Ain't that great.

My life is an exercise in futility.


Hope is a painful thing.  Hope is a great, terrible thing.
pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease
I can't even handle the hope that the word please brings up.
Can you feel it?  Can you feel that hope?

Stop feeling it.
That feeling is what is going to fuck everything up.
Stop feeling it.



Stay in your hole.  Don't fix it.
Don't fix it.
Don't fix it.
Don't fix it.
God.
Don't fix it.
Control yourself.

My life is an exercise in control.

Why do you trust yourself so completely with strangers, but you can't trust yourself to your friends?
Oh fuck.  They aren't your friends any more.
Because, let's sit here and remember some things about your life, ok?
You try and try and try.  You know people and you get people and you understand people.  You perpetually work to make things easier on people.
You're a surprising person.
Yes.  You really are.
But the people you want to think that the most get fucking tired of you.  And they abandon you.  And they don't even care.
You are always left to pick up the pieces.  Always.  You are always broken.  Always.
And part of it's your fault because yes, you always manage to put yourself almost back together, even to the point that you fool yourself, and then you think that people have changed, and that you don't open yourself up to being torched, and that this go around, you will actually be fucking loved.  So yes.  Babe, that part of the blame is all on you.
But you know that other people are cruel.  Other people play at games.  Other people lie.  Other people are forces of destruction.  You can't help that.  I know you want to believe in people, life hurts so much when you don't believe in people.

So...just, don't have hope babe.
If you wish for it,
it won't happen.
If you wish for it,
it won't happen.




When did I become convinced that my thoughts had any direct influence on the outside world?
God this is so fucking irrational.
But, damn, I'm convinced.
I'm convinced that if I hope for this, just to fuck me over, you won't do it.
I'm convinced that if I believe in you, you'll never believe in me.
I'm convinced that if I ask for an apology, I'll never get it.
I'm convinced that if I admit that I want this, it won't happen.
God this is so fucking irrational.

And to think, earlier I jotted this down:
How well can you fake it?  How long can you fake it?  At some point you'll crash in on yourself, right? So how much more time do you have?
Answer: approximately five hours.
Chelsea...just...don't hope, babe.  Ok?  Just don't hope.