Eric went to take some movies back and to get something to eat. He’s been gone over an hour. I’m worried. I can’t help but dredge up all my nightmares of losing him. What if he got in an accident? I pray he’s not hurt and that he just got distracted by the electronics section. I need him so much. It’s kinda crazy if you try to think it all out with logic, but I long ago decided that emotions are well outside the realm of logic. When I was young there were many times I wanted my father to kill over and hug me at the same time. In some ways I fear that I have let Eric replace my father in my sick need for approval. I need him to tell me its ok and that I’m wonderful. It really matters to me, a lot. Sometimes when I think about where my life has taken me I think of how much it has changed and yet I sit here and look at myself and find that I am mostly the same. Why is that? Have I just shifted my fears and hopes to lay on the new people in my life? Or were the changes within myself so slow and subtle that they are undetectable, even now? Or do I just refuse to see myself as I am. I know that there are a lot of crazy things going on in my head and for everyone I know of I image a hundred more yet to be discovered. I wonder where the fuck Eric is! He should have been back a long time ago. I like writing. I think it lets me express myself in why I normally can’t. I control this, everything. I can break whatever rules I want and there is no one to tell me I can’t. My paper is my world and no one else has rule over it. I could just type the ABC’s a hundred times and there’s no one to tell me I can’t. I decide what people say, what they think, who they kill, who they don’t. No one dies unless I say so and anyone I don’t like I can just delete. Then I could forget about them with no one to remind me that they once existed in my world. There’s nothing wrong with that is there? I just want to be in control of something. After being out of control my whole life, I am slowly stepping into a world where I can be who I am without fear of being hurt for the thought. I am never told I am stupid here. But this peace has come at a price. My father’s anger has fueled my passions for as long as I can remember. When he hit me, I drew it or wrote it or sung about it. It was full of energy and raw hurt. Now that gaping wound has finally begun to heal, and I am grateful for it, but I wonder if the sealing of the wound means the sealing of everything I had used it to fuel. Where is Eric? I wonder if he decided to get subway sandwiches like I suggested or if he went with his pizza idea? I hope he gets back soon. I can’t help worrying. Why is he still gone? What could he possibly be doing that takes this much time? I hope he’s ok. I love him so much. I’ve only known him a little over a year and already he has embedded himself into my heart more fully than anyone else. He has come closer to me then my family. I know that I could tell him everything that has ever happened in my life and he would still love me. I have never felt so happy as he has made me, just by being there. I’m not sure what it is that his does, but he makes it right. I like how he listens to me when I ramble. I say a lot of things that are important to me when I ramble. There is the fact that I say more bull shit, but he’s willing to wade through it. That means a lot to me. He has never told me to shut up. Even when I am telling him something I have told him a hundred thousand times before. I think I’m rambling now. But that’s ok. This journal entry feels more like a free write any way. I’m just typing whatever floats into my head. I’m really hungry. Where is Eric? I love him so much. I’m wearing his bath robe. I think I wear it more than he does. I think I should respect his stuff more and ask him if I can use it instead of doing so, that’s very rude of me. And I should nag him less he really hates that. I don’t really mean to, but it’s an old habit. I don’t know why but I feel like I have to repeat things to be sure that who I’m talking to knows what I want. Where’s Eric? I just heard a loud car. I wonder if that was the tracker pulling in. If I wait a few minutes I’ll know. I hope that he’ll be coming up the stairs soon. I don’t know though, I just heard the same car. It was probably someone turning around. Where is he? I’m so worried. I’m sitting in the room at the top of the steps so that when he comes up the stairs I’ll hear him right away. Wow, I’ve typed a lot and I’ve made no paragraphs, that’s ok. I did not separate my ideas to be separated into paragraphs. I love english. It’s such a crazy paradox. They write up rules to govern how the language is written then they go and break those rules so each one has if’s and then’s attached to the end. I guess that’s the way life is though. Once you think you’ve got it all worked out, you have to add on some if’s and then’s and lots of maybes. Life is full of maybes. Like: maybe Eric and I will grow old together maybe we won’t or maybe I will publish a novel, maybe I won’t. There should have been a coma in the last sentence, but I don’t feel like going back and putting it there. My hands are starting to cramp up. I’ve been typing a lot today. I’ve been working on my monsters and I made a slide show for Eric. He thought it was funny but he thinks that I have too much time on my hands. He’s probably right. I never really do much these days. I’m looking forward to this fall. I’ll go back to school and then I’ll have plenty to do. And there’s the fact that Eric and I will have our own place. The idea of that makes me very happy. I really hate living here. It’s like living with my parents except that they aren’t my parents and that makes it twice as bad. They treat me like a child and that makes me want to treat them like a parent which means that we aren’t going to get along very well. There’s evidence in that every day. Good god. Enough about that. I hate thinking about it. I just makes me angry and what’s the point? Some times I feel like a Vulcan, all stoic and unemotional. Then there are times that I feel as turbulent as the ocean. Is that crazy? Or is very one that fickle? Sometimes I think that is it just human nature and other times I think that it’s just me. You know I still mix up it is (Its?) And it possessive. I can never remember which gets the damn mark and which is just mushed together. Where is Eric? I feel like pacing, but I still feel like typing. I can’t do both. I’m listening to Genesis. I like the sound, upbeat and calming at the same time. My right hand is really cramping up, I should go now. WHERE IS ERIC?!