12:04 a.m. - 2002-03-27
Not because Iím jaded and tired and I donít understand the way womenís minds work, for the most part I think that I do, I just donít like it very much.
No, the reason being so that I could leave this life Iíve been leading behind as some sort of lie to be freed of.
I want to come out of the closet and feel like things will suddenly make sense, that somehow I have been hindered by shackles that can be shed by the truth.
If I could just sit my friends and family down and say, ďall been a lie,Ē and get on with my real life.
I know thatís not exactly how it is to come out of the closet what with the redneck problems and the ďYouíre not my son!Ē shit, but making light of other's life trails goes hand in hand with blowing mine up into monumental tragedies.
Iím getting real, real tired of this. I need to crawl out of this hole in the earth, but Iím using all of my reserves trying not to break down in front of my boss, or trying not to break down in front of the sandwich lady who calls me baby and gives me an extra cookie and chips, or trying to throw out the anchor that will halt the inevitable break down that occurs each day when I step into my apartment in an attempt to keep a line to reality before I plummet into the depths of infinite blah, blah, blah.
How fucking boring is this shit? Why am I being such a fucking crybaby? How can so much pain be generated out of having known such a soft, teeny, cute little thing? It never takes too long to be reminded.
Alas, I donít like boys. I donít believe in god. I am uncertain of the faiths I did allow myself, and Iím beginning to think that instead of scratching away at the huge looming concrete wall in front of me that is life, trying to endlessly puzzle it out and understand it with my ridiculous brain, Iíd do just as well to pull the spongy piece of shit out of my ear and throw it at the damn thing.