February 20th, 2003


*swallows nausea* Ugh...

Why can't I just puke and get it over with? *cries*

And why is everybody's choice adjective for me, and for everything I do, 'creepy'? What's so fucking creepy about me? I'm not goddamned Stephen King; I left most of my supernatural roots behind in the seventh grade. Am I so jaded that that I could write about or draw or think about damn near anything and not be disgusted or frightened? I don't even know why this is pissing me off suddenly, since I seem to work so hard at getting and maintaining this image. And I'm damn good at it, I suppose, to judge by other people's reactions.

Maybe I'm just tired of being told, "It's good... but a little dark." You know? I'm really sick of it. I know it's fucking dark; that's how I do things. Even the fluff I write is dark.

Maybe I'm just tired of skinny little teenaged girls in tight pink t-shirts who don't want to understand anything that falls outside their comfort zone. Whereas I feel like... I don't know... I want to understand everything, I want a consciousness large enough to absorb all the knowledge in the world. But I don't have it. I dunno. And then I feel a hypocrite because obviously I'm not taking the time to understand these fluff girls. But should I?

Maybe I'm just sick. And tired of everything. I don't know.
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