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I seem
Rather internet-inclined sometimes.

Lately, I've been escaping the house, to seek reading havens.

Jay seems to like my company, no real issues attached, again. Actually, I think he feels sorry for me, always being on the lookout for prowling men. I described my recent deal as, "Dylan jokes; Lev wants to see my tits." One's clever, one's kind of tactless and icky.

I seem to be on another 80s-music bender. Ah, willst I crack out mine Billy Joel again? Maybe, maybe some Liberace (not all 80s, but that ain't the point)? ELO, maybe. ELO would be really nice. Yes. Secret Messages.

So:
- Didn't sleep until 4 AM; Woke up at 10
- Saw Jay for a few hours; talked with that "buxom black Caribbean gal" there
- Tried to go grocery shopping; fail!
- Saw Dr. Y, for a little checkup; admitted to self-loathing, and, for some reason, he seemed rather surprised
- Headed home to call around a little

I don't get people. Either they tell me I'm annoying as fuck, or they can't comprehend what useless knob I am. Negative reinforcement of my flaws as my main features still leads me to open conversations with, "Hi -- I'm the annoying one," rather jovially. I seem to follow that up with hyperactivity, thus fulfilling my duty to duly annoy them.

When I'm not being a conversation-hog, or being socially awkward, I have my charms. I'm candid, naive, perceptive at unusual points.

I still loathe myself. All that whining I do. Is that a 'cry for help' deal, or am I just a sissy bitch, after all? I hate how little I get done in my life. I hate explaining that I'm government-funded; "Um, yeah -- I get $880/mo because I'm crayyyyyyzee." I hate even more the prerequisite, "Oh, I'm so jealous," bullshit.

We're working on.. what, 4 years of being mentally crippled? More, if you count the lead-up to the initial breakdown? I want to take down people who dare suggest that living this life is whimsical, desirable, or even preferable. Fuck you, jackasses; every day is Sunday. I had the mentality of a middle-aged woman until I was about 16. Now I'm crawling my way through the teen phases I never went through at the right times.

Yeah, I love explaining to people that I'm not looking for work, because I'm scared of it/depressed all the time.

I never believed people when they called me lazy. In depression, I do. In normal times, I know -- I know!! -- that I would do normal-people stuff if I could.

Maybe I'd even fuck someone once in a while, if I wasn't downright convinced that I'm sexually repugnant/immune to being serious enough about the act not to make it in to a kind of joke session. Waving a dick around like a microphone does not amuse men. But then, sucking one isn't my idea of fun. And ladies? I'm shy around them. I'm worried that they'll find ME as boring as I find men.

I'm not in peak shape. I hunch, slouch, walk with an unusual stride, have the whole hammertoe thing. Added, I look like I have bitchtits instead of girl tits. Not to mention that pillow of a gut blooming down there. As soon as it officially gets to a point where I develop an extra pack of flab over my vagina, I think I will explode.

Now, now -- I'm like 140 lbs. I bitch because doctors tell me I'm supposed to be 120. Actually, I lie. I bitch because I'm getting back-flab and lovehandles. Lovehandles can be kind of sexy. A gut is never sexy. Never. Not even when mentioned in a French accent to Bruce Willis. Guts are grodie.

I love myself today.

Whee.

You Missed:

*DISCLAIMER
* WHO TF IS ALL THIS??!
* INTRO, 2
* NAQ

Backlog:

Circa 2010