I did tell my gramma that I wasn't going to go anymore, because, well, she's 82, she might not be around all that much longer, and you should have seen how happy it made her. She even giggled about the "Naked Boys Singing" show I went to. She got so excited she flustered her words and called it "Nukid Men". Thought that was cute.

My mother, however, when I mentioned I went to this show, I could see tears welling up in her eyes and her mouth harden. But she didn't say anything, so I think she's learning that it doesn't help to criticize and heap religious sentiment on me.

That spot on my forehead that was mercilessly violated by the frisbee is all tender and sore, like it's been mashed with a spiky hammer, and, get this, there's a HUGE ZIT there now. HOW? How does a frisbee injury clog the pores? Maybe from my greasy fingers rubbing the spot, but really now, a zit?

So, a little humiliating news, Trevor hasn't responded to my email. Either he's been too busy (because he's certainly checked it by now, he checks it every day and it's been two) with his midterms, he's thinking of what to say, or he's not going to respond. Regardless, I still feel like a loser.

I don't know how to play the game. The "hard to get" indifference game that makes men want women so much. I'm too honest, too forthright, and when I miss someone, I want to see them. None of this "no no, can't call him or email or anything because he's supposed to MISS ME.

But I can see the logic and effectiveness of this game. It's too bad it's just that -- a game. I don't like to play them, I see it as dishonest and a 'chick' thing to do. Manipulative. Maybe I do play them, but it's always unconsciously. I've been awakened to some shit that I've pulled in the past, and I'm pretty upset about it when I see what I've been doing. I attribute that to my mother. There we go, place the blame somewhere! haha.

I feel like a lot of times Jackrabbit has a point when he's upset with me for something like that, but I also think he's exceptionally hard on me and like I like attention, he likes to find fault with me. I think he's too quick to attribute things I do to emotional problems, or narcisism etc. He tends to overcomplicate simple actions, giving them motivations that just aren't there, and because I'm not good at arguing with him for some reason, I can't defend myself properly, I just get flustered and upset. And then when I'm sorry things have gone the way they have, he accuses me of just being sorry because he's mad at me. Not for what I've done.

But how can I be sorry when I don't a)see what I've done, or b) think what Iv'e done is wrong? I can certainly be sorry that I've hurt someone or made them angry at me.

I feel badgered by him sometimes. I feel like he's baiting me, or harassing me almost. When he's upset at me for doing something, whatever it is, he makes me feel like I'm fucked up, like I'm the emotional screwball, that I'm the one with problems. But then there are times when I sit back and think about it and I think, "You know, he's doing something to me here, I can't put my finger on it, but he's got some kind of emotional bullshit, non-well-adjusted thing that he's pushing on me, blaming me and somehow twisting it till it's my problem".

He thinks it's perfectly fine to tell me that I'm too big to be attractive to him, that I'm a narcissist etc. But it's not ok for me to say he's shallow or not exactly prince charming. How is that any different? Why is it that he's the "normal" one that has to point out all my faults and weirdnesses?

Now I'm getting myself all worked up. He's got to stop analyzing everything everyone does. It doesn't help, it doesn't help them, it doesn't help him. It hurts me. AUGH. I gotta go before I start crying and working myself into an even bigger lather. Fuck. How do I do this again?