D.R. 1

I want to produce music. I was affected by 22, A Million, which is Bon Iver’s new album, last night. I’m not sure why. It was kind of like being in a church, except that the church had large speakers blaring background music that was being produced in front of me. Also, outside of the church, it was raining. It was raining when I listened to 22, A Million.

I felt weird around Isabel yesterday. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because Williams sounds horrible and she really likes it. But is it horrible? And if it sounds horrible to me and not to her, are we a good match? I think we are. I hope we are. She has a sweet temperament and I don’t think there is anything cuter in the world than a sleepy Isabel.

I am annoyed that Alex Morrisson knows more about music than me. I was annoyed when he said he had been listening to 22, A Million before me. Maybe that’s what it’s like for him when I talk about politics. I don’t like playing Madden with him non-stop. That’s not true; I do like it. I just don’t like feeling I am wasting a night playing video games.

Why is everything a competition with me? Don’t I profess to hate competition? I do, don’t I? So why is everything a competition? What was that feeling when Isabel didn’t know if she was going to get support from the rowing coach in her application to Williams? Was I sad for her? Or was I relieved that she might not be good enough for Williams. But she is good enough for Williams. She is awfully smart and her mom is awfully smart, and her mom used a word that I resented because I knew that my parents don’t know what it means.

I should meditate more. I remember the first week I meditated. I kicked Alex Morrisson’s ass at chess. I thought I had discovered the Holy Grail or something. Is that even what the Holy Grail is?

I should start meditating again. I don’t know why I stopped. I am angry. I need to meditate.

I am angry that I don’t understand the English essay prompts. I am angry that I’m not better than everyone. I felt like I was better than everyone last year. But Mia, who was in my class last year, got a better grade than me on the first English essay we had this year. That begs the question, “Was she getting better grades last year?” I hope not. Why do I hope not? What could possibly matter less?

I don’t know why but I don’t like Mia, who is Isabel’s friend. It seems like she knows she isn’t cool but is trying desperately to be cool. I amended that sentence in my head as I was writing it, but continued anyway. What I meant to say is: it seems like she has an inferiority complex with white people. No that’s not it, I’m not racist. It seems like she wants to be a white person. That’s it. That’s what it is. She wants to be white. That’s why she likes to talk about Patagonia sweaters, which are not actually made for white, rich girls like every thinks they are. They are for outdoorsy people. You should check out the New Yorker article about Patagonia. It was a great article. Back to Mia. I think she tries too hard to be white. She tries really hard to be American and cool, and she drinks, and says the word “shitfaced” and other white-people-who-think-they’re-cool words. I don’t like Mia very much. But actually I don’t really mind her when I am talking to her face-to-face.

Also I don’t know why I am uncomfortable with bisexuality. I was telling Isabel that I think I am uncomfortable with ambiguity. It has always made me feel uncomfortable. Which is true. But even though I am all about the collective good, I do not want to share my girlfriend. Wait, aren’t I talking about bisexuals? Yes I was. But see, this is the problem. I was talking about bisexuals and my brain immediately jumped too sexual promiscuity and polyamorous relationships. I don’t like any of that stuff. It makes me uncomfortable. I don’t know why it makes me uncomfortable. It makes me feel like a bigot that it makes me uncomfortable. I think it comes from my relationship with Brynn. I need her. I need Isabel. I need her to love me. It would make me really upset if I found out she ever cheated on me. I don’t want to share her I guess. I need her for myself, which is a horrible thing to say. Or a selfish thing rather. But it’s true; I want her for myself. I think it has to do with the fact that my parents stopped functioning as a unit when I was very small. They got divorced. I guess that means that I feel like they abandoned me in some way. I think a lot of my problems stem from that.