Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 770. It's often odd to me how one in a non relationship can still feel dumped. Or be dumped. Or imagine a dumping. Or, anything else rhetorical. It's all pretend. My head is so full of fucking WI-FI and wireless networks, terms I'm never going to use in another job, stupid fucking manual configurations of pretend connections to fake servers, it's just going to pop if anyone tries to shove anything else in. I could explain aircards to someone, if anyone cared, but it's all worthless. As usual, I composed pretty words and pictures into colored knots I'm not going to use. Everyone is using everyone else. It's all turned into a novel, we're just waiting for the end. Characters get killed off. People disappear from the story line, I'm just not hip enough to be the star in my own fucking book. I don't need to be told I looked better two years ago, or if I lost weight, my cheek bones would come back. I don't know who that is staring back at me with lips and cleavage, but it's not me. And I don't care. I don't care if this is how you see me, or if you see me at all. I don't care if you paint a prettier picture of me in your head, so the words match a face. In conclusion: Don't ask to see my breasts. 8:28 p.m. - 2003-11-06 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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