Love

You can tell what a person is in love with by what they give their time to.

Did you know that? It's very telling to watch a person, hear what they say, then actually see what they are doing. So when they say: 'I HATE this' 'this' whatever it is, but you see them doing it over and over and over again, well, they actually love that 'this' thing whatever it is and are perpetuating it, keeping it alive and strong by giving all their time to the thing they are saying they hate.

People are such good liars... they convince even themselves with their lies.

For me, today, as with most days ... I love ... meetings. I've been in meetings all day, a wallflower, the only reason why I'm there is because I'm 'supposed' to be there, my eyes open and my mouth shut, a good little 'yessir' girl.

I also am in SO much love with the bus.

Then haloz.

And those are my loves.

And ...

And throughout today, I've been thinking of you ... what does that say about me? When I am playing haloz, I have more fun when I'm playing with my friends. I don't get much joy of playing haloz alone against and with randoms.

It's like alcohol, I suppose you can make that connection, and raise high the red flag. I drink because I don't really exist at all, except to give a place for the alcohol to live. I don't enjoy drinking, per se, but ...

but that. But I drink, not for me, but for it to live in me. I'm just a receptacle. You know: like, for alcohol, and for sperm. That's what a woman is, right? To men, and that's all that matters in this world.

I play haloz a lot, but I don't enjoy it, except for a brief second here or there, and except when I'm playing with my friends.

I thought about Saga a little, tiny bit this morning, but that was all, and now I feel a twinge of guilt and of sadness, knowing that I think of her so little and when I do, I think of her sadly, wistfully, wondering how she is, hoping she is well, and knowing that she had something special with me and she misses that and feels she can never have that again. And writing that, I wonder what you'll think when you finally wake up and come to your senses and move on, and ... looking back, say regretfully to yourself, 'oh, well, that was nice, sort of, if she weren't so fucked up in the head.'

So, when I say 'I love you,' what does that mean? I mean ... I mean ... so what? I love you, but so what? How does that translate into my feet moving in a directions, my fingers flying over the keyboard, ... what is my heart if what I say affects what I do how?

I don't say 'I love you' easily. And I do. I'm not scared to love, and to be loved, and ... I'm terrified of my own shadow.

What am I saying, if I'm saying both at once? Don't they cancel each other out? Then why say anything at all?

Why, indeed? Other than that I hopelessly hope that somewhere, somehow I can get out of what I am confining myself into.

You know: complaining about the state that I alone put myself into.

And ... to 'explain' ... I don't say, 'iloveuiloveuiloveu' like some empty-headed dumbfuck broad who'll say anything that goes into her head and then goes on an lives her selfish life exactly as she wants and fuck you and yours for getting in her way.

I say 'I love you,' and mean it, and get on with my selfish, lonely, hopeless life, and fuck me and my stupid, useless, pointless life.