I had such a rotten day yesterday. Not for any good reason; it was sunny out, work was easy, I got to see my friends. Feeling down and lonely and paranoid: X hates me, I just insulted Q, N isn't here because she hates me, L can read my mind and finds me hateful and pathetic, W, E, and T are making excuses to avoid me, K is about to yell at me. Everytime I got an email or a private message I tensed up: "It's V, about to cuss me out and dump me." Okay no it's V sending me a funny message. "It's B, about to trash me and tell me to fuck off" Okay no it's B telling me that she randomly did me a really kind favour because she thought it would make me happy. I am running out of letters in the alphabet, but it was that kind of day, like I would have needed a fucking franklin planner to keep track of all my competing paranoia.

It reminds me of the day I decided to see my doctor about depression/anxiety last year: I had apologized to boy's brother for insulting him all the time. And he said "Thank you, but.. have you ever insulted me? I've never noticed." I realized I had been totally making shit up, blowing everything way out of reality. And it's what I'm doing now, but oy.. I don't want to go down that road again. Not the road of thinking like this; also not the road of getting out of this thinking. Don't want to talk to my friends about it. Don't want to take medication. Don't want to talk to a psychiatrist or to my GP about it. Don't want my mom to know. Don't. Want. This.

I'm going to ignore it and hope it goes away. Choir starts tonight, school is starting up, despite being a little too busy for it I've been fitting running in. This weekend I get a worm composter and I'm having a scavenger hunt and next weekend I'm taking first aid. A friend of mine just told me "you can't be lonely. you have a guitar AND cats. sweet." so I went home and patted the cats and played guitar and felt a bit better for a while.

Go away. go away. whatever "you" are, whatever causes you, whatever perpetuates you GO AWAY! I don't need this shit! okay? go.

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well anyway, it can only be, what, maybe 22 boxcars long? at most. it'll be over soon.

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you know what's gross? swanson hungry man dinners. I had the ribs one last night, where "ribs" is understood to mean "skeevy pressed pork product with no bones." ewwww. once every two years or so I get to thinking "ooh, that looks like a tasty easy meal." and regret it soon after. oh lord, and regret it soon after.

heh, I feel like I'm writing the lame-ass blues here. like in my guitar for dummies book, it has advice for writing the blues. GOOD LOCALES: Memphis, the Bayou, Prison. BAD LOCALES: Starbucks, Aspen, Rodeo Drive. GOOD COMPLAINTS: Your baby left you, you're about to be hung. BAD COMPLAINTS: An impending market correction, the scarcity of good help. Hee hee.