God I’m happy.

I haven’t been keeping up on my offline e-diary. It’s there, but I don’t know what to write in it. There is maybe too much. And so, this e-diary becomes the canonical one. Funny, that. I suppose that should interest me, since this is (in some broad sense) what I am writing my thesis on.

But nevermind.

Sometimes when I talk to a friend on the telephone, I am struck by the degree to which my tendency to be in love with (as Corgan once said) my own sadness is really a selfish act. Everyone has their own sadnesses, and mine aren’t any more special or particular, on the whole, than anyone else’s. It is just because I am lost inside my own skin that I think that they are somehow more sad, more real, or that I am unable to escape them.

Once again, I must try to become a better person.

This has been the boring, “ethical” entry. Not titillating, but certainly sincere. Best wishes to all of you, my friends. Let me know what I can do to help. And if what you need is just a voice in the darkness to tell you that you are loved, let me know that as well. You all got my number. And you all are loved.

Pub on Thursday. Pils keg on Friday. Duracells on Saturday. Black ink on Sunday. Fresh produce on Monday… and a cabinet-clearing in the afternoon. Right now, reading. Light reading, in fact.

The people you love fill your universe with stars. Everything is beautiful sometimes.