Sunday, Jan. 14, 2007 4:04 p.m.

god, I need a lobotomy.

I have way too many online outlets, where I try to spout off my opinion, hoping someone will listen. more importantly, hoping that someone will think I'm smart.

but the reality is, no one really cares.

and I'm ok with this. I really am. it's taken me a very, very long time to be ok with this, but I think I am.

I still wish people would listen to me. I still wish my opinions mattered. I still wish others though I was smart.

I think that's why I'm writing this book. and why I keep re-writing it, constantly changing my words, trying to succinctly explain what I want to explain. how do I make the story interesting, how do I make it resonate to others, what words in what order do I use?

I get disheartened, quite a bit, really. thinking I'll never be able to do it. never be able to write anything good enough. that anyone wants to read, that anyone wants to understand.

maybe I should write a different story. maybe I shouldn't write this one. no one reads my diary anymore anyways. no one cares about what I have to say. I'm boring, I'm old, I'm selfish, I'm shallow.

I have no interesting points anymore. I'm not open-minded enough, I'm not naive enough...I don't know what I�m not enough of anymore - but I feel like I'm not enough.

I do wish sometimes that I had an audience. I wish that this diary was cool again, that I was younger and hip-er and people wrote me notes. I wish I still updated my website, and that people read what I had to say.

I wish I made smart comments on the groups and blogs I comment on. I wish people respected me.

but...the strange thing is...I've accepted that they don't...and I've learned to live.

this is a very rambling journal entry. and I'm ok with it being as such. as I sat down and wanted to get emotion out, this is the first place I came. I know a very few people may read this, and I know the two people who will actually comment on it.

still, it's why I go back to my book. I have to write it. I have to feel like I can say what I want to say. I have to feel like I can present something reasonable to the world.

it scares me sometimes, how much I want this thing to get written, how much I'm afraid that I will leave the world without being anything.

I almost said how afraid I was to leave the world without contributing anything...but then I realized that I didn't mean that. I meant that I'm afraid to the leave the world without being anything.

I long to have a command of language. to be able to communicate, to be able to translate, not language, but thoughts.

I feel half-autistic sometimes, the way I think in my head. I've learned my whole life to use phrases and definitions to describe what I mean, to put things into neatly formed boxes of words...but it frustrates me so much sometimes!

I think that's why I'm drawn to it though, to writing...because it's all I have. it's all I have to try to understand both myself, and it seems like more importantly, others.

are we all the same? are all these thoughts, that I can never correctly convey, are they the same as in everyone? am I like everyone else? is everyone else like me?

I had a difficult time yesterday signing a happy birthday card to my grandmother. K said I should say "we love you grandma, happy birthday", but I couldn't. I couldn't write love.

I love K. I love my best friend. I love a few other handful of people. I love people that I respect, that I know, that I think are good people. I don't love a lot of people. but I don't hate them either. I just don't love them. I don't love my grandmother. she is not a bad person, and I honestly don't know her all that well. but I have no reason to love her.

I feel like I am channeling ayn rand, but I don't think I've ever loved out of obligation. I tried to explain this to K, that I loved him, and that I loved him in a way that I think is a greater love than any other love I can give - I love him because I choose to love him. because he is good. and because he worthy of my love.

but I don't know if this makes sense.

it scares me, sometimes, what I think. because, above everything else - I just want to be honest. I want truth. more than anything.

and most people don't think like me. or at least I'm assuming they don't from what I've gathered.

and while I always want to be honest and true to myself, I also want to be socially connected to others, I want to be liked, I want to be accepted.

but I think, when it comes down to it, that I value this weird, thinking, truthful, honest part of me more. so if it came to it, I would have to choose it.

but I miss that social connection. I miss being normal, I miss saying things that people agree with.

I perfectly realize that I'm not saying anything right in this entry and that this last part will be very confusing and sound like I'm about to turn into a recluse or something, which I'm not. but as I stated already, I have a hard time with language, and tend to get caught up in a particular thought, dragging it in circles, using many different words, hoping to bring it out correctly, which I never do.

this is me.

I'm confusing.

I usually erase these things, making them sound more respectable, before I present them to anyone in a journal entry.

but I haven't this time.

I'm not afraid of people's perceptions, because I don't think I'll get any though this...and I think that the two people who will read this already know that I get like this and will let it slide.

I want to be someone someday. I want to accomplish something. I want to be interviewed, I want people to want to talk to talk to me, to hear what I have to say.

I want to sound smart and coherent.

but all I can accomplish are entries like this.

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