Journal

Though the apartment has been occupied for a month, it remains unintentionally minimalistic as far as furnishings. The couch and entertainment center seem swallowed in the large, inoffensive cream-coloured apartment - the twin-sized bed suffering the same fate. The living arrangements are immaculate save for the hunch-backed tube of white fluff with beady eyes that dashes about the room with wild exuberance. The ferret's owner watches the erratic boundings with a quiet fondness, though the slump on the couch suggests one being too dispirited to join in any such feistiness. Her eyes drop to the wrinkled notepad on her lap.



My tutor is dead. I don't know how to feel about this. I didn't even know her, we didn't even have a session to know if it would even work out, but, all the same... Why?

I'm not so self-whatever to think it was a personal jab that she's dead (HA!), but why the bad karma? Why can't something be good and stay good? Everything started after her-- No! Before her! The friggen safehouse! Fuck, even before that. My fucking father. It keeps on going back and nothing has gotten better. I'm trying to be honest with myself.

Good
I have my own apartment, free of charge.
I have a pet. Unconditional love...if I give him treats.
Madrox (scribbles) Madrox...? (scribbles) ?!

Not Good
Punch to the face.
Unsuccessful in the park.
Don't understand the deal with this apartment or proposed cleared tuition.
Tutor is dead.
Frost Enterprises manufacturing mutant detecting crap?? WTF??
GED not completed – Emerson cut-off date for fall app is mid-August.
Just about friendless.

Is it worth it to give up opinions, to flatten the personality that I have, the direction I have to meet new people? I'm opinionated and blunt and extroverted and it's like a bad chemistry experiment. I'm also tricky and I can't understand why I do the things I do. Why I can't even give out my own real name. I have guesses why – it's for that stupid little rush I feel, and every single time I hope I can hold onto the emotions longer when that happens. But they fade. They always do. But isn't just that little bit that I'm able to get every now and again worth it?

If only I could-- I can't make amends with that place - none of what happened can be forgiven - but where is this anger leading me? I still want to forget her. I still remember her. But when I don't call Madrox for a week, I forget. After a week I begin to question the point of calling him. There is no point. Is there?

'Do what you love or you won't be happy'. I know what I love, but I can't have that. I do have plans for Emerson and even a profession I'd be good at, but I know it's not foolproof. I know that much now – nothing's foolproof. People would try to screw me over with this job I'm thinking of. Maybe even they would. I know it certainly wouldn't fit with their morals. But if it could work, if it could make people happy... I have trouble seeing the harm. Emerson needs to be reached first, though, and the chances are looking slim.

And so my tutor is dead, the homework doesn't do itself, I have A pet and ONE on-again/off-again friend, and my supposed benefactor(s?)... Who are they? Where are they? Why? Is this safe for me, or is it a wolf in sheep's clothing deal? I don't know.

I don't know a lot. But I'm starting to look at this X-ID and maybe I should reconsider that itinerary I wrote up over a month and a half ago. Maybe New York just isn't big enough.