
June 17, 2006
So I’m sitting upstairs reading Catcher in the Rye. I have to read it for school but I wanted to read it anyway. You know, that sort of thing. I want to read it so I’m reading it because I want to, not because I have to. I won’t remember it at the end of the summer but it’s all right I might have time to read it again. No I won’t. It’s Billie Joe Armstrong’s favorite book. That’s why I wanted to read it. He even wrote a song for it called Who Wrote Holden Caulfield? I think it’s my favorite song on Kerplunk. Jessica, my friend who also loves Green Day, likes Christy Road. Damn, there’re all great. It’s a great book too. I could hardly put it down. Whenever I read a book like that, it makes me want to start talking and thinking like the way it’s written. Just like this. Broken up. Just like I’m thinking. I like that. I really do. There’s a lot of that. What I really like about it is the little things he says and points out. And more than once.
Why can’t everyone shut-up? I was upstairs talking to myself again and I thought I would come downstairs and get it all out but I can’t think anymore and I can’t type fast enough to remember it all. All the little things I should write down. It’s like taking pictures. I was at the graduation for last year’s class, 2006, and I took a fuzzy picture from way the fuck across the lawn. When it didn’t work, I put the camera away. I looked at the picture just twenty minutes ago. Would I remember this? Do I need the picture? So I hurried and deleted it before I did need it. Then I snapped random pictures around the room with the flash off to save batteries. Then I got a few of me. I flipped through them all and then formatted the card. Deleted them all. Was there a point? It was like I planed it out too. I knew what I was going to do and I just did it.
After that I started talking to myself about it. I do that all the time. I can talk to my posters. Billie Joe in particular. Or I imagine Billie Joe in some way. Sometimes he’s his current age sometimes younger. Or sometimes he’s the way he is in my take off story of Shalark or in my Sweet Children one. There’s other people too but Billie seems to be the focus off all day dreams and stories I write for the last year and a half at least. Shit, I am in love with him and he doesn’t know I exist. He knows people like me exist. Those are the people he writes for. He’s like them. In a way, he writes for me. I guess we are pretty similar. I just went off topic again. I guess this is why Salinger repeats so much when he writes. You get off topic and forget.
Anyway, when I talk to Billie or Adam, a guy I loved, and still do I suppose, I am really just talking and mumbling to myself under my breath. I wonder sometimes if anyone hears. I’m loud sometimes too. Like when I’m drunk. I need to stop getting drunk. I stunt my growth. I’m only 5’1”. An inch shorter than my mom. I’m seventeen in four days too. When I get talking to myself, it’s hard to stop. I do it a lot in the shower. That’s the place where no one sees. I cry a lot in there; for all reasons. I could not list them if I tried. All the time. I hate it, but once I get started, I can’t leave. I have mental breakdowns in there because there is nothing left to distract me. I wish I could masturbate in there like guys. It would be convenient, but I don’t do it that way. I have to be lying on my stomach. Once in a while on the bathroom floor is enough when I’m really horny and can’t do it in bed because my younger sister is awake. Yeah, I do it in my room with my sister sleeping fifteen fucking feet away. Don’t blame me. I’m 16 remember. Almost 17. I always don’t think she heard when I do it. She’s a sound sleeper and I’m pretty quiet except the bed creeks. Fuck, this sounds funny to say somewhere. It’s the sort of thing that is always in my head. It’s something I tell Billie Joe and he finds it hot. I laugh. He wouldn’t.
You see, Billie loved everything about me. Things I don’t like too. I love everything about him. Bad habits and all. There’re cute. Especially my hair, I have big stripes of color in it. Until about two weeks ago, it was bright red. Now it’s blue. My dad asked me at the diner table which I liked better. I said I liked them both the same. He tried to tell me to do both on either sides of my head a different color. Stupid idea. I told him it would look cartoonish and I have to like it. It has to be weirdness with style. That’s just cartoonish. If I really did that he would freak. Does he even fucking think about what he is saying? Then mom said she liked red better. See, red fades to pink and blue sort of faded to gray. Then dad changed his mind in the way he always does and said he actually liked the red better too. Why the fuck does he always do that? I hate it. It bugs the fucking hell out of me. Does he actually think that and did not want to say anything and only now that my mother said it is it aloud? Or does he think agreeing with my mom is the correct answer? It’s not like he will get anything out of it so why the hell does he have to say anything at all? It really fucking pisses me off. You know that.
