head: Jun. 28, 2002 (8:43 am)

i know i shouldn't, but i think we all secretly had this desire to go off about ourselves. to tell these boring stories that no one else finds funny. daniel did that yesterday and i remembered why no one liked him last year. he stacks stories one on top of the other. back when i...and this one time...oh wow one time i...i don't remember any of them. and i have a tendency to do this (i interupt or i'm silent). perhaps not so bad. but it's just sickening to see myself in daniel. but perhaps, all people are somewhat selfish like that if they're given the oppurtunity. but, what are we really trying to say with these stories? make us feel less insecure around the people with whom we are talking? 'oh look...i have more interest in others. and therefore i have power'

i'm reading celine right now. (journey to the end of the night) and he says something about a group of men who are poets but who have never been able to conquer their desire for shapely thighs. and i wonder now, as i sink into swooning-teenage-girl-mode, is that why my writing is suffering? but all i ever did was write about how they hurt me, and how i hurt them, but now everything is just in my head.

i haven't said anything brilliant in days.

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