Disclaimer: You all should know that I don't own Repo! or the characters by now. ._.
Property of Shilo Wallace
Please don't read!
Dad doesn't know that I keep a diary. He knows that I keep a journal, but never a diary. Or should I say not? You see, they're two completely different things. A diary holds secrets and desires. A journal holds data. Wow. It sounds silly for me to explain that to a diary of all things. For some reason… It makes me feel better and I don't really know why. I guess it has something to do with comfort. Yeah, I'm not sure. I'm not a doctor like Dad. It seems like the only thing a diary is good for is to ramble. They don't talk back, argue, or shun you. The only thing they do is listen. I think that's the greatest thing about a diary. There's no criticism involved.
It gives me a sense of freedom, liberty. Sometimes I wonder about things. I wonder what the future will be like. Who will I marry? Will I even marry? Who will I fall in love with? Will we choose to have kids? Maybe I'd name them after Mom and my idol, Blind Mag. What kind of job will I have? What will I become? I guess all of that's common for someone my age. Then again… I don't think I've ever met someone my age. Is there any sense in girlish dreaming? After all, I'm seventeen. Maybe I'll never know. Wow, that's kind of depressing… Well, that's what happens when you're stuck in the same place, day in and day out. It almost feels like I'm losing my sanity even though I'm not.
Sometimes I wonder what it's like to go outside. Snow or rain, sun or fog, hot or cold; I wouldn't mind. I'd savor each moment as if it would be my last. That's a little dramatic, but true. I've dreamt of going outside, exploring the world. If anything, that's what I want to be 'when I grow up.' I want to be an explorer, an adventurer. Then, I would write books about my findings. Maybe I'd even make an atlas or dictionary pertaining to insects. That's my dream. That's my desire. I want that more than anything else. For now, I'm stuck with these fantasies about the future. If only I could do something about the present…
It's not my fault that I'm sick. It's not Dad's fault either. It's my stupid genetics that really screwed me over. That can't be changed. I have all the time in the world, too much time. What good is it? The only thing I do is think, think, and think. What else is there to do? So, I'm stuck here wondering and thinking. I wonder what Dad would do if I ran away…? Honestly? I could never do that. A.) I'm sick. B.) He's my father. C.) I don't know if I actually could. I don't have the heart for that kind of stuff. My condition doesn't help either. Here I am, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Hm…
Sometimes I wonder about other people's jobs. What if I were an opera singer? That'd be great, singing and the beautiful costumes… What if I were a doctor? I'd save lives like my dad, including my own. What if I were a heiress to a large company? I hope I wouldn't become addicted to drugs or surgery. I could own anything in the world. What if I were a grave robber? Talk about a life of misfortune. You'd have to be extremely street savvy- Which I'm not. I should just write a novel about my thoughts. Haha. What else is there to do anyway? There's watching Mag's concerts, collecting bugs, playing with my stuffed animals… The routine gets boring fast. I'm almost an adult now. Dad has to realize that.
If only, if only. I know the world doesn't work that way. According to the news, it doesn't. I'm stuck with foolish dreaming. At least seventeen is sweeter than sixteen and better than forty. I know I won't see it that way when I'm older. I'm young. I have room for mistakes. Maybe that makes me naïve. I really don't know anymore… The older I get, it seems like the less I know. Now, more than anything, I want to go outside. I want to taste the fresh air and take a stroll by the beach's shore. Sometimes I wonder about the cost of freedom. Sometimes… I wonder if I'll ever be free.