<header>Diary 39</header>

03-10-98


Windy. Windy and cold and pointless. I hate days like this.

You're not going to believe this (I still don't), but someone I don't know actually filled out my survey! I read his journal, and man, talk about things that make you feel inadequate. How can I compete with someone who has the time, patience, and extra brain cells to write about infinity and other deep stuff? I feel like I'm writing for Sweet Valley High...but I don't want to write thought-provoking, wah-wah philisophical ponderings. I save that for my ‘zine (as if my articles were ever thought provoking).

Ah well...I shall get over it. He seems a personable enough guy, plays drums, won't move to VA so we'd have a drummer.....some people have no consideration for the feelings of others.

Dirk can't even make a noon deadline....honestly, I think he's dead. They use those zap paddles (defibrillators) to bring him back to life each day.

Heres thought-provoking for you: what if cats could talk? I bet we wouldn't like what they said. They'd probably have snide comments to make about our sex lives, the food we eat, the state of their litterbox. If they didn't like the food, they wouldn't just refuse to eat it, they'd complain about it for hours. Cats are pretty bitchy little animals anyway. Giving them a voice to be bitchy with would be a nightmare.

I've been doing a lot of reading about S&M stuff....I don't think that's for me, really. But some of these people are so interesting...like the lifestyle slaves. How could they do that? How could they not only tolerate someone making all the decisions for them, but enjoy it? And enjoying being beaten? Definitely not for me.

I'm also re-reading a book I just got back from Ken called "Our Noise". That book depresses the hell out of me. It's set in Virginia, the people are a lot like people I know, and their lives are as boring, pathetic, and music-oriented as a lot of people I know. The book is basically my life on a grander scale.

I waited online for about 2 hours for C-- to come on. I wish he'd just write. One little e-mail! Is that so hard?

I don't even want to think about it. I just want to sleep.


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