7:49 a.m. - Tuesday, Jan. 28, 2003
Ms Leslie get her feelings hurt.
See how it works?
Just when you need something, the universe provides it.. if you can just see it the right way.
I was beginning to lose the passion for expressing myself through a diary. Starting to wonder if I have anything to say. And then up pops the exact person I needed to energize me.
I laugh at people who say I have no balls. Being called a faggot is a non-starter for me.. but more abut that later. But if you really want to get to me. If you want to make me cry, why just tell me how ugly I am. Tell me something I already know. I have no comeback for it. I�m ugly. Nothing I can do will make much of a difference in that. Maybe in a different life.
It�s a funny thing�. I can hear a hundred wonderful things from a hundred fantastic people, and all it takes is one jerk-wad to erase it all and make me cry. If I�m about honesty, then I have to BE honest and say this hurts.
So what should I do? My first instinct is to fold up and go away. I don�t need this crap. I�m doing fine. I don�t work. I can afford the time and money for trips or whatever else I want. Why waste my time here? My second instinct, to maybe give myself a cool-down period, is just to lock my diary and take down my web page for a while.
But either way, if I do that, then this one dope wins. He ruins what I enjoy and makes me feel less than I am. And you know what? I�m just too darn stubborn to let that happen. It�s like I said yesterday; I can�t handle good. I have to be struggling. I�m happier that way. So rather than fold up, I�ll keep writing as long as I have something to say. I may make some changes, but I sure ain�t gonna quit writing. Not now. Maybe not ever.
On a side note� have you ever noticed how, when we feel disposed to name calling, we tend to call the names we fear the most? Take me for example. I�ve just now descended to name calling. I called my critic a jerk-wad, and then I called him a dope. Both names connote a lack of intelligence. You see, the thing I am most afraid of, I think.. is being dumb. So when I�m looking for some kind of verbal weapon, I choose words that insult the intellect. My guestbook commentator chose to call me a faggot. I will leave it up to you to draw your own conclusions.
And lastly, for those who knew him, Ornery died this morning. He hated that bookshelf. I should have put him back where he was happy.
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