I hate to give the impression that I spend my days sulking, but this ridiculous journal has become the place for me when I have some woe to spew. So many of my complaints about life are summarized by that: I have no one to share my troubles with, and that is the whole of my troubles. However, writing has always been soothing to me, and every writer scribbles in hope that it will someday be read by the right person. Another potential companion (the one I mentioned earlier) jumped ship on me this past weekend. I must have done something wrong during the conversation, failed to amuse, because she begged off the call by saying she was going "away." And that was the last I heard of her, despite e-mails and contact attempts. Immediately following that, my closest female friend expressed long-hidden romantic intentions for me, intentions I did not share. If I do not draw a line, I will be stringing her along. I must separate, cause myself pain, in order to avoid her contin
There's a support group for that, it's called everyone and we meet at the bar.
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