Frustration, Part One
Previous - this entry written on 2001-08-12 at 8:01 p.m. - Next


Collective pizza.

And maybe this IS a drama show. Maybe this diary has become my personal Jaxian stage... maybe there's a Jax Fan Club and there's not much else.

Maybe I'm all ego, no mind, no heart, no life, no soul.

"Whatever we deny or embrace, for worse or for better..."

Winamp is sadistic and evil and wrong. It just started playing "Praise You"... which, incidentally, DOES make me smile. I like being praised, yes I do. And don't you go denying that you like the same thing, everyone likes their ego stroked, that's ok.

Right?

I'm updating while the kitten eats leftover pizza and Caleb veges in front of a fan. There's going to be people here to play D&D later... lots of people. Ick. Ick ick ick.

Eh.

You know, maybe I do go a bit overboard in my rants. Maybe I phrase them just so I'll piss people off, drive them away... yeah, that's DEFINITELY someone who wants to win popularity contests.

Or maybe I'm trying to attract everyone I can, with my ten zillion signifigant others... right?

I'm rather... hm. Stunned.

Stunned.

Want a taste of why I'm upset and dizzy?

Here...

---

You know, all I wanted was to feel like you thought about me as much as I thought about you. And maybe I wanted a little proof of that in your diary, in public, so I could know you weren't just fucking with me. Maybe a hello, maybe a time when you would be on ICQ.

Maybe one or two of those lovely little wordy twirls you do for the people you're trying to catch. But it's obvious that I don't even come close to that. I'm so sick of feeling like I have to ask for fucking attention from you.

If I was important, I wouldn't have to.

So you can consider yourself taken down a few notches in the friendship book.

Dim witted little bitch. You didn't have to spray that all over the place. For one. I'm sure it won't be hard for anyone that reads that to decide that I'm an asshole and should be despised.

For two, yes you do force me to read your stupid little scribblehole, because you're never around.

For three, you've said enough to me, and we've had enough between us, that I feel that I CAN expect at least a little bit of your world to revolve around me. But I guess that's just the same old honey-coated bullshit you give everyone else. You think that I think it's all about me?

That's pretty laughable, kind of like your idea of closeness.

I'm not the one who whores myself every chance I get. I'm not the one who set up that stupid little page, for the express purpose of turning it into a popularity contest.

Oh yes, it is Jax-hole, it isn't a private little forum, if it was, you wouldn't have crammed the address down everyone's throat, you wouldn't have told me that when you are too lazy and shit-brained to talk to me that I should check there to see what's going on in your head. It's a place for all your little fans to come and marvel at you, it's jax up on the stage, and you know it.

I'm not the one with eighteen fucking significant others, trying to hold on to them all...

You are the greedy little whore, not me.

Four, if the only way that I can communicate with you contains nothing about me except condecending bitch-froth, then what do you expect me to think about you? You can't take the time to keep in touch with me. You can't take the time to mention me. If you don't, then YES, it does mean that you don't care, or you would remember, cunt.

I make you sick?



Good. I hope you choke on it and die.

---

...........yeah.

More rant to follow.

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