June 18, 2006
I have tried to say something a few times about the way he does things like that. I told him once to stop yelling at me. He said he wasn’t yelling. Not out loud he wasn’t, but he was talking. My friend Joanna understands what I’m talking about. When someone is talking to you meanly or sternly. It can't be considered yelling I guess, but that's what it feels like when they're attacking you.
June 23, 2006
I think I have known what masturbation is for a long enough time now and considered the fact that I am horny for a long enough time to get sick of it. I can look back now and I see there was a change somewhere along the line. Not all at once but slowly. Not to say there are not the days where I am wondering around the house because I am so fucking horny and I’m watching That 70’s Show where they laugh about it and I laugh to when Fez runs into the other room to hide in a closet when one of the girls does something sexy. I understand. I get the joke. I have for awhile now. It makes me laugh all the more because I feel his pain, but it also makes me want to cry. For the same reason. I feel his pain but this is an act. An act and I’m sure Wilmer, the actor for Fez (I believe that’s his name), would have gone through that phase like the rest of us, but I’m living through it right now. That’s just not fair. It’s not fair at all.
Before, feeling horny wasn’t great. In fact, it sucked, but at the same time it was kind of fun. Now it’s changed though. I’m sicker of it than I was then. When masturbation’s lost its fun and you’re fucking lonely. Then again, you still do it. You may be sick and tired of it and all that shit, but what else is there to do? It’s that or do nothing at all and then that’s just really depressing. I guess that’s why I started writing. When my friend Mary, who was writing this story called Shalark, gave me my character Delphine in freshman year and then a boyfriend, a sweet classic lover-boy boyfriend, I ended up taking him, Keelin, to a whole new level. I made us 25 and wrote my own side stories. I skipped around a lot and wrote what I wanted. I think I got to be a better writer that way. I mean, I still suck, but I’m better than I was a very least. I write what I want exactly and then I have it to read latter. No more skipping to the good parts. It’s all good. It’s fun to when I forget what I wrote and find it later. Now I have brought the story back down to my own age, 17 or 18. Anything could happen now. It’s not going to but it could legally work now. Then I changed Keelin a little. I made him look exactly like Billie Joe Armstrong. I did. Just for fun really. Just to see. No one I know is ever going to read this anyway. Then I changed it again. I decided, why don’t I just call Keelin Billie Joe from now on? So I did. It stuck too. Now I write about Delphine and Billie. I blocked out all the other friends we had made up so it’s just me, Richelle (Joanna) and Brites (Mary). They sort of took on different characters after that. Brites and Richelle became pretty much the George and Bess to Delphine’s Nancy Drew. It was scary. Then Leethbit (Brites’ protector) became Mike and they became a couple. Then Tre became Craisel for Richelle. It was absolutely perfect. The characters where practically the same anyway. I guess Billie, Mike and Tre became Ned, Dave and Burt. Fuck, it’s all just one big Nancy Drew story except I tried to make them eat less. It hasn’t worked so far.
So just now I was reading this story written by a girl online at GeekStinkBreath.com. It’s a Green Day fan site. It’s a haven for the writers that write about the band members for fun. Ironic. I found it last month when I wanted to read other people’s work like mine. I mean, there had to be some other people out there who did this sort of stupid thing. I did. Not to many of us are particularly good but we are all coming from the same place. Some get better grades than others and some have more family problems and some are out of school and older. We all love the band beyond all reason. So I was just reading from one girl who made up a pretty short story about her best 17th birthday party. Mine was just two days ago. Hey, Adam’s birthday is today. That figures. Anyhow, it is not a very good story but it’s one of the fantasies that hooks you and for some reason you keep reading and ignore how sickly sweet it is most of the time. She fixed all the rules so she is 17, Billie Joe and the guys are 20. It’s after American Idiot and they all just happen to show up at her door. On top of that, Billie immediately falls in love with the girl at first sight. It’s sickening. But then, it’s my dream. I made up this story before. About how I’m 17, exactly and he is 19 or 20 even though it is after American Idiot. Stupid huh? Yeah, and I changed it later so it was still me and Billie. I’m 17 and 18 and he’s 19 and they are Sweet Children. They’re just starting out. Again, I’m Delphine and I have Billie.
