Oh Monday Morning...

you gave me no warning of what was to be...

Recently heard while on hold with my dentists office: "Our office staff is specially trained in scheduling convenient appointments..." Huh? Wonder how much fucking "special training" that took. Moving on.

Because I really have more to do today than I have to say, I'm digging back into the old journal archives for a peek inside my twisted soul. Enjoy.

October 30th, 1997

I've gotten so tired of hiding. Even more tired of trying to be nice. Sometimes I want to spit my anger out at the whole world. I wonder why it's always the worst parts of your life that you're not supposed to talk about. It seems to me that those are the parts that need to be talked about the most. Maybe it's because anything remotely unpleasant makes people uncomfortable- and god knows, no one want to feel uncomfortable. People want to feel good. They want to talk about the game, or the sale at Macy's or their brand new car, house, boat, etc... They want to talk about everything and anything that doesn't really matter. It makes me sick. Their indifference is like poison seeping into my soul. It's a sad, sad world where the only people who are willing to listen are the one's you have to pay. And, even then, there is a difference between listening and really hearing. You can never truly know what is going on with another person unless you ask. Really ask and then hear what the other person is telling. No one does that. I guess that's what makes life so lonely. Maybe that's why we have children.

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I know. So uplifting for Monday morning. Keep in mind, these are journal entries though, and very little writing ever occurred on the happy days. This was written after the suicide of someone who had so many years left to live. Someone who could have changed the world. I was angry. At everyone.

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What I'm currently working on: