for show and tell
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Now I fucking did it. I knew it. I knew my sissy, weak-
willed personality could not resist her. I told myself, I
said, I must avoid Amanda. I must. I am becoming a soft-
hearted, spiritually up moron. I hate it. I hate being so
damn happy. It feels really fucking fake. I said, don't
call her, dammit, don't you lift that phone. And it worked
for a while until I just said 'fuck it', gathered my
peanut-sized balls and called her. I hate this. Women.
Women, I hate. Drag me in all the time. Like nicotine,
except not quite so fully fatal. And what's more is that
whenever I hang up, I know the second after I will become
depressed. Like getting up on candy, like I always do.
Sugar blues type things.
It's sickening, and I told Samm, I said, tell me again,
how to be a stark, upright asshole, and he does it so
well. No offence, of course. Here I was, unbreakable cage,
and suddenly, I'm like a little, sad puppy who is always
excited to see his owner, whether the owner does good to
the puppy or not.
Sometimes, it's sad to see what I do and don't know. How
open and closed my mind is. How weak and strong I am. Like
a hypocrite, except more the Hitler and less the
hypocrite. I think.