The hi-light of yesterday was when I was doing background work, and I was sitting in an outside tent to be ushered in when the rest of us were needed. Hours went by, and I needed to use the bathroom in the holding area, where our bags and valuables were. As I'm on my way, I see a modest crowd of people gathering around; on-lookers wanting a peek at JLo and Richard Gere. I get closer, and notice 2 of the girls are from Wal-Mart, where I use to work temporarily. They stop me and try to get any crumb of info on the stars of the movie, but I'd only seen both actor's backs as they walked into the building to get on-set. Richard Gere had on a beige suit while Jen had a bodyguard and 3 ladies in tow, one of which had a pair of jeans that had "JLo" embroidered on her flabby ass. Unfortunately, I'd done enough extra work that I'd lost some of the bewilderment when stars are present, so sometimes I come off as showing off that I've been around celebrities, meanwhile I'm just use to it.

I took a long bath today, just to keep my distance from my dad. Oh, he was just making noise and bitching as usual. Just having me around makes his mouth flap and his voice loud, and everything I do provokes him to vent on me. Standing up to him only brings out more glares from his eyes, telling me that I'm out of order, as he said the other day, pointing a finger in my face. He's always questioning me about my "acting silliness", and sometimes it gets too much, that I'll blurt out what anger I can't hold back. Standing up to him means nothing. Explaining things to him means nothing. Trying to communicate with him means nothing. He's baffled at why no one listens to him, yet he disregards other's voice. How can you talk to someone who won't listen? I feel like my voice and feelings don't matter, but as long as I'm obedient, and serves his needs, then I'm worth something.

I can't talk to him. I'm crashing into a brick wall that'll never give. He's a major obstacle that's never coming down.

Last night, when the cast and crew were wrapped for the night, I wanted to phone dad to give me a ride home, but I know he'd just bitch at me. As I walked several blocks to a bus stop, I became tense, as usual whenever I'm out late at night. If I were attacked, dad would blame me. A long time ago, I was getting a ride from a fellow actor who's show I'd seen. He'd had a little bit to drink, but offered to drive me to the party him and his fellow cast members were meeting up at. The parking lot that held his car had some occupants: some rowdy boys, doing whatever, and my friend, with booze in his brain, mockingly provoked them. It ended up that they all wanted to gang up on him, but I made sure he didn't leave me alone in his car. The rowdiness escalated, and there was yelling and screaming, bottles hurtled at the windshield, name-calling, car bumper bruising a young thug, but we got away, shaken and stirred.

When I tell my dad, he's telling me that I shouldn't have been out late, that I brought it upon myself! No concern about my condition or if I was okay: pure judgement poured out of him.

He has no sense of compassion it seems. I can't tell him how I feel, for it doesn't matter to him. He only gets annoyed, usually telling me not to get angry at him, that I have no right to, or he pats me on the heaad and tells me to take a nap. He's unreachable. I can't talk to any of my family members, for they can't do diddley-squat, and friends are too uselees sometimes. Sometimes a diary is just a reminder of what I felt, but it doesn't help me in anything, only sets the path I've led.

I don't know what I'm trying to say. I'm trying to sort out my feelings, but I look at them and see a rut that I'm stuck in. I want to barf my feelings, but I can't get rid of them. I can't escape far enough from myself. I hate having feelings sometimes, I can't numb them.