Boys are confusing.

Weaver: Boys make no sense.

Voice: They're not supposed to make sense. That's why they're boys.

Weaver: But they really make no freaking sense. I mean, take my friend Kurt for example. I have no freaking idea what's goin on in his head.

Voice: That's probably why you've been friends for so long.

Weaver: How did you know we've been friends since we were three? I dont' even think I've mentioned him before.

Voice: It doesn't matter. He's been a part of you for so long that even I recognize him.

Weaver: I don't know if I'd say he's a part of me... although Lords and Ladies know all of my friends are a part of me. But anyhoo. I've been in Vancouver for almost a week now. I absolutely adore it here. It's so gorgeous and beautiful... I mean, today it was pouring rain and we had to take down the show we were doing and bring it out to the car and such in the rain, and we got soaked, but I don't care. I still love it.

Voice: That's off the topic. We were talking about Kurt.

Weaver: Indeed, we were. About Kurt. I mean, I don't understand all of guys to a degree, but Kurt confuses me more tahn most, perhaps because I interact with him more than most. Although not so much this trup. He's been working all of this week, and so I've barely seen him, and when I do see him... I know that's he's tired from constantly working, and that he just got his new (stupid stupid stupid) video game Xbox 360 thingie, and so I tried not to take offense when he grunted at me and took no notice. I didn't even insert myself on his bed in deference to his fascination with the bloody thing. I just continued as I had been doing; hanging out with the older cicas. And while they're cool, I miss people my own age. Except that Kurt confuses me, of course. He eventually came down, and poked me and such. Is that not a sign of interest of teenage male in an old friend? I would think so. And when I did the natural thing and poked him back, and followed him to his room in order to attempt said poking, it just got even more confused. He seemed to waver in between playfighting (much the same type of thing that got me banned from Ryan's house... what is it with boys and that?) and seriously telling me to get out of his room... but how the hell was I supposed to tell the difference between what was real and what wasn't? I still freaking can't. That was two days ago.

Today, too, I didn't know what to do with him. When Mama made me cry this morning, I don't think he noticed because he poked me again, hard. I don't think these guys realize how strong they are. My brother and Kurt, I mean. They're both bigger and stronger than me now, much as it galls me to admit it. But neither of them seem to understand that they really hurt me when they pinch me as hard as they can or pin me or bounce on me or any of these things.

And it hurts. It really, truly, does. But for Kurt, it kinda seems sometimes like it's better to have him jumping on me and fighting with me and stuff than grunting at me and ignoring me and ordering me out of his room.

But then, he wavers between seriously ordering me out of his roomj (to which I'll gladly leave if I'm not wanted) and telling me that by getting me out of his room, he's won and I've surrendered and lost. It confuses me, it truly does. I can't tell whether he enjoys playfighting or not. Hell, I can't tell if I enjoy playfighting or not. Granted, like I said, I'd rather be playfighting than ignored, but UGH.

Voice: So basically, males are confusing.

Weaver: That's what I said, isn't it? He drives me crazy. And it makes me sad. Because I like to think that he's one of my good friends, and just because of stupid testosterone, he seems to connect better with my stupid brother than with his own stupid friend.

I guess I feel ignored. And unworthy, somehow. It's not like I won't survive if he basically rejects me, but it still kinda hurts, ya know?

Plus, wessah leavin' tomorrow. And tisn't like he gives a shit. Coupled with the people back home who don't give a shit, it's a whole big circle of shit.

Cept for my work, of course, this whole no giving a shit in general is enough to make one want to shoot oneself.

Ugh.

More private details of this shall remain... well, they shall remain private, yes?

MistWeaver

PS. I don't want to go home. I want Vancouver to be my home. I love it here. I belong here. I miss the rain.