I'm pretty sure I responded to his last e-mail. It's not my fault this time.

But, I've spaced writing back to him so many other times, I decided to feel guilty about it anyway.

***

I love my parents. I enjoy spending time with them. But I hardly ever see them. They live in Zenith, 20 minutes away. Lynne tells me they come see her maybe a couple times a month. I haven't seen them since Christmas.

I think what it is, is they think they're giving me "space." And I really do appreciate it. I spend too much time randomly fucked up, I don't want them showing up unannounced. That would be all bad.

But I don't want to lose all contact. All I ask is they call every now and then. If I knew they were coming, I could hide the paraphenalia, and not get stoned for a day. It's not that important to me. I'm not a total reprobate. I'd even enjoy it, if it meant I got to see my parents occaisionally.

***

I'm crying now. Crap. Is it my fault they never stop by? Do they maybe think that because I can't even write an e-mail every now and then, that I don't want them around at all? I don't mean it that way at all. I'm just bad at keeping in touch with people. I haven't spoken to Anne in almost a month.

***

And then, there's the whole journal issue. I'll admit it. In the past year, I've written to my dad even less frequently than usual. You guys are getting my heart and soul here, and compared to the journal entries, it just feels fake to say "Hi Dad I am fine D is fine George is fine how are you?" I don't want to be fake. So, I don't say anything.

The obvious solution is to tell Dad about the journal. He could find out all about what I'm up to, and feel just as close to me as thousands of other faceless computer geeks. But that too would be all bad. I say a lot of things in here that I don't want him to know about. Our finances are not so good right now. I smoke a lot of pot. I'm not even sure if he knows I smoke cigarettes.

See, there's a line here. There are things I can tell some people, and there are things I just plain can't. The journal crosses and recrosses the line all the hell over the place, but that's different, somehow.

Bits of this journal, I'd be glad to share with him. But other bits are reserved for me, and an essentially simpatico, though possibly imaginary, virtual audience.

Feh.

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