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feeling: frustrated
listening to: nothing
And thus we begin the first year of the rest of our lives. I'm so profound. Happy freaking new year, people.
Heh, Willard's mad at me now because he ever so cordially invited me to his party tonight and I ended up not going. Ok, so let's assume I went. You and all your other friends - who I've barely even known for 4 or 5 years now, I might add - have fun, get drunk, talk and laugh about stuff I have no clue about, and if a certain female or two happened to be there, hit on each other... while I sit there in some chair, alone, forgotten, ignored, porking out on whatever dry foods are sitting around, with no idea what's going on or why I'm doing the exact same thing there that I'd be doing if I'd stayed home - being alone and useless. Is that what you want? I never fit in with that group... what makes you think that can change now, after this long? The only reason you ever invite me to anything anyway is for another opportunity to make fun of me, and it has been for years... don't think I didn't notice during that last year or so before I stopped accepting those invitations. If I'm gonna be alone on New Year's, I'd rather do it in my own surroundings with various crud around to keep myself remotely entertained until the night's over. I believe it was Faye Valentine who said "Instead of being alone in a group, it's better to have real solitude, all by yourself."
So happy birthday anyway. You still mean as much to me as you always did. Be mad at me all you want... I got used to it about a decade ago, thanks to many other so-called friends, and I continue to get used to it, so to speak. Just don't think I skipped your party because I don't care about you, all right? I meant what I said in that Thanksgiving post you ended up quoting in your profile. Yes, I am cruel and selfish and heartless for not visiting you on your birthday even though I supposedly care about you, right? But don't think last night would've been any different from all those other nights when I did show up only to sit there alone and ignored and clueless - there's nothing I can contribute to these little get-togethers, or to you, and you know it. If I'm cruel and selfish for not wanting to go through that again, then I guess I'm an even worse person than I thought. But hey, I told you before that you'd have been better off giving up on me when everyone else did... maybe you believe me now, eh?
But if for some reason you decide not to take my advice (again), just remind me next time you see me, however long from now that may be, and you'll get your late birthday hug. Selfish I may be, but at least that way maybe you'll know I care. In my own weird, introverted, useless way.
Willard's not likely to ever see this... but whatever.
I am this close *holds fingers really close together in the "this close" gesture* to starting an account at DeviantArt. But I know I'll never have anything close enough to finished to actually put there. 17 Photoshop projects sit on my hard drive, all unfinished, and a whole folder crammed with sketches and doodles in pencil lies on my bed, barely touched in the past year or so. I never finish anything, and I doubt the good Deviants would be interested in a gallery full of works in "progress." Meh. If anyone wants to see them, they can email or AIM me.
My dad has started calling me Becky-chan. Life is now officially very weird.
You know what's fun for people who've lost weight? Palpating your own ribcage. Woo, I have bones now! *touch*
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dragged from Becky's stream of consciousness at 1/01/2004 01:39:00 AM
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