04 November, 2006
t-shirts made of blood
i hate how insecure i still can be. any time i write an email to someone whom i don't know really really well (and, let's be honest, sometimes even when i do) and they don't immediately respond because, gosh, i don't know, they have a LIFE, i start to examine my communication with this person to find what offensive or possibly hurtful thing i might have said that resulted in The Silence. this happens every bloody time. perhaps because i tend to answer emails shortly after having received them (barring our recent moving spree), i take the extended silence as punishment. it is sad and pathetic that even now, at this lightly wrinkled Age of Self Acceptance and Love i can turn into a little blubbery puddle of self-recriminations. i sit in the corner and wonder why you won't be my friend. just thought i'd tell you, that's all.