argh. where are you?
Ok, so I need to just sit down and write this bastard entry on self image. The problem is, I didn't write it on the several occasions when I was inspired. Now I know what I want to say and how I want to say it, but I can't really write it well unless I feel passionate about it again. That's what sucks about being the Oracle and not the Muse. Cat, where are you when I need a muse?

I also really need to sit down and do another confessional bit. This one will definitely be passworded so no, my gentle readers, you will not be able to get the goods. Unless I really love you. Or if I'm feeling really sado/masochistic. Mweh heh heh. In any case, it's a sad thing that I'm even still thinking this stuff. Should I not be done with it? Again, the same question as usual: am I a normal meloncholy or does this deserve serious examination? I'm afraid to go there because I don't want to give it substance. I don't want to wonder where you are, because then my mind goes all those forbidden places. I hate those songs you gave me because they became you. I love the dreams, because that is the only way to live with them. Don't get me wrong here, I'm not pining... I just have a hard time living with ghosts of people who are not dead. Either you're here or you aren't, in my book. Life is full of Greys but this is one area I cannot stand to have them. So where the fuck are you, and why do I care? Why does it make me ashamed that I do care? Oh wait, I know why... because I'm just like Blake's ex and when he talks about her all I can tell him is that she's a psychotic bitch and he needs to get around to saying, "fuck off." Is that me? maybe i need that. I guess that's all it takes.