1.8: End one sentence earlier

I feel trapped. Trapped in rage. The internet's been flciking on and off all night. Brandon's been having a wandering phone conversation with his friend Steve. Xena will not stop barking. There's no escape. There's nothing. Fuck. And you know what? I wasn't having such a bad day, either. Now I'm miserable.

It hurts my heart. I could never be a parent. Not during the early years. I don't do well with trying to interpret barks and cries and so forth. I have a checklist of things I can do to help her. I can give her food, I can give her water, I can give her a treat, I can let her out, and if she's up for it, I can play with her. Usually, after all that -- and by that I mean, every single one of those things -- she finally mellows out somehow. But there are times, like tonight, when I just have no idea what she wants. Bitch!

Like I said, even though I wasn't having such a bad day today, to have to come home and put up with an internet connection that keeps crapping out for some reason (or no reason. I can't tell. This is the first this has happened since the new modem,) and a dog who just will not be pleased, it makes me want to smash an expensive car with a cricket bat or something. There's something about a shattered windshield that would be very re-assuring at this point.

I was gonna talk about shit, too, today. Now I can't organize my thoughts. I've got so much shit to take care of! And I haven't done any of it because -- I told you! My connection keeps blinking out, and I have a dog that, until moments ago, would not be silenced. I gave her a treat. Didn't want to, but it usually comes to that.

I don't deal with frustration well. It's something I've known for years. When faced with an unconquerable situation, I usually just freak out. Not the best attribute, I know, but at least I know I have a problem. A serious rage issue, okay?

I've carped on long enough. I'm sorry. I really did have things in mind for this post earlier. Some random thoughts of varying levels of interest. None of which are coming to me right now, even though the ordeal is mostly over with (internet keeps blipping out, though. Fucker.) Now I know how Berkowitz felt. (I think I've actually used that line before.)

While I'm in a bitchy mood, I might as well say something about my admitted recent boredom-killer, "Facebook." I think it's a fascinating site. At first I thought it was a lame version of MySpace, but now that everyone seems off that site and on the other, I might as well bandwagon it, as I am like to do. Even if it means putting up with a strange phenomenon that didn't come up on MySpace.

The worst thing that happened on MySpace was some lame band would ask to be your "friend." You take a listen to their music, and if it was good, you add, and if not, no sweat. Gone, don't even think about it. Sometimes you get a random or someone you know well. What is more rare for me - especially in comparison to Facebook - is the "pseudo-friend" phenomenon that is starting to get depressing.

Ever since I randomly got a Facebook (even before Sheridan had its own network, and thus I was less involved,) old friends have been seeking me out and adding me. I'll admit, I don't add people usually, myself. I don't go to the trouble of seeking them out. If time passes and I find someone who ought to be on my list, I go okay, "add." No big.

But admit it. You have people you don't like, or hardly know, in your Facebook (or even MySpace). And they're probably there because you didn't have the heart to say, "no, we're not friends."

"Friends" is the word of choice for these sites. So naturally, the only people I would seek out - if they haven't found me first, which they mostly have - are my friends. People I enjoy talking to and like to keep in contact with. But as soon as I signed up, I found myself getting requests from a lot of people. Many of them I'd been friends with once, but hadn't really spoken to in years. Some were friends of friends. And some are people I could barely have called acquaintences. Like the guy who just added me, who dated a since-estranged friend of mine in Grade 10. He was in my Grade 9 gym class. I don't think I ever spoke a sentence to him. Not that he's probably not a nice guy, how would I know? But I wonder what makes someone decide to look at someone they know only fleetingly, and say, "I need to have this guy in my friends list."

I dunno. Maybe I'm just being Andy Rooney. Maybe I'm so irritated that everything will irk me at this point. Man, there ain't no cure for this. Innoculate me against inconvenience.

Everybody wants something. From themselves, from the world, from me. It all comes at once. A dog wants a treat. A brother wants a letter printed for a "friend." School wants an article. A friend wants an explanation. I want peace. I just want to know that nobody will be crying at me tomorrow and that my internet will be stable and I can rest easy knowing I'm doing something right.

Y'know?

But I can't really have it.

No, I'm gonna go to sleep tonight, and I'm going to wake up tomorrow, and it will b esomething else. Or the same thing.

Whatever it is.

I really didn't want this entry to be this. But the dog's barking again (it's 11:58!) and I don't know what to do with myself.

Hopefully I'll get my head back into this dimension and write the entry I want, instead of the one I need, tomorrow.

Not at my best. Keep on rockin'
-Scott