baggage's Diaryland Diary

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Hi-I'm Pathetic. Nice to meet you

Please, step into my confessional.

I get insanely jealous of other people accomplishments.

Like when I read about some pre-teen musician touring the world on the strength of true virtuosity.

Or when I come across someone who, despite being decades younger than me, has a novel coming out in the summer.

I get jealous.

Actually-I'm talking a wee bit past jealousy here. I get frustrated.

Hmmm...

OK, maybe, just maybe, go a little past frustration too.

Here's the truth: A part of me, hidden so far down below my intestines that it's easily concealed with feigned smiles and conversation, is a little, healthy pulsating chunk of anger that screams out: *why the hell not me?*

I don't typically share this with friends because I'm not proud of this trait. Plus, I can easily foresee their reaction. I can almost hear the unavoidable conversation about how blessed my life is, how good my job is, etc. etc. etc.

Which brings me to the another source of crapola grande.

I know all those things.

I'm well aware of the blessings in my life.

And you know what?

It doesn't matter.

Even in the face of all the giddy around me, that little healthy pulsating chunk of anger screams out: *so fucking what?*

I want more.

I always want more-despite the futility of wanting more.

11:56 a.m. - 2001-04-04

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