silentlylost's Diaryland Diary

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Thirty Six Hours....

I'm just more frustrated and more infuriated than anything. And what sucks is there isn't much I can do about it right now.

Well except maybe get fat off food, watching television, or sleeping.

None of which are very productive.

Stop fucking thinking that I'm whining. I'm not. I'm angry. I'm being ignored. And I don't fucking like it. I'm not being inconsiderate. I'm not jumping to conclusions-- because there aren't any to fucking begin with. Don't tell me to calm down, or that `it'll be okay`. Fuck that and fuck you.

I'm not going to wait forever.

I've had plenty of the waiting game in previous years, relationships, and hardships. Fuck that. Just fuck it.

Old skeletons never die.

And we all know what I hate the most.

Being alone.

But isn't that what I am now??

You know, just sitting here. I know nothing. I have no answers and it's only enough to cry and hold onto myself. Is that what you wanted to hear? Yeah, I've cried about it. Yeah, a gazillion thoughts have gone through my head. Even things that don't make sense. Like, are you purposely ignoring me. And although that's ridiculous-- what the hell did you expect, with what you've given me? It has nothing to do with what I think you would or wouldn't do do. It has everything to do with what you've given to me, to think with.

Thirty six hours, Eleven minutes, Thirty one seconds.

No.

This isn't called irratonality.

It's called love.


unsincerely yours,
Courtney

2:43 p.m. - Wednesday, Jul. 13, 2005

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