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I tried to call my Mom,
But her cell was disconnected.

Some people would think that she'd booked it. I think it's just an issue due to her being away from the city her service contract is held at.

Mik wanted to know why I was so hellbent on hearing Mom today. Did I really need a reason?

I don't feel I do.

I think I just wanted to hear her voice. Even if it's tired and impatient. "Y'know, [Al-Am], I need to study..." I could take it.

I told someone lately that my weakness was crying like a bitch in fat guys' arms. Mom is a little of that to me, that chemical catharsis.

She's neither fat, nor very huggy.

But that ain't the point. Mom deals with me, no matter how damn weird I get. And trust me, between us? I get pretty weird.

The thing that isn't apparent from this journal is that I'm not a very charismatic kind of person. I'm annoying as fuck; I long often for my childhood charm, outsmarting the pants off everyone around me.

But: Mom. How this relates: I'm no longer the person she raised.

I relayed this idea through a lot of metaphor in my old journal. Stuff about being an alien in someone's body. So on.

I sometimes hate calling family, mostly because my end of it is very unpredictable. Not even I have any idea of how I'm going to react to things, what things I'll focus on. At least on the internet, I can segue in to asking questions about the other person. In real life, I ramble like a mad fool.

If these entries seem long, or too prolific, it's because I never shut the fuck up.

I have shit on my mind.

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Circa 2010