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834. Or, A Remix Droppin'.

This is what happened. Or, this is what probably happened while I've been away. Or, this is what most likely happened if I had been paying attention. OR, my depression made way for my anger.

My date last night got cancelled. I haven't heard from him since he bailed on my voicemail. And while I had stashed some hope in him, I had put more into someone who was further away (oh, so like me), but I guess he was in a car accident with life and is now left eating from tubes, or something along those lines. (Be careful, you're getting dramatic.)

I get the distinct impression I'm being left (right) for exgirlfriends with better hair and smaller waist lines. But, last night I realized why any of this actually hurt my feelings, because it shouldn't. Not this. Put quite simply, it, this, hurts my feelings because yet again (I have earned the right to say YET AGAIN), I am not worth the effort. Not worth more than sixty seconds to check out of guilt. That's what hurts my feelings. That I am always making phone calls, and making my rounds, and making, pushing my effort around to let everyone else off the hook, and not one of you fuckers bothers with me. (One of you fuckers may or may not apply to you, in most cases it will not. Actually, in all but two, and if you think it is you, it probably is(n't).)

Yesterday, I just walked around the house kicking myself in the ass for being taken in again with promises given with smiles and extended hellos. I watched half of a game, unable to pay attention. I shopped for heart shaped jewelry to buy myself. I scraped dead skin and died my face. I pulled and parted hair. I have to create what I've become.

But who cares about that shit when it's nearly 70 outside?

Fuck everything. I'm bumping some Badu and going to the batting cages.

Out.

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Holla.

10:24 a.m. - 2004-02-11

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