i will just smile and say everything's fine
2003-03-24 || 7:13 a.m.

Fuck.

I just wrote a whole excellent fucking entry and then deleted it because THERE IS SOME FUCKING KEY ON THIS KEYBOARD THAT DOES THAT AND I DON'T KNOW WHICH FUCKING KEY IT IS BUT YOU CAN GUARANTEE THAT I WILL TOUCH IT AND EVERYTHING I WRITE WILL DISA-FUCKING-PPEAR BECAUSE THAT, MY FRIENDS, IS THE STORY OF MY FUCKING LIFE.

And the sun's out and I thought that maybe that meant it was okay for me to write something, that it was okay for me to communicate. I sort of forgot what I said yesterday, although I stand by it absolutely.

And it makes me think of being really small and getting up really early, before everyone else, and getting myself dressed and going out to play in the back garden when there is still dew on the ground and the sun is only just beginning to warm the ground and there is that coldness in the air that you know will be gone by the middle of the morning but it feels just ever-so slightly painful and reminds you that you are alive and nothing is ever warm and cosy like it seems.

or maybe that's just me.

And I looked in the mirror this morning and thought I looked oh so fucking sweet and I wished someone else thought I looked oh so fucking sweet and wanted to fuck me and hold me and make dinner for me and all that shit. And I can write what I want here and use whatever language I pissing well choose and actually I'm not angry or in a bad mood or anything at all, although it may well seem that way.

But I did look lovely and my hair is so far down my back now and my black knee socks and biker boots look so horny and one day I will be old and I just know I will wish that I hadn't wasted this time but I don't know how to do anything else with it.

And because I'm feeling extremely vain today I'm going to put some photos up here but my scanner doesn't work since Bex tipped lemonade in it so hopefully someone else will scan them and email them to me.

And aren't people strange? How totally weird all this is. I'm finding it hard to know if any of this is real at all, because how do I actually know? What does being real mean? If I dream something it seems real but then I wake up. I always thought that life is a dream and death is when we wake up. Just like layers and layers of the same, dreaming and waking, perpetually. And nothing makes any sense because its just a big puzzle and the best way to deal with it is to focus on something small and believe it is real and that's what everyone else does, but I'm not capable of that I have to make life difficult for myself. And there's no point in me trying to be any other way, because if I know I'm doing it, how can I be any other way?

And on the radio this morning they said that the war 'didn't look pretty on the TV'. Yes. I'm not making this up, they actually said that exact phrase. And I thought how odd it is that our lives are so distorted by the false comfort zones we have erected that we have no idea of the reality of anything at all. And of course just to be totally predictable I then wished that I could die instead of anyone else but I can't can I? It just doesn't work like that. And a worthless life wouldn't make up for all those lost worthwhile lives anyway.

And I wonder whether all the things I seem to remember from so long ago are just created by me from all the stuff around me to make sense of emptiness or whether its just part of the layering of perception.