woosh. I just went back and read some entries from 2005. I think I hate my old self. What an insecure, self-consciously ingratiating ass.

Unless I was talking to myself the whole time. That would make more sense. Except talking to myself outloud in the hopes that someone or two might find it as entertaining, or moreso, as I did.

Anyhose. Why be mean.

Last time I was home (i.e. my parents' home) I was accused of getting soft. I think it's true. Or, I think I've always been soft it's just that I've stopped hanging out with people who beat me up, and I've (mostly) stopped beating me up, too, so the callouses are flaking off into the dusty sunset. Or maybe that's kind of melodramatic. It's true that I'm trying to be sincere. As a ploy to getting popular. Sometimes.

pansycline at 11:46 p.m.

previous | next