2002-09-07

I haven't written since May, and my last comment was that I was in no mood to write. I would have to say that has continued, and I still have no desire to write, but I though I'd better, lest they shut my diary down or something.

Hate every day. House for sale again. One day off in 22 days like a fucking machine. Wish I was a fucking machine (<--- use emphasis to get that joke).

Used to wistfully wonder where my special person was who would always care for me, why isn't there someone to love me. I always thought they would come and we'd be open, lay flat right out for eachother. Guts and all there, and everything is OK. Now I don't do that cuz over time I've stopped expecting it to occur. I assume I will be alone.

hate hate hate hate. want my own life. stop this shit. 24 days til the festival means my life might return after. til then just exist. crying at cartoons on the TV. sobbing over the keyboard. feeling like everything has been carefully stacked on my spine. and its black. I have no space to talk to you.