I really, really want to spill my woes right now. I don't usually do more than one entry in a day, but I logged on tonight determined to spill my anguish with alphabet tears, extinguish the rant with a well-turned phrase, channel my pain into the stupid goddamn diary because that's what the bloody thing is here for. Isn't it? And if not a well-turned phrase, well, then, let me scream and swear and curse like a goddamn lunatic. Because I'm frustrated right now. I'm frustrated and angry and hurt and dejected. And the worst part is that I feel stupid. I feel so, so freaking stupid. Infantile and idiotic and... God! I'm such a moron! Last week I took a risk... and the risk didn't turn out for me. And you know, maybe it's 20/20 hindsight, or maybe it's just a case of coulda-shoulda-woulda, or hell! Maybe it's just sour grapes! But... well dammit, I really should have known better. I don't know why I thought things would be different. They're not. They're never going to be. It's gonna be the same crap whether my IQ shoots up to 386 or down to 75. It's gonna be the same crap whether or not I suddenly become the world's most charming, funny, clever broad, or whether I don't. And you know what else? It'll be the same whether I bloat to 350 frickin pounds, or whether I get down to looking like Kate bloody Moss. The same shite, over and over and bloody well over again. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. Why don't I smarten the hell up? Oh for the love of God.
Screw it. I don't give a damn.
I'm going dancing with Sleyefox this Saturday. If that doesn't make feel better, nothing will. Positive, dammit. 2003 is all about positivity. No more whining.
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