Well, my sister is. I mean, I've known about this for a while, duh. She's already gonna pop the kid. Maybe today! That's what she called to say, but I didn't talk to her. 'Ama did. It's gonna be my first niece/nephew/thing. 'Ama's so excited.

Wish I could be.

And I am, really I am! It's just too much irony for me, and I hate having to lie to Dud! I hate going to work and having to slap on a false smile upon my face and shrug with a slightly puzzled look when people ask me what's wrong.

"Pero no le puedes decir nada," Mom says. "Por la impresi�n." Something about it not being good for her labor and shit.

I can't and won't tell people at work what's going on because it's really none of their fuckin' business. No, it's not their business, not Zalmira's, not Aaron's, not Alb�n's, not Ruben's. Hell, I can't even type down what's wrong here, because Toty reads this fuckin' diary, and I have to keep this shit from her. And it's killing me! I absolutely detest lies. I'm not sure people understand that in me. I HATE lies. I hate being lied to, hate it even more to have to do the lying. Gah! But I've been forbidden to speak, and if you read this, Dud, I am so sorry. Believe me that I love you. Go bitch at 'Ama if you want.

I feel this old depression creeping into my marrow, and I can't be happy for the new life that's about to pop out, wailing and squirming and covered in amniotic fluid and blood, from my sister's womb. How can I, when --?

Nothing, nothing in the world can help me now. It's like Marco dying all over again. Except now... now I have to lie. And it's just too much fuckin' irony that it was Marco's birthday this past Monday. He would've been, what, nineteen now? *sigh* But he'll be trapped in sixteen forever, encased inside that beautiful black marble tomb.

I don't want to be depressed! I hate it! Doesn't let me do any fuckin' thing! I'm always so angry now. Roberta noticed it at work, when I was working the belt last week. "You're so aggressive now!" she gasped as I hurled a 50-pound box onto the moving belt with the agility of a wildcat. I had made all the other packages on the belt skid over a couple of feet, and I didn't even flinch. Just turned around and kept hauling packages faster than Zalmira and Aaron could process, or that Lorenzo and Jaime and Alb�n could scan and load into the truck. They had to keep stopping the belt because I loaded it with so much crap.

Then last night, Aaron noticed too. The packages whizzed down the rollers and bounced here and there as I slid them over, one after the other, towards the belt. I almost smacked him several times.

"What are you trying to do, make me bleed?!" he said with a raised eyebrow. He was grinning, it's all in good fun, and I forced myself to grin back. Not too successful, I don't think. Felt more like a grimace to me. I sent another package flying. 30 pounds and it slid over the rollers like a skipping stone on smooth water. It bounced off the edge of one of the metal shafts holding up the three levels of rollers in place. "Damn! What if my finger was there?!" Aaron was laughing incredulously. I returned the laugh, but it felt cold. "What the hell would you put your finger there for in the first place?" I demanded, trying to keep the grin frozen on my face. "What the hell are you doing tossing the packages around like that?!" he retorted just as quickly, and concern flickered for a moment in his eyes. Zalmira looked at me quietly and said nothing. I turned away from them and shrugged. "Trying to draw blood," I muttered, but I don't think they heard me. If they did, they didn't comment, and left me pretty much the fuck alone for the rest of the night.

I haven't gone to school since last Friday. My excuse for Monday was that class wasn't that important. Tuesday the excuse was that we were watching a movie in class and it would be a waste of gas. This morning the van turned off on me as I pulled out of the driveway and I couldn't find my damn Anthology of British Literature book. The van easily started up again, but I had a headache and my hands shook. I've become a terrible driver these past two weeks. I speed, I weave, I tailgate like never before. I'm gonna break down the fuckin' van, I know it.

I so desperately want someone to confide in, but I can't. I can't vent with 'Ama, because she pisses me off because she's making me lie! Pifas is out of the question. He's been bawling like a baby and needs me to comfort him, not the other way around. He's old, my problems do not matter anymore. I can't tell Mar�a. We've been losing touch steadily over the past couple of months. Since school started in August, and even before. Both of us work and go to school, so we don't have time for each other anymore. And my coworkers? Psht, yeah right. They're badass and whatnot, but I don't trust any of them with my problems. They're my fuckin' problems, didn't I say? It's none of their fuckin' business, none of it! Right now, the only guy who will sit patiently while I hug him tight to me and cry at night is Midnight, my dog. I go outside and sit with him outside his doghouse on the dirt, and he lets me lean on him while he nuzzles me softly in the ear, or licks my hand. He's such an awesome mutt. I love him very much; he's one of my bestest friends. I would say the same of his brother, tied up out front, but Knightmare's too hyperactive, you can't hold that guy to you for two seconds before he's off running again. But they're both good guys, they're awesome. The cats and the chihuahua are too small to hug. The way I feel now, I'd probably squish them to death.

And so instead I vent by physical activity. I moved my room around. Took the huge wardrobe out of my room with no help and stuck it in the Blue Room. Found my dead pidgeons still wrapped in cloth and plastic inside the very bottom drawer. It's been over a year. Damn. Didn't bother burying them then, don't think I will now.

I'm still in the process of moving all the other furniture in my room. I've been away from the computer all week, because it's pretty much useless to me. I hate sitting here and mesmerizing myself with my own miserable thoughts. But I had to vent somehow! Even if I can't say exactly what's going on. God, I hope Dud doesn't read this shit. I don't think she will soon, anyway, as she's gonna be real busy with her kid real soon. Hopefully that will get some of this shit off my mind. Because before all this mess, I really was excited at the prospect of being a Tiojo. My nose itches. I wanna cry again. Shit.