Wednesday, March 24, 2004

Much complaining about nothing
I decided not to write for a while for fear of scaring people. Ha. I'm still in a bad mood, but it's better now. Well, sort of. I had a jazz band gig at the elementary school and now I'm fried.

It was today that I realized the only time I can keep my image up is when I have energy. I was sitting in musical pit practice and my teacher asked me if something was wrong. Usually I can just put up a happy face, but at the moment I was so tired (and pissed) that I just sat there, totally ruining lets-all-get-along "personality" that I have around him.

I don't know. It really hit me today: no one really knows who I am. Sure they all think they know. But really, with each group of people, I'm slightly different. My opinions change, or I just tip-toe around the subject. But that's only if I like the person. People I don't like, I argue for the hell of it. Most of the time I'm the lovable goof who does funny dumb stuff to make people laugh.

I hate my life.

Really, I hate talking to people. I don't want them to know about me, who I am, what I'm like. That's my business. I hate being a dork. I HATE IT! but over the years, that's what I've put myself as. No one trys to get to know the goof. A goof is there for your entertainment, to be disposed at will.

Really, underneath it all, I am dark, dismal, and depressed. I would love to sit in a dark room for the rest of my life with a computer and my CD's. I don't need no stinkin' human contact! They don't even like me anyway. How can they, when they don't even know me!

Ok, I'm getting scary again...

I might type up some of the story's I've written. Actually, they're more like character-writing exercise. I get a picture of someone in my head, and it won't leave me alone until I come up with a story to go with it.

If I don't write, I literally go insane. Yesterday I saw a girl, sitting in a damp room with her wrists slit from the middle of the hand to an inch below her wrist line. I tried to ignore it, but it kept popping into my head. Then I started to feel a sharp pain in my wrist. One of the freakiest things ever. I finally wrote some junk about it, and now it’s gone. Ok that makes me sound suicidal. I just keep writing…when I’m happy its cheesy nice stuff, and when I’m pissed its dark, dismal stuff. At the moment, my friends, there is light at the end of the tunnel…







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