I guess in some way there is irony here. Irony from the fact that in the last blog before the one yesterday, I said I was alone. And here I am. All alone in my head. Once again searching for words that don't exist. But even more so, I am actually not angry anymore. Writing is an emotional release, especially when it's like screaming in a large crowd of people in the library. There's bound to be some offensive things said. But then there's me: hypocritical for both saying "fuck the world, I hate everyone" and getting mad when someone is mean to me. And I suppose that is just the way life goes. You win some, but you lose most. I feel fine today, actually, which once again surprises me. The anger has yet to subside though. Just the anger that it was for someone else. I could have handled this better if you hadn't told me that, but you did and I'm mad. And I just wasted a year and a half of my life on things that don't really matter. I'm really not one to hold judges, at least not until this year. But as isaid it before and as I'll say it again: I'm a bitch. I really have little conern for other people's feelings. My intentions were for others to feel like I felt. My job might be done then. I guess no of this really matters in the long run. But if so, then what really does? And all you motherfuckers saying it's not her fault, you and I both know you wouldn't be saying that, if you were me. And I am you and you are me because together we're just stupid human beings trapped on this godforsaken place.