les miserable

2002-05-29 - 1:28 p.m.

I haven't updated in a week, bad dug.

I don't know what to talk about anymore. I'm stressed out of orbit, and miserable.

I'm sick of you making me feel like a bad person because I have reservations about my little brother's wedding. I've found that the only people who have offered me good advice and comfort on this topic have siblings. There are some things that only-children will never understand.

I'm sick of not getting to be with my girlfriend. If we had to go another month before she moved out to San Frustraco, I don't think we'd make it. Love is not Y2K compliant, it's not meant to be shaved down and filtered through the internet or the phone. I've probably said that before.

In a week from today, I'll be back in NY doing who-knows-what. I don't like going places where people know me, it seems like everyone else plans out my visit long before I even get on the plane. Still, it'll be good to see the family and the love of my life.

I hate when people assume they understand what I'm saying, so they interrupt me to contradict my point. I've gotten in so many arguments with people that way, and eventually we realize we're both arguing the same point. Nothing's more frustrating than getting all fired up about nothing.

I don't know what's going on anymore. I wonder if I'm really that big of an asshole sometimes, or if it's just that I'm being made to feel that way. Whatever it is, I'm tired of talking to people. I like writing because there's no reply' the diary never tells me I'm wrong for feeling a certain way.

You know what the dumbest question ever asked is? "Why can't you just be happy?" If just being happy was something we could switch on and off, pharmaceutical companies, bars, self-help authors, drug dealers, big tobacco, therapists, strip clubs, and the Pope would all be out of business.

So that's it, I'm a big fat whiner. It's a dog's life and I have no one to rub my belly.