too freakin mad to sleep...again

i don't know what is going on. i'm just angry i guess. and i'm not angry at anyone but myself. it's my fault i blow things out of proportion. it's my fault i am who i am. it is not, however, my fault that i am no man's perfect match. that's their problem, and loss. (i mean, who wouldn't want to be with a bitchy, moody, needy liberal like me?)

i get excited about things to come, even when there is no evidence that those things will happen. and then when (shockingly) reality sets in, i get upset. mad. angry. jealous. whatever. i just have to figure out how to either not have standards or stop setting aspirations for myself. and never, ever think that becoming friends with some guy is sure to get you on his "to date" list in the future. that's shit. i can go on for days about my guy friends. and most of them i wanted to be friends with because i liked them in some non-platonic way.

i wish i was dead. like i'm driving down the road and there's a curve and i don't want to turn the steering wheel. like i'm cutting bread for a sandwich and i imagine that beautiful IKEA knife stabbing my stomach. cutting all the fat off because that's obviously what makes a difference in this world. like begging God to allow me to fall asleep and never wake up. it would still be friday before anyone came to check where i was.

why on earth am i feeling such awful things? i think it might have something to do with the fact i feel so used by people. i'm the workhorse in the office. i'm every person's relationship advice columnist, even though i haven't had a *relationship* since 1998. don't expect me to help you out when everybody and their aunt knows that i kinda sorta like you.

plus i have a shitty job. i'm about 50k in debt. i think i've finally accomplished my goal of blowing off every person i had as a "Friend" in arkansas. so what's the point of living?

i remember when i was younger i used to write suicide letters. when everything was just really crappy and i hated everyone and nothing would go my way. i'd write it all out and explain this is why i'm dead. i'd name names of people that should feel bad about my death because they were reasons that i did whatever i did. i'd sign over my prized possessions (even though it's not legal and binding, surely someone would respect my wishes). i probably wouldn't name names now. that seems kind of mean. plus, i think those who should feel responsible will even if i say nothing.

i guess i am lonely. i know i'm fucking lonely. i'm just sick of it and it didn't really hurt until now. and now it hurts because i finally wised up and kicked one person out of my life. unfortunately, the person i thought i could use as a filler shits on me like everyone else.

why can't i be appreciated for my contributions? i like to consider myself intelligent. i'm pretty darn funny. i'm not a whore and i don't plan on making anyone support me for the rest of my life. what's the big deal?

as of right now, july 14, 2003, 2315, i honestly do think i am going to die alone. be alone. forever. because nothing ever works the way that i think it should. and who am i to try to control the universe?