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Someone responded to a post I made here awhile back about the opposite sex. To that person I would like to say that I am fully aware that I don't need someone else to be complete. I don't want someone else around for completeness. I want someone around who gets me.

But that's neither here nor there, in the grand scheme of things. For a few seconds in my lifetime, I liked this lovely boy, a musician of all things, who I knew would spell trouble in the end. Trouble, I might add, not of his doing. But of mine. And now there I am, troubled indeed, because he fancies someone who is very thoroughly not me.

And this is why I am giving up on myself. Every time I let myself like someone, it always comes to this. It is very rarely the man's fault (except that one time) and is almost always 100% mine.

Ah, me.

I spent the afternoon with David Gray, trying to convince him to step out of my discman and sit with me so we could have a chat. David, you see, would understand.

"When I write, I feel like an armless, legless man with a crayon in his mouth." - Kurt Vonnegut

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The following comments are for "Fun with emotions; or why I'm giving up on myself"
by madrigals

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