baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ramble On Hmmm. OK-first off-Jordan (Stigmatized for you diarylanders out there), damnit. If you're gonna sign my guestbook, then leave an email for me to get back to you. I remember you well, dagnabit-and quite enjoyed the few emails we shared. So there, darling-write and pull me up. I need the company. That said, things have been going well lately-although possible layoffs at work don't enhance the mood very well. I'm fairly well sheltered since my performance reviews have been stellar-but still, that doesn't help at all when you run into a co-worker you happen to like and he tells you he's been fired. I have a problem with empathy. I worry too much about these people at work-these personalities with stories and situations that I'm not at all familiar with. I say hello to them in the hall, share a laugh or two, and come to think of them as allies in the corporate neighborhood. Although my knowledge of their lives is shallow at best, I still worry about them as if they're best friends . Best friends! What a pushover I would be if people only knew how much I worry, worry, worry. Damn the empathy gland in my chemistry. Damn it. I've been ultra-needy in the love and companionship department lately. Insecurity and confidence don't mix very well in my cranium, and the mixture of the two tends to make me want to disappear into Girl-Unit's skin. I feel secure and insecure all at once. What the hell is that all about? I'm tired of this constant need for validation. I feel like the United States; cocky, blessed and rich, yet more than willing to go occupy a whole other country for reasons no one quite understands. Oh shit-I'd rather not get started about the war. Talk about conflict. Dear God. Suffice to say that everytime I read about another soldier, baby, dad, mom, human being dying-it makes me want to kick God's Omnipotent ass for allowing it to go on. Someday, when I die, I hope human history seems logical and pure. I hope the Big Cahuna opens my eyes so wide that the shit-splatter that is our legacy will finally make sense; that all the atrocities we humans do to each other has happened for a reason. If that's true, then dying must be glorious. It's Friday night and I'm home alone-typing into an online diary. It's 9:14 and in a few minutes, I'll get high, play guitar and write songs. It's a bad habit I know. But, I crave the perspective. Feel free to throw me a line if you can help. Can you love someone and still be attracted to another person? Why is that? Doesn't that just seem totally fucked? Controlling temptation is easy-but why is temptation there in the first place? Shouldn't true love push that crap right outta the noggin? I have a lot of time to myself this weekend. I'll write more later. I need to go push my luck. Until then, here's the verse that epitomizes: "Sometimes I feel like I'm drifting away And that's all I can say It's nothing I can't control But in matters of the heart and soul I must admit that I just don't know." 7:49 p.m. - 2004-06-18 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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