I don't even want to discuss half of what has gone on in my life since I last bothered to pick you up and date an entry in you. Needless to say I've gone and bogged things up with numerous friends and relatives, not that I really care much one way or the other. Casper's gone back to Mexico, which kind of bothers me; I didn't get to say good-bye to him before he left, but I suppose he was more concerned with Uncle Holden. I don't blame him; if Robert was in the hospital, comatose and generally no chance of waking up anytime soon, I'd probably want to be near him too. Friendships would have to wait.
Which reminds me of something I'd rather not think about anymore. I broke off my engagement with Famke, which proved to be a decision I'm still having misgivings about. I've.. You know, I've never loved anyone the way that I love him, and when he disappeared on me for almost three months without so much as a written letter of acknowledgment, I suppose that ruined things for me. Permanently. It isn't like I didn't try to contact him--I did.
I'm in Elfsgrove now. Honestly, being inside this house makes me feel so wonderful sometimes, and then at other times, I can't help but feel Famke in everything. Glaring at me, hating me, loathing me. I want to give the house back to him, but I don't know where I would go if I left. Sure, Aunt Cecile and Uncle Chandler would probably let me stay in the Brodey manor, but I don't want to force myself on them right now, particularly with Robert here. I don't think he and my aunt got off on a very good foot--not that anyone ever gets along with Cecile in the first place. I think she's a bit of an ice bitch, personally. But.. back to my original topic. I think I saw Famke at the school before I left, hanging around with that Latifa girl. I'll write him, when I feel like it.
God, I why do I feel so jealous of her? Why does it still make me want to hurt something when I think about Famke anywhere near her? Why can't I just be happy where I am?
Why do I have to be a bitter cripple who can't be satisfied with anything anymore?
David Thoreau Vanet
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