Oh yes, I forgot to say that Mary’s story was a total fantasy. I got to be a fairy, Brites is a werewolf, Richelle a shapeshifter, Keelin a fairy, etc. Well, I sort of have a lot of versions going. One has a bit of magic and the other has none but it’s still me, Brites and Richelle. In that one, Sweet Children starts off by going on tour for the first time after we graduate. Nope, no college and shit. Billie drops out too. We just go. I will marry him and we don’t worry. Then they become Green Day later and hit it big. What I love most is I can do anything I want. I even got a tattoo. The heart grenade like I plan to get.
So, I’m reading her version, thinking it’s just not quite as good as how I would do it, but not to blame her, and then I catch a line like this: “I loved looking into his deep green eyes. They gave me a sense of comfort and they made me feel safe. Billie came closer and kissed me again. He must have seen something in me because he just let me stay in has arms as long as I wanted to. I felt safe. I felt like someone finally cared.” That hit me. It made me stop and read it over again. Suddenly, I can fully connect to this person. They are coming from the same place as me. I know nothing else about them but I know they are feeling as I do.
It’s not that no one actually cared. There were parents, siblings and friends. Parents understood the least. I’m actually pretty good with my siblings. We fight constantly but we know each other. But then there are things you don’t say that you tell you’re friends. No one completely understands. Then there at the things that you tell to no one. The things you wish to hell you could just say. One of them being, I’m horny. You don’t always have to say it even. That’s what sex is for. It’s so fucking frustrating. Makes me feel better to know I’m not the only one in the world feeling like total shit all the time who isn’t medically depressed and has no way of getting medication. Wait, medication. I suppose that’s why teenagers drink and get high all the time. Medication. That’s why I drink anyway. It’s hella fun. Plus, instead of not knowing what happened during that time, I tend to remember what I did drunk a lot better than when I was sober. Sad huh? Sad but true.
So I’m sitting upstairs reading Catcher in the Rye. I have to read it for school but I wanted to read it anyway. You know, that sort of thing. I want to read it so I’m reading it because I want to, not because I have to. I won’t remember it at the end of the summer but it’s all right I might have time to read it again. No I won’t. It’s Billie Joe Armstrong’s favorite book. That’s why I wanted to read it. He even wrote a song for it called Who Wrote Holden Caulfield? I think it’s my favorite song on Kerplunk. Jessica, my friend who also loves Green Day, likes Christy Road. Damn, there’re all great. It’s a great book too. I could hardly put it down. Whenever I read a book like that, it makes me want to start talking and thinking like the way it’s written. Just like this. Broken up. Just like I’m thinking. I like that. I really do. There’s a lot of that. What I really like about it is the little things he says and points out. And more than once.
Why can’t everyone shut-up? I was upstairs talking to myself again and I thought I would come downstairs and get it all out but I can’t think anymore and I can’t type fast enough to remember it all. All the little things I should write down. It’s like taking pictures. I was at the graduation for last year’s class, 2006, and I took a fuzzy picture from way the fuck across the lawn. When it didn’t work, I put the camera away. I looked at the picture just twenty minutes ago. Would I remember this? Do I need the picture? So I hurried and deleted it before I did need it. Then I snapped random pictures around the room with the flash off to save batteries. Then I got a few of me. I flipped through them all and then formatted the card. Deleted them all. Was there a point? It was like I planed it out too. I knew what I was going to do and I just did it.
After that I started talking to myself about it. I do that all the time. I can talk to my posters. Billie Joe in particular. Or I imagine Billie Joe in some way. Sometimes he’s his current age sometimes younger. Or sometimes he’s the way he is in my take off story of Shalark or in my Sweet Children one. There’s other people too but Billie seems to be the focus off all day dreams and stories I write for the last year and a half at least. Shit, I am in love with him and he doesn’t know I exist. He knows people like me exist. Those are the people he writes for. He’s like them. In a way, he writes for me. I guess we are pretty similar. I just went off topic again. I guess this is why Salinger repeats so much when he writes. You get off topic and forget.
