fuck you, dear diary.

fuck you, diary. i'm sick of your shit. you need to shut the hell up. sometimes you make me say bad things that hurt people's feelings. things i wouldn't say otherwise. things which really shouldn't be said.

nah, i'm just playing with you. i like saying bad things. i'd probably say them anyway. you just give me a mask to hide behind so i don't actually have to face anyone when i say bad things about them. you're a great defender.

ha ha, i'm just playing again. i don't hide behind you. i can start some shit without hiding behind you and not feel bad about it. you do make a mighty fine excuse though. "it's my diary, i can say what i want." it's wonderful. i can act like you're not a public diary and claim i have the right to say anything i want. that's different than hiding behind you, because it gives me the ability to aviod the situation once i've been confronted. avoiding uncomfortable situations is the most important thing in life, just so you know.

once again, i'm just playing. i love you diary. you're a wonderful diary for me to use for keeping a record of my life. likewise, you allow me to relieve stress that's been building within me. i apologize for not coming to you quite so often, but i met this wonderful girl, misty, a while back. she does a better job than you do for allowing me to relieve stress. i beat her up.

man, i tricked you again. i'm still playing. i don't beat her up. i talk to her, and she talks to me. i guess this is what people call the real world. sometimes, i even leave my apartment and talk to other people. it's a crazy world interacting with human beings, but it makes me happy. d-iz-amn. i'm done dealing with you now, i'm going to go eperience a bit of life. i'll see you later, dear diary.