Today was another emotional upheaval. I went to school about 11:00 and sat around for a bit waiting for the gay/straight alliance meeting. I'm going to be on a panel of people who are going to talk about 'coming out' at school. What a load of shit. I never came out. I'm making a horrible gay guy at the moment, and I don't have a whole lot to say. I guess that's not true, but self-deprecation has a way of making me feel good and angry. I'm going to talk about how I didn't come out. I tell people when I want to. I never announced to the world that I'm gay. I just refuse to hide it. If a bunch of morons at my school are talking about cute girls, I'll talk about hot guys. If they talk about ex girlfriends I'll talk about my ex boyfriends. I've ceased to give a fuck about making them uncomfortable; it's good for them. I commiserate with the girls about boys, and mostly stick to my friends or myself, or more accurately the kids that I wish were my friends. This has really been bugging me lately.

My 'friends' never seem to have time for me. The only ones left are my younger friends, and as much as I love them, I don't feel conceited saying that I'm more mature than they are. I am. I realized that playing tennis with Chris today. He's one of the more mature of my friends, but it's still mature in a 16 year old kind of way. He's mature because he stands up for his politics, and beliefs. But it's immature because his beliefs don't mean shit. They are just bits of silly punk-rock philosophy out of a politically correct book. That sounds bad, but it's sort of true. I stand up for the beliefs that I know are right. I don't swear around little kids; I don't wear graphic clothing; I don't say the word 'fag' anymore; I beat up racists if it comes down to it. But I don't give a fuck about my brother's band signing a record deal with a major label. Or about The Dead Boys objectifying women, IT'S A FUCKING JOKE, AND IT IS GREAT MUSIC. I know they are assholes, but so what? It's good and I listen to it anyway. Take it with a grain of salt, you know? I may be mixing metaphors again, oh well. This isn't just Chris; he's just a good example. Basically all my friends departed for college within the last three years, and are long gone in a land far, far, away. The only kids left this year are freshman and a few other kids that are way younger than me. I've made a few friends since everyone left, but they are all way older than me. There's a huge gap in my friends. I've been meeting people in bars and clubs, and I hang out with them at night. During the day I'm with my younger friends. I love these kids, but I don't feel any real emotional bond with them, at least not yet. There are a few, like Daniel, and I wish Paul, but I still don't really kick it much with them outside of school. That leaves Chris, who is slightly older than the others, but who is not really interested in the kind of friendship I keep with my close friends. It's so damn frustrating, but what can I do?

I don's really have enough time left in the Bay Area to make any real friends, so I'm left meeting boys in bars and nightclubs, and trying to get closer to the kids whom I love. I don't mind too much today. It's just a fact. I'm not bored too much, and I've been getting some action lately. That also sounds bad, but I mean that I've been meeting more eligable boys and even one girl. Shannon told me to call her tonight, but she hasn't called me back. I'm not really too upset. I want to talk to her, but I know she won't see me tonight, and I need to figure out someone to hang with outside of the house this evening. I'm going to explode.

The meeting today made me think about how my mother confirmed both that I liked boys and that I was a heroin addict. I supposedly left my diary open on my bed and she was just 'cleaning' and she picked it up and read the first page. What a fucking joke. I was so pissed for so long about that. I'm over it now. I just think it's funny. Yeah, cleaning my room. Sure, just picked it up to see what it was. Uh huh, only read one page. Give me a break, I'm not stupid. If I happened to pick up someones diary when they weren't home, I'd read every fucking page. But my mother may be telling the truth. I just doubt it. I just sit back and laugh at all the silly drama I've been through in my short life. I'm still young, and if all this shit has already happened, I don't want to know what the hell else is going to be thrown my way. I suppose I'll see soon enough, I just doubt I want to.

I love all the kids who don't love me, and I wish I loved all those that do. But so what? I'll get over it soon.