Anyway, when I talk to Billie or Adam, a guy I loved, and still do I suppose, I am really just talking and mumbling to myself under my breath. I wonder sometimes if anyone hears. I’m loud sometimes too. Like when I’m drunk. I need to stop getting drunk. I stunt my growth. I’m only 5’1”. An inch shorter than my mom. I’m seventeen in four days too. When I get talking to myself, it’s hard to stop. I do it a lot in the shower. That’s the place where no one sees. I cry a lot in there; for all reasons. I could not list them if I tried. All the time. I hate it, but once I get started, I can’t leave. I have mental breakdowns in there because there is nothing left to distract me. I wish I could masturbate in there like guys. It would be convenient, but I don’t do it that way. I have to be lying on my stomach. Once in a while on the bathroom floor is enough when I’m really horny and can’t do it in bed because my younger sister is awake. Yeah, I do it in my room with my sister sleeping fifteen fucking feet away. Don’t blame me. I’m 16 remember. Almost 17. I always don’t think she heard when I do it. She’s a sound sleeper and I’m pretty quiet except the bed creeks. Fuck, this sounds funny to say somewhere. It’s the sort of thing that is always in my head. It’s something I tell Billie Joe and he finds it hot. I laugh. He wouldn’t.
You see, Billie loved everything about me. Things I don’t like too. I love everything about him. Bad habits and all. There’re cute. Especially my hair, I have big stripes of color in it. Until about two weeks ago, it was bright red. Now it’s blue. My dad asked me at the diner table which I liked better. I said I liked them both the same. He tried to tell me to do both on either sides of my head a different color. Stupid idea. I told him it would look cartoonish and I have to like it. It has to be weirdness with style. That’s just cartoonish. If I really did that he would freak. Does he even fucking think about what he is saying? Then mom said she liked red better. See, red fades to pink and blue sort of faded to gray. Then dad changed his mind in the way he always does and said he actually liked the red better too. Why the fuck does he always do that? I hate it. It bugs the fucking hell out of me. Does he actually think that and did not want to say anything and only now that my mother said it is it aloud? Or does he think agreeing with my mom is the correct answer? It’s not like he will get anything out of it so why the hell does he have to say anything at all? It really fucking pisses me off. You know that.
June 18, 2006
I have tried to say something a few times about the way he does things like that. I told him once to stop yelling at me. He said he wasn’t yelling. Not out loud he wasn’t, but he was talking. My friend Joanna understands what I’m talking about. When someone is talking to you meanly or sternly. It can't be considered yelling I guess, but that's what it feels like when they're attacking you.
June 23, 2006
I think I have known what masturbation is for a long enough time now and considered the fact that I am horny for a long enough time to get sick of it. I can look back now and I see there was a change somewhere along the line. Not all at once but slowly. Not to say there are not the days where I am wondering around the house because I am so fucking horny and I’m watching That 70’s Show where they laugh about it and I laugh to when Fez runs into the other room to hide in a closet when one of the girls does something sexy. I understand. I get the joke. I have for awhile now. It makes me laugh all the more because I feel his pain, but it also makes me want to cry. For the same reason. I feel his pain but this is an act. An act and I’m sure Wilmer, the actor for Fez (I believe that’s his name), would have gone through that phase like the rest of us, but I’m living through it right now. That’s just not fair. It’s not fair at all.
