Wednesday, March 16, 2005 // 10:12 PM

i've sold my soul to the nike corporations.

and i've sold my soul to the nike corporations. ma is crazy or feeling insanely extravagent, like she has forgotten that she is on the verge of retirement and that her two kids would muchly like to study in europe. hello. i can't believe i am in a position where i am saying this. how's about feeling completely removed from your situation.

ella. some days i know i should hate you for the bitch that you are, but i dont. i dont. i cant even bring myself to feel some sort of disgust distaste contempt (irony)detestation repulsion. ella you need a slap or ella you need someone who is going to put you in your place. there is no one, there has never been. ella you are growing up to be one heck of an awful person. can you please feel something, show some sort of sign that you are human and humane and not completely over the edge? if you could choke out some sort of bitterness, some sort of grovelling despair. it would be adequately reassuring, more so that this. stolid, stoical antipathy, this casual irreverance.

i realise. something i owe you, i owe you respect. for many things, but for one single act in particular, that i only realise now, must have taken a lot of courage on your part. i know you would laugh at me when i say, you have a courage that i dont. i dont. im some weak twisted creature that just crawled out from under a rock, really, and i'm not even despairing to say it. these are things that i know in my head but fail to be repulsed by. in my heart. if i have a heart, i'm not so sure anymore. i've sold my soul to the nike corporations, remember? yeah well, i mean it not in that sense, but yes i have come to a point where i am slowly dead. i need to be furbished, no, i need a freaking personality overhaul. but that's, that's my business, that's my funeral. where was i, i was talking about you. i'm trying to talk three whole sentences about something other than myself for once. yes. anyway. i am sorry, i really am. you're one of those silently unspectacular kinds, the reliable kind. the unsung hero kind. i am sorry, because in some ways i think i am so incredibly careless, so incredibly shallow. incredibly shallow. i dont want to be shallow, please tell me there is a cure for this. here i go all over again. the knowledge of who i am and the stark contrast between that and the person that i really, really, really want to be. sometimes, at least. some times i really want to be a nicer person, sometimes i think fuck i dont want to work so hard. i'm sorry i'm tired and i'm twisted and i am showing all my scars. i say these things like they ought justify me, please dont let me get away with it. dont let me get away with it. i cant remember the last time some one has reproached me, truly, made me take some responsibility for my actions. does this bother me no not really. but there is a notion within me that screams out, it should, it should, it should. stop being a horrible person.

this makes me think of the word angsty again, but i am not, or at least, not right now. i am perfectly happy from milo and training, yes i have had enough sleep, no i am not feeling the panic-inducing loneliness that i some times do. i am just neurotic, i am sorry, i can say all this with a straight face but why the heck would you want to be in this conversation? quit, quit already. i'm going to go try and get some work done.