Punch - 06.10.03 - 2:03 am
Look!

Be prepared for some stupid, melodramatic, woe-is-me bullshit that will probably make you question just how much you really like me. Unless you don't actually like me at all which means you'll read this and be, like, "Ha ha! I knew it! She fucking sucks! Dork." Or something.

Oh, but wait. I forgot to mention in my entry about the Rollins Band show that, for the encore, they did two Ramones song. Yeah. Heart palpitations. And it wasn't just cuz I was drinking assloads of PBR after taking various cold medicines.

OK. So I hope to fucking god that this is PMS and I'm really not feeling this shitty for no concrete reason. Cuz, man, I just want to punch myself in the face until I pass out from exhaustion/blood loss. Jesus, I'm being flippant. Self-violence is funny, you guys! Really!

Shit.

I came home from work tonight and found an automated rejection letter in my inbox. I will not go into how I actually really liked the story I submitted and kinda, sorta had faith in it. I mean, after writing it, I felt drained and accomplished; a combination that, to me, means you've written a good story. No. I will not write about that. Because if I do write about it, then I am going to feel really shitty as opposed to just plain shitty.

I liked it, though.

And, hey, look at that. Rejected. Again.

There was crying and smoking and phone calls to the only two people I'm comfortable sharing the rejection with and I pretended that my thought process was not spiraling towards All That Is Wrong With Me. Because that is what the letter meant tonight. One thing leads to another and soon I am feeling like I'm going to puke because what now? What have I done lately that's worth mentioning? In any aspect of my life?

Oh, god. I don't know. I need to stop relating everything to everything else and using completely unrelated incidences to fuel already fucked-up issues with myself.

I need to stop that if I want to write. I know full well that rejections come with the lifestyle, it's just the opinion of one person, gotta kick it like George Michael and have faith, etc. and so forth. I really, really know this and believe it, so why does it fucking kill me to get one? Cuz I let it, right? Right.

Didn't Hemingway get boxes of rejection letters? He did and now he's one of the most revered writers ever. He also played spin-the-bottle with just him and his shotgun, but who cares about the petty details? He's famous now, right?

I think I'll shut up now.

Hey, I just thought of something. The amount of headaches I get directly corresponds with how often I self-injure. The more headaches, the less accidents. I am not sure which is the effect and which is the cause. OK, I have an idea, but it depresses me so we won't talk about it.

By the way, my head feels like it's going to split open. Just so you know.

And on a completely unrelated and SHOCKINGLY not-at-all-about-me note, go here and read. Now yell. Cuz this shit shouldn't be happening and people fucking suck sometimes and that lady can't go on thinking that what she did still allows her to consider herself a human. Something needs to happen. Letters need to be written, voices need to be raised and calls need to be made.

Golfwidow fucking rocks for getting the word out and mobilizing people and shit. She also rocks, period.

Bedtime.

<<< TOP >>>

Forever 23, my ass - 01.25.06

P-Nutz - 01.20.06

My nose hurts - 01.16.06

And really bad eggs - 01.13.06

I ain't no Alex Trebek - 01.11.06