I'm a fleabit peanut monkey

I've had this diary for like EVER, and I ain't about to give it up, though for a second there I was almost sure it was done for. arrgh

What is with this jealousy I've got? Why can't I be like a normal girlfriend and be jealous of every little bird my boy talks to? Sometimes, I wish I could substitute that for the weird jealousy I've got, which is that of his having had a free childhood. Wowza, that was a mouthful. I mean, it's hypocrisy after hypocrisy.. I hate that he hates is here even after so long, and I hate that he doesn't tell me when he's homesick. I hate that he gets to go out of state and that his parents let him do whatever the hell he wants and I want to believe that it's because I think it's wrong, even though he doesn't take advantage of it or anything. I hate that he can't see what I saw when Tucson was so fanciful to me and my childhood was in its prime.. especially after looking through an old friend's art gallery.. that's what I want to believe Tucson is all about. I wish. But the truth is, I want nothing more than to go to California again and indulge and live life just like he did. I don't know why. This is no place to be a kid. And, I've alleviated some of my naivety in discovering that a childhood or teenagerdom or what-have-you has nothing to do with the self-destructive activities of adulthood. Then what is it?

If it were up to me, I'd still be playing in the mud. Then again, who is it up to?