Dot.
Dot.
Dot. I apparently got my wish, wishing that I wouldn't type such long posts. Because the past few have been... quite a bit shorter. When there seems to be so much more going on in my life. Heh. I had a job at Outback Steakhouse. I never worked, but I had the job. I decided that I didn't really feel like working there anymore. I wasn't comfortable, I wasn't going to like it, I wasn't going to be proud of it or enjoy it. I don't think I want a restaurant job, like that one, at least. So, I stopped getting into it. I am also allergic to cigarette smoke, and could not handle being in that environment, for what cigarette smoke and smoking does to me physically and emotionally. So, I need a job, basically that I will be happy with. Is that asking too much? Maybe it is... Who knows?! More things. I've never had a relationship. Always kind of... closed myself off without knowing it. Always denied myself. Who fudging knows why?! Who knows why I think about myself like that, why do any of us see ourselves so lowly? I don't know, but I did. And then recently... I feel that I am at a place in my life where I can do that. I can. I try (not nearly hard enough), and then I can't. There always has to be something with everything. That prevents. Other minds, the world's renowned preventing aspects. So, I am shutting myself off again, which frightens and saddens me. I have to get used to not being wanted. It stinks, the preliminary needs are that a) I would be wanted. b) I'd want them, too. Everything... And I mean, EVERYTHING anything, follows after that. Any detail. ...Yeah. I wish I could say more, or say thigns without talking so much, but... It's strange. It's... I was scared to death when I lost my little notebook earlier this week. I was freaking out major times. Some of you saw... It was bad. Until Rose returned it to me... I was so happy. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, I have a small pocket-sized notebook and pen that are with me at all times. I write all the words sequences and thoughts that come into my head. Poetry-but-I-don't-like-to-call-it-poetry. If you're lucky, sometime you can hear/read one. Heh. If you would want. And I want. Hm. Mm. I've said enough. Enough of the unsuccessful antics and... it all. But in a weird way, I'm good. Good... with a tinge of it. You know, it. And now. Goodbye, children. Love above. | 
