futurebird's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thank you. I don�t even want to write but I suppose that I must because I can�t sleep. I wish that I was someone else. I wish I was dumb and pretty and extremely popular. I want blond hair blue eyes and a fucking pony. Okay, hold the pony. That was just self-mockery. I hate who I am because I hate all of the things that other people hate about me. (Lusty hate what a boring emotion.) I hate people like me who complain the way I�m complaining now. Ergo, I hate myself. Lovely. Now change. That�s the answer. I can�t change some things. Well, I could stop swearing. That would make me seem more pleasant. I could stop writing unpleasant things on the sidewalks and I could buy more pink sweaters. But, honestly, I think I look like a fool whenever I try to come across as nice. I look like an ape in a wig. It�s amusing isn�t it? You know, I said that I wished I was dumb, but that oughtn�t be such worry for me. I�m at best clever. I�m not particularly intelligent. Dog-like cleverness, the kind that breaks into garbage cans and steals biscuits, that�s what I�ve got. Anything I do that seems intelligent is just posing. I am the most superficial person I know. That wouldn�t be so bad if I wasn�t so unattractive. My hair is short my body�s short and so is my nose. It all goes nowhere. No one has ever said to me �You have such a beautiful face� but I get a lot of attention for my ass. Well, I�m lucky I guess. No one has everything. I�m really starting to become a little impatient with people. I�ve always tried to give everyone a chance. To help them to see that I�m not so bad, really and to try to see if they aren't so bad. But, I�m getting sick of it. Why do I have to work so hard? I mean, people look right through me all the time. I say hello and they ignore me. I smile and they just look away. Then some asks �Why are you so sullen?� I�m sick of getting bit, that�s why. I�m sick of reaching out to people and being left hanging. I�m sick of being the second choice. The girl you�ll date if that better one doesn't work out. I feel like trash, like leftovers, like stale bread, like meat not fit for the dogs. I am healthy. I�m strong. I work out, I read, I exercise my mind and body. I try to learn about the world, and to make little contributions when I can. I always ask �can I help?� and if I�m asked to help I hardly ever say no. I think a lot of my self. Yes, I�ll say it: I�m proud of myself. But, I must not be doing enough. I must not be clever enough or strong enough because I�m still the same person. I don�t want to have to live my whole life being this person. I look in the mirror and I see a monster, no, not a monster. That�s too grand. (That might even be good!) I see a troll, a humorous, harmless, ugly, little creature that would do well to scrub the floors and say thank you for its bread. Thank you. 2:48 a.m. - 2001-04-29 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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