"It makes me really sad to hear him asking if they've "picked up anyone yet", because... well, he was thinking his son was in HUGE trouble, but he didn't realize he was about to lose his son completely. "

-Eric's father talking to 911 operators.

I was up till 6 AM last night, stalking every Columbine board on the internet. I have compiled a folder 362 MB full of video and audio and text documents of, well... you know.
And it keeps growing. There are 11,000 pages of documents known as the Columbine Report. Why, yes, I DO intend on reading all the pages. It's mainly just testimonials and the like, but there is the occasional gem, like the little insights from Dylan's parents. Dylan took French for three years. Sue Klebold (his mother) said she saw him cry only one time (during childhood, I mean). He came home, crying quietly, and went into his room, pulled out a box of stuffed toys, and buried himself underneath the toys, falling asleep. Those things really stuck out to me. And that stuff is easily accessible, if people just took twenty minutes to read it. So many harsh judgments...

I'm having a harder time writing now. I think I've begun to see them as the killers they were, and not boys that my love could have saved.

"People don't usually understand just how psychopathic Dylan was. This was a child who was so mentally lonely, depressed, and obsessive, that he had conceived an imaginary entity that he believed only existed in the afterlife, and that his journey in life was dedicated to finding it."

And that has never sounded more truer than it does today, after all my weeks of research.

I liked writing my story. It gave me something to look forward to. I felt free when I wrote it, thinking, "so what if I sound conceited? So what if this is all bullshit that won't matter four months from now?" I let myself take solace in the fact that what I was doing was normal. But when I hit around 36 pages, the realization hit me: I'm writing about serial killers and how I try to make their lives better, with the constant knowledge of what they were capable of. I am ashamed.

But that doesn't mean I'll stop. I won't stop till I'm finished, and I'll finish when I'm done. And when I'm done... I'll know it. I'll have nothing left to say, nothing left to want and my own opinion will be discovered. And it will end. What will I do with the document? Who knows. Maybe delete it. Stick it on a CD, let it collect dust or use it as a coaster, or let it sit in my computer where it will go unread.

And the more I read, the more I find myself switching sides. Here, I find myself siding with the killers.

"On this day, my precious daughter, Rachel Joy Scott, would be cruelly martyred for her faith in Jesus Christ and go to heaven."

That's NOT what happened.
If this nit wit had the courage to fucking READ, or to open her fucking EYES, she would know that there was no target. Shooting, shooting, shooting. A round. There were 188 total rounds fired. 121 from Eric, 67 from Dylan. It was random shooting. Your daughter was a wonderful person. I am absolutely sure of it. But to think that she was targeted simply because of her faith is doing only one thing: creating a sense of peace in your mind. You only want to believe that she had reason to die. And maybe she did.

You just have to keep digging.
Imagine yourself everywhere.

I put on my snuggie. I lie down. I pull the sheet over me. I pull a softy blanket over me. I get comfortable. I snuggle my teddy and think about things that made me happy in the day, or I pretend I can fly, or I make up nice stories for myself.

I'm gonna go do that now. :D
P.S - Doesn't George look ADORABLE in the mood icon?!

I did something I told myself I would never do, and now I'm hiding it away from everyone... I'm scared someone will see and judge me, or think I'm someone different than who I really am. I'm too embarrassed to tell anyone and I don't want to, either. I'm happy now because of what I did, and that's all that matters.

Just had to get that off my chest.

• Apple juice / other tasty drink.
• Straighten hair.
• Physics problems.
• Sleep.
• Pre-Cal / Physics tutorials.
• School.
• Take Jeramy to Dad's.
• Tell Dad the plans. (Tater spending the night, etc.)
• Drive to Vandergrift, get Tater.
• Go downtown, drop off Jbles, get ticket.
• Wait in line for show, visit Kelsey.
• Have fun at show. (Yes, this is an order.)
• Take Corrie and Tater to Dad's.

And that is how tomorrow is going to be.

What is seventeen years old, never does anything interesting, has no friends, isn't really funny and smells bad? The corpse in my basement.

Ha ha. I meant me, but it's not very funny. Well I thought it was, but... you know.

So if you couldn't tell by my mood theme and frequent choice of music; I am obsessed with THE BEATLES! Greatest band ever, in my opinion. Yeah, yeah I've said that about how many bands now? I am amazed. I can't think of much else to say about them. Here's my top five favorite Beatles songs right now:

1.) I'm Looking Through You
2.) Help! (Single, I know... Rightly so!)
3.) Blackbird
4.) Girl
5.) Do You Want to Know a Secret?

Gee, just thinking about these makes me really happy. Anyway, I'm going to see Jemina Pearl tonight, and we're gonna be BFF's. It'll be wicked rad.

shit sucks lately. just thought i'd pop in on a sour note, whine about shit and go on.
but i realize i'm too lazy to even whine properly.
pretend i'm whining.
night.

So I'm sitting in my bed, just kind of thinking and I realize I miss Matt. ( I miss just being around him. )

Oh and PS, I'm wearing a Snuggie.

I need to type this up before I forget what happened. Zac's (Panic's security guard) was tweeting Brendon, and the two appeared to be in a spat. In Zac's last tweet, he left a number, claiming it was Brendon's phone number. I got VERY excited and texted it saying "Sucks dude. Inbox is gonna get flooded. XD Hello from Texas!" When I got a text back, I was (needless to say) EXTREMELY excited. Granted it only said "quien eres" (Spanish for 'who is this'), I still felt wicked rad for texting BRENDON URIE. I texted back "no comprende seneor" trying to be cute or something. I got my BFF Nicole to call the number and she told me it was voice mail. I called and got a Mexican man. Apparently, in my excitement, I typed in a wrong number and had been texting some Mexican dude. No text from Bden for me. So Nicole and I called the number and it turned out to be a SayNow account. We left an enthused and amusing message, in the hopes that someone from that glorious group of boys will reply to me.

They probably won't but we can always dream, and I dream the things that never were and I say "why not?" And from previous experience, there doesn't always have to be a "why not".