For the first time I see why people would leave their diaries behind, board up the windows and hide away inside. Because no matter what you're thinking when you write something, if it's even the slightest bit ambiguous there's a good chance everyone and their brother will misinterpret it.

This hasn't actually happened to me. I know it probably seems like it has, or I wouldn't be writing this. It just sort of occurred to me that it might.

My fingernails are kind of bluish. I wonder if it's just because I'm cold or if I have some sort of horrible disease. I probably don't have some sort of horrible disease. Unless it's a horrible disease that makes me type things that make me sound pathetic.

There's so much happening in my head right now that I'm afraid to articulate any of it for fear that I won't articulate it all and then I'll be a coward, or I'll be deceptive, or I'll be manipulative, or something. I really am driven by fear. And as comical as it sounds, that scares me.

And I'm afraid that when I post this I'll look like the sort of person who parades around being publicly fucked-up so people will be all awed and nervous. Hardly. There's a reason I don't have a sitemeter on this thing. Yeah, I'm onstage when I write here, but my theater is empty.