Monday, January 26


I'm making up words now, just because I can. I joined Orkut last week, just because I could. Just as I did Friendster months ago. I was scrolling through some profiles on the aforementioned site (why not -- no one had posted to their blogs in at least an hour), and I got pissed off. All of a sudden, I remembered why a certain friend made me want to kill her on a regular basis. She was too fucking cool for all of it -- all of it being life, emotions, relationships, me, what have you. I sent her the great big "fuck you" in my head, but then I had to ask myself why I was still mad. This was years ago, and we're friends now, so why was I angry? Everybody's Friendster profiles are idiotic. I tend toward the cynical myself and frequently strive lamely for coolness. But there is something about this attitude that just sets me off. Perhaps it's my own insecurities rearing their ugly heads (I reject what is cool in order to be cool). I can't quite pin it down, but it follows me. The attitude seems to say that nothing can actually be touching, or sad, or just ... heartfelt. Because that's not cool. There's no point in doing anything, because nothing has a point. And maybe there is no point to all of this (my ramblings in particular), but if that's true, I'd rather not know. I'll keep pretending I'm doing something, if it's all the same to you.

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