warning: this is my third post tonight. You have to read 2 more (don't worry, they're not really me talking, so they'll be...easier to read [laughs]). 2am-ish, and I've been reading back-entries of journals I don't keep up with, mostly because they're on myspace instead of blogger or xanga or whatnot. I could be reading my book (The Grapes of Wrath), or playing world of warcraft, or reading more blogs, or looking at my friend's profiles to see if they've uploaded new pictures, or sleeping, since I have to get up for work in 5 hours. What am I doing? What am I compelled to do? Write. I envy people who think (i.e. journal) in words and phrases and sentences and paragraphs that are immensely interesting to read. I am not interesting to read. Anyone who keeps up with my blog reads because they like to keep up with me. I barely know who that is. But I'm sure some people come along and read a month's worth of entries and then disappears again. Some people may never have met me, nor ever will, yet they read a little, to get a glimpse of another person's life. Does it matter who I write for? Not really. Yet, it does. In the same way that sometimes one feels that particular things can't be talked about with a particular person, say