Audrizzle

I can't write the word "hatred" without splitting it and seeing the two words "hat red". Hat red? A red hat? How involved with hatred can a red hat be? Pathetic.

Pathetic pathetic pathetic.

It's not as moving if I copy and paste "pathetic" a hundred times as if I write it in my notebook.

Which I did.

Pathetic.

It's june. It's 10 years since I went to my first concert: june 1, 1999. Ben Folds Five at the American Theater in St. Louis.

I guess I had been to other shows before, with my parents or whatever, but this was the first concert I was actually going to of my own volition, that I actually chose to see. It was great.

Jude opened, Ben Folds Five played, I was in love and cried (as is to be expected from a thirteen year old girl) and I'm still grateful that I got to see BFF before they broke up.

After the show I got to meet the band. Which was exciting for me. When Darren came out he didn't have a sharpie to sign things with, but I had one and I let him use it. He gave it back to me after finishing and some girl offered to pay me for it but I said nuh-uh.

Hatred.
Why am I thinking about hatred? I don't hate anyone else. I have nothing against anyone else. Just myself. I hate myself, but that's no news to anyone. Nothing surprising to anyone, nothing out of the ordinary.

I've been listening to The Halo Benders a lot lately... it's Doug Martsch from Built to Spill and another guy whose name I can't recall at the moment. It would be so easy to google him, except I'm in IE on someone else's computer and I don't want to start a tab riot like I have on my computer back home. Anyway, the other guy has a really unique voice, and I recognized it immediately... he did vocals on Beck's album "One Foot In The Grave".

I feel like I have two feet in the grave.

Better yet, one hand and one foot in the grave. Both righties. My right hand and my right foot are in the grave. Somehow I manage to write throughout all of this.

I'm on my 6th beer for the night. This evening I'm drinking Shock Top Belgian White.

The first place I had this was at Bar 4 on 7th Ave in Park Slope, NY, where I met my new roommates. It's funny because I could afford to be a third roommate there for what I would pay for a luxury one bedroom here. And really, I'd rather be a third roommate in NYC. At least there it would be easy for me to get treatment. If I didn't have to worry about persecution for mental illness.

But no, I don't care how much other people hate me, because it could never match the amount that I hate myself.

It's selfish. If I'm going to be filled with hate, why don't I hate anyone else? Why am I so selfish about it, why do I only hate myself? I should be hating the republican party or my parents or the government or Michigan or something.

But no. I'm too busy hating myself.

Pathetic.
Pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic pathetic pathiehrtsoihdxhf


I didn't copy and paste at all. I totally would type it out a hundred times for you, but you don't care either way. No matter what, you're not going to find me as pathetic as I find myself.

Happy Birthday Norris. Too bad I'm too selfish to care about anyone except myself.

1 Comments:

 Capcom said...

I'd rather be a third roommate in NYC, than where I am also. :-p

Don't hate yourself, it's a lie. Probably a lie that someone else told you. God loves you more than you know. I didn't realize that I hated myself for no reason and that God loved me until I was 40 years old. So if you can get yourself together in the near future, you'll be ahead of me in the game. I'm just happy that I finally realized the truth, which is (I'll say it again), God loves you more than you realize. So live each day as though you are loved. Because you are. And live each day with thankfullness and gratitude, for whatever blessings you have.

God bless. :-)

June 20, 2009 9:38 PM  

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