agentstrange

It's late now. I have to "wake up" soon. I'm tired but I don't sleep. Gotta go to work soon. Gotta stop writing in disjointed sentences. I won't though.

I messed up the memory card on my camera so I guess no more pictures until I buy another. But it doesn't matter... no one wants to look at me, much less speak to me. If I believed in using smilies I'd be putting that sad blue bastard on then end of that sentence.

I wonder sometimes why I do this. Its obvious no one reads these damn things. Is it catharsis through complaining? Or do I need attention?

I think I've always put myself under the impression that I don't need attention like everyone else. Perhaps it was pride, or maybe it was some sort of justification for no one giving a damn whether I was coming or going...

Perhaps I, of all people need to be needed or least acknowledged by someone or anyone. I guess I can't escape it. Hard as it may be to swallow I guess I'm only human.

This may not be an entirely bad thing. Since I'm basically a ghost I'll try to make the best of it. I can say just about anything I want. There's no worry about anyone seeing it and I can let out whatever I'm feeling at the moment. I mean come on, the only reason I got a few comments on my last posting was only because I asked someone to look at it. Not to mention the irresistable lure of Mr. T.

It's not like anyone was really interested in me. So I think I'll put everything else aside and get down to some real shit.

Furious Bruce's List Of Things No One Will Read So He Can Say Anything

I don't think anyone has ever cared about anything I have done in my life, with the exception of my mom.

I'm pretty sure no one has ever cared if I was there or not.

Barring some freak accident, I'm fairly sure that I'm going to die alone.

My life has no meaning.

Nothing I do will ever affect anyone and none of it matters.

I don't remember anytime where I thought or said I was truly glad to be alive.

No one has ever been in love with me.

The first girl I ever loved paid little to no attention to me. (Hi Marcella.)

I hate life.

Every new day is like a labored breath. Each more difficult than the last. A slow suffication leading to a quiet uneventful death.

I separate myself off from others because I don't think that anyone could ever love me.

I'm bitter beyond all recognition. Emptiness loosely molded into the form of a man.

I'm also fairly sure that the only people who can stand my presence for more than an hour are either deaf or blind.

I never wanted anything out of my life except for one thing... someone to share the game with.

The END?!