Friday, June 10, 2005 // 12:27 AM

im sorry, im sorry for being so freaking insensitive. sometimes i think we dont really care about each other, we are just drifters who come together because it's just, i dont know. convenient. im sorry to spike your sentiment with my malicious cynicism, but i'm just bitter, trying to see things in a different light.

im sorry, because at the end of the day i do know i love you to bits. i love you to bits.

im sorry too because i keep suspecting that there's something wrong with me. im rejecting, im rejecting everything. im sorry i yelled at you in the conversation that took place in my head, im sorry that. im sorry that i dont know how to be less selfish, i am sorry that i am going to have to try but even in the process im trodding all over your toes again. im sorry.

im sorry because i feel like i am driving full speed down the highway into a brick wall, and nothing in all the world could make me slam my foot down on the brake. im sorry because when a person wants to destroy herself it makes it a lot harder for you to help her, im sorry because you are involved, that is all. im sorry because im still screwed up and you are not and i feel like you feel like you have to save me even though you have nothing to do with what i have coming for me. i. i am a deadweight to your foot and i wouldnt wish myself on you. im sorry because you take the time to weigh things out and show them to me but i cant take it, i am still that crazy girl screaming in the middle of the field on a clear and soundless night. i have given up trying to help myself and i have no good reason. i have just given up because i am weak and saying things doesnt make it okay, doesnt make it any better at all.

im going crazy (again) and im sorry. im really really sorry.

do you think perhaps i have decided the kind of person i am to be. do you think perhaps in some twisted way i enjoy this, i indulge. how much of you is induced. i dont want to start Thinking About Thinking. i have stood at the edge of that endless void and i have turned to run in the other direction, because of how panic rises, hyteria. i am kingshaw, remember, i am the fatalist who stuck his head into the water and took a slow, careful breath. i could inhale a lake if i tried.

ding is making me miserable with talk of contentment. i dont like to think about contentment, like some fuzzy goal in the distance that i should be trudging towards. i dont want to think about you and how i suspect you may be out of my reach, out of my range, out of my league. my volatile equilibrium doesnt have that kind of long-lasting happy side.

please let this be the Mood talking.