futurebird's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- beast that drives her forward I always hated her. I like to think that I�m above hating anyone. It takes so much energy to hate some one that if you care that much about them you might as well love them instead. Even though I try to think that way, I hated her anyway. Her work was always neat, straight-forward, yes, she refused to used diagonals or anything that created a sense of depth or conflict in her compositions. I hate that. Her work always felt condescending to me. I�d try to strike up a healthy conversation with her (an argument if you must call a spade a spade) and she would play the peace-maker at every turn. Everything was fine. And how is the weather? Fuck it! I�d think. Why is she in the arts anyway? What do you have to say, woman? It didn�t help that she was pretty, bright eyed glossy haired. A weathered smoke-sucking hag such as myself takes no joy in being condescended to by such a happy little song doe-eyed bird. Why do you smile when you speak to me? Is something funny? But yesterday I saw something new. I was standing on the elevator and there she was, in her neat little coat leaning on the wall, weary, she hadn�t seen me. �Hello.� I said, no humour. She snapped awake, I witness the beast that drives her forward kicking her body up to attention. It was so hard to see the effort it too her to pull her mask on. �Oh, hello Susan� She said all the weariness buried She�s even more miserable than I am. Didn�t think that was possible. She did have enough sense not to ask if I was happy. Smart girl. Hate turns to love. 16:36:15 - 2001-01-23 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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