Before, feeling horny wasn’t great. In fact, it sucked, but at the same time it was kind of fun. Now it’s changed though. I’m sicker of it than I was then. When masturbation’s lost its fun and you’re fucking lonely. Then again, you still do it. You may be sick and tired of it and all that shit, but what else is there to do? It’s that or do nothing at all and then that’s just really depressing. I guess that’s why I started writing. When my friend Mary, who was writing this story called Shalark, gave me my character Delphine in freshman year and then a boyfriend, a sweet classic lover-boy boyfriend, I ended up taking him, Keelin, to a whole new level. I made us 25 and wrote my own side stories. I skipped around a lot and wrote what I wanted. I think I got to be a better writer that way. I mean, I still suck, but I’m better than I was a very least. I write what I want exactly and then I have it to read latter. No more skipping to the good parts. It’s all good. It’s fun to when I forget what I wrote and find it later. Now I have brought the story back down to my own age, 17 or 18. Anything could happen now. It’s not going to but it could legally work now. Then I changed Keelin a little. I made him look exactly like Billie Joe Armstrong. I did. Just for fun really. Just to see. No one I know is ever going to read this anyway. Then I changed it again. I decided, why don’t I just call Keelin Billie Joe from now on? So I did. It stuck too. Now I write about Delphine and Billie. I blocked out all the other friends we had made up so it’s just me, Richelle (Joanna) and Brites (Mary). They sort of took on different characters after that. Brites and Richelle became pretty much the George and Bess to Delphine’s Nancy Drew. It was scary. Then Leethbit (Brites’ protector) became Mike and they became a couple. Then Tre became Craisel for Richelle. It was absolutely perfect. The characters where practically the same anyway. I guess Billie, Mike and Tre became Ned, Dave and Burt. Fuck, it’s all just one big Nancy Drew story except I tried to make them eat less. It hasn’t worked so far.
So just now I was reading this story written by a girl online at GeekStinkBreath.com. It’s a Green Day fan site. It’s a haven for the writers that write about the band members for fun. Ironic. I found it last month when I wanted to read other people’s work like mine. I mean, there had to be some other people out there who did this sort of stupid thing. I did. Not to many of us are particularly good but we are all coming from the same place. Some get better grades than others and some have more family problems and some are out of school and older. We all love the band beyond all reason. So I was just reading from one girl who made up a pretty short story about her best 17th birthday party. Mine was just two days ago. Hey, Adam’s birthday is today. That figures. Anyhow, it is not a very good story but it’s one of the fantasies that hooks you and for some reason you keep reading and ignore how sickly sweet it is most of the time. She fixed all the rules so she is 17, Billie Joe and the guys are 20. It’s after American Idiot and they all just happen to show up at her door. On top of that, Billie immediately falls in love with the girl at first sight. It’s sickening. But then, it’s my dream. I made up this story before. About how I’m 17, exactly and he is 19 or 20 even though it is after American Idiot. Stupid huh? Yeah, and I changed it later so it was still me and Billie. I’m 17 and 18 and he’s 19 and they are Sweet Children. They’re just starting out. Again, I’m Delphine and I have Billie.
Oh yes, I forgot to say that Mary’s story was a total fantasy. I got to be a fairy, Brites is a werewolf, Richelle a shapeshifter, Keelin a fairy, etc. Well, I sort of have a lot of versions going. One has a bit of magic and the other has none but it’s still me, Brites and Richelle. In that one, Sweet Children starts off by going on tour for the first time after we graduate. Nope, no college and shit. Billie drops out too. We just go. I will marry him and we don’t worry. Then they become Green Day later and hit it big. What I love most is I can do anything I want. I even got a tattoo. The heart grenade like I plan to get.
So, I’m reading her version, thinking it’s just not quite as good as how I would do it, but not to blame her, and then I catch a line like this: “I loved looking into his deep green eyes. They gave me a sense of comfort and they made me feel safe. Billie came closer and kissed me again. He must have seen something in me because he just let me stay in has arms as long as I wanted to. I felt safe. I felt like someone finally cared.” That hit me. It made me stop and read it over again. Suddenly, I can fully connect to this person. They are coming from the same place as me. I know nothing else about them but I know they are feeling as I do.
It’s not that no one actually cared. There were parents, siblings and friends. Parents understood the least. I’m actually pretty good with my siblings. We fight constantly but we know each other. But then there are things you don’t say that you tell you’re friends. No one completely understands. Then there at the things that you tell to no one. The things you wish to hell you could just say. One of them being, I’m horny. You don’t always have to say it even. That’s what sex is for. It’s so fucking frustrating. Makes me feel better to know I’m not the only one in the world feeling like total shit all the time who isn’t medically depressed and has no way of getting medication. Wait, medication. I suppose that’s why teenagers drink and get high all the time. Medication. That’s why I drink anyway. It’s hella fun. Plus, instead of not knowing what happened during that time, I tend to remember what I did drunk a lot better than when I was sober. Sad huh? Sad but true.