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Sunday, May. 23, 2004 / 10:52 p.m. ~Hello, and Welcome to the Show~ It was habit brought me here, compelled me to come, insisted I update in a daily way, it wasn't my idea, not anymore. I'm thinking, rethinking, and it's habit that keeps me. Habit reminds me, implores me, but I don't understand any of it anymore. Not why I'm here, or why I do it, why I write this, why people peek in to have a look, and say nothing. There is no communication. I'm performing for an invisible audience. Like that person on the stage, putting a hand up to shield light from eyes, and asking, "Is anyone there? I can't see you, is there anyone there? I hear you breathing, but I can't see a thing, someone turn this light off, I can't see...". Why? That's even more than "Who?" right now, it's just wondering why I do this, and is it habit only, is there any other reason, and wasn't there community at some point, didn't I have support, weren't there conversations away from here, wasn't there email exchanged? I just found some of 'un-clean''s letters to me in my saved email, written in the guise of this character created by a girl in high school, if we are really to believe she is a female, and that she was in high school at the time. And so it is I have to wonder about Caroline, and maybe Todd too, and maybe Pam, and maybe any and every one of you, and sure, paranoia grips me, who wouldn't it grip? I could not feel more alone than I feel right this moment. I want to be super melodramatic, find a way to end this, this diary, black it out as I did once before, or just password protect it and call it a day, or maybe make some grand pronouncement, leave a final post and never come back, or maybe just leave, just 'walk away', and never return. But habit keeps me coming, habit wants to see there's a post for every calendar day. And habit wants to click on 'random entry' or go back to one year ago today, every day, or every year, and find out how I felt. Habit wants to find there's something new and different going on, and habit wants me to update so he has something to read. Habit wants to click on my diary to read whilst drinking his coffee, smoking his morning cig. Habit is fucking with me, because I want to go away from here. I've been fucked with too many times, and I'm tired of playing to an empty house every night. I'm tired of waiting for the lights to be turned down to see there wasn't anyone there in the first place. And I don't know how to be a nurturer, I can't handle an old and dying animal living with me. I can't handle anything right now. Cost of the War in Iraq
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Recent Entries: It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012 Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012 As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009 I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009 Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009 
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