ericboy's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Living Room I'm at the Living Room Coffeehouse where they've installed a new Internet system that makes it impossible to check my e-mail because people send me messages with "fuck" in the subject box. Like that's my fucking fault. I didn't ask for that. I can't stand censorship. I thought this was America, where it's my right to hear and use offensive language just as protestors have the right to cause me to endure their mindless bullshit drivel. If they have the right to subject me to that, then I should be able to check my fucking e-mail. On a lighter note, I stopped by the main office of Hillcrest News today and I'm looking into writing feature articles for their paper. It's a free gig, volunteer basis only, but I'd appreciate the experience. They mainly run community-awareness articles like street closures and building renovations and stuff like that, which is relatively boring, but, hey, it's writing. I'd enjoy anything that gave me a regular outlet, and it sounds like that to me. Work last night wasn't too atrocious and I wrote a song: You re-arranged me faux-control contained me and then you trained me to be everything you want me to be Then I recaptured in myself, enraptured Cast down my master and now for the first time I'm free I just want to be left alone this is how you found me, this must be how I should be I'm quite the bastard Yes, this scowl is plastered I brush right past her without even a second of thought I like the nighttime Where no one's in my sight-line It's just the right time to forget social lessons I'm taught. Tonight is the recording of the "Downsized" CD and I wanted to check my e-mail so that I could get a map to the location, but I'll have to go to the library for that. After the recording, I think I'm going to call Tate and try to get some face time. Of course, I say that now.... No matter how charming or fantastic I may have been in the past, I'm always nervous around people at every meeting. Like I was telling Rachael, I feel anxiety when talking to people because I feel that I'm subjecting them to my special disease: self-loathing and uselessness. I feel as if it's a chore for anyone to be around me for any length of time and I shouldn't expect anyone to have to endure that chore just for me. Call it lack of presumption or low self-opinion; it is what it is. So as much as I'd like to call her and see about meeting, I'm petrified of the thought of a meeting with her and not sure if I can work up the courage or just presumption to do so. Ah, what a damaged wreck I am! Are you sure you don't want to be my friend? You can't get this kind of entertainment value anywhere else. 10:46 a.m. - 2003-03-10 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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