Tuesday, September 23
Sometimes it feels like all I ever do is lie.
My dad thinks I'm holding in my feelings about this. I tell him, "No, Dad, I'm not. I think it's really neat. As long as you're happy, I'm happy."
Dad says, "I don't think you're being honest with me."
Then he hands me this book. He tells me to write what I'm feeling in it, since I never tell him, or anyone really, what I'm feeling.
You want to know what I'm feeling? I'll tell you what I'm feeling:
I CAN'T BELIEVE HE'S DOING THIS TO ME!
Like everybody doesn't already think I'm a freak. I'm a fourteen-year-old, five foot six, pasty-skinned BOY whose voice still hasn't changed. Could I be more of a freak?
If people at school find about this, I'm dead. Dead, I tell you!
Are you there, God? It's me, Kurt Hummel. Please don't let them find out!
Out of all the women in Manhattan, my dad HAS to go out with Miss Hudson. He can't go out with some lady I don't know. Not some pretty customer at the dealership, oh no.
He has to go out with my algebra teacher.
Thanks a lot, Dad.
