:: Closing Time ::

:: Tuesday, May 28, 2002 ::

This is not going to be a happy blog. I'm warning you right now.

Why should it be though? It's not like I've got a whole lot of reason for it to be. What with my sometimes sort of not quite friends. Yeah, them. Should I say you? I don't know. You're sitting there reading this, and unless you're one of maybe -two- people you got a call or a message from me looking for something to do. And you ignored it, went out without me, and are off tooling around. As one person who so ironically called my cell, assuming I was in on the festivities and unsure of where to go, put it: "people were running around and meeting up at Mike's." Sounds like a fucking lot of fun..... and exactly what I tried to get people to do.

Which begs the question.

You don't know what question? Don't tell me you don't know. In some wording or another, you know.

What happened? -Who- happened? Was it deliberate? Was it accidental? Which is worse? How did I end up sitting here getting depressed as the people I keep trying to think are my friends are out partying?

More importantly, the question it doesn't beg. But the one I keep asking myself. This is a recurring pattern, it has seemed to happen all the time for the past year. Over and over again. Every time I ask myself a question.

Do I hate you, or do I hate myself? Because I feel something, and it's evil. It's angry. It's frustrated, volitile. If this is my fault, why doesn't somebody say something? Nobody has. If nobody has said anything, isn't it your fault?

What do I do.......... ?

Right now, I'd rather take my chances jumping in front of a moving van than going to your prom.

It's not my prom. Because it's certainly not "our" prom, because there's obviously no "us." Nothing in the world revolves around me, so it's not my prom. It must be yours. And again, no one invited me. Maybe I shouldn't go. Maybe I shouldn't go to graduation. Maybe I should be happy my family is probably moving this summer. Maybe I shouldn't come back. You obviously don't give a fuck what I do or how I feel. If you did, maybe in four years you would have shown some signs of caring.

So why should I?

:: Peter 8:30 PM [+] ::
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