8:50 am - Thursday, Jun. 26, 2003
Song:
Diaries, online, here: not the best of ideas. I�m pushed with that need to say something beautiful and deeply enthralling because if I don�t, then they�ll see, and they�ll think what they�ll think and I�ll worry with every word that they�re going to flat out say I�m not good enough.
Is this not my constant whine. It�s my brake pads that squeak whether I press them or not; a whine that drives me, and bothers me. It�s me slamming the breaks suddenly because it stops them for a while. But I can�t keep that up, slamming breaks whenever I feel too many people I don�t know, try to find me here.
I wonder in bits why they care anyway. What am I to them? Someone who passes by in the hall, a conversation in some class every once in a while. Why is it always the people I have the worst insecurities about. Or perhaps not, perhaps I�m insecure of everyone. I can�t get a handle on anyone. Everyone will judge.
And I don�t want some shit about American ideals and why I think this way. I don�t think a fear of everyone stands under read white and blue like Michael Moore tells you, because darling as he is, you can�t take everything he says as divine truth. And don�t tell me some people don�t.
Something more, religion doesn�t make you weak, it doesn�t make you silly, and someone else having religion is their own deal. The only time it should truly bother you is when they cross that line and try to push it on you.
That direction was unfounded everywhere but my mind. Now what will you think? Sometimes I need to know I�m wrong about all this.
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