10/18/99
I had this whole fucking page typed out. And... I didn't save it. Fuck fuck fuck.
And icq is eating me alive. Shut up!
I had a point. And having to type in these pissy little html codes in the middle of my POINT rather fucks with the flow.
Okay, I've got shit on my mind. And I don't think sitting at this computer is helping. Interruptions abound, by way of not-so welcome icq inquiries. I am going freaking mad with what is consuming my thought process, because I cannot tell it to you. I want to be able to sit here and address you directly. What the fuck? What is your story? What do you think you're doing? What do you think "WE" could ever be? Yeah, I'm flattered. It's taken me a few days to accept that this is very cool, and I am privately relishing in it. But since I know you don't know me too well I know that all this would be bizarre to you.
"There's this girl I've been... interested in... Well, it turns out she's a raving fucking lunatic. I don't know how I missed that when I first met her. For example, I went to this webpage she did, and she's, like, spazzing out about html and all this shit. She seems stressed. Like, badly."
"Muhammad my friend..."
Let's do a tally here shall we? What is it you think you are so crazy about in me? Think this through.
I want a list. No, I want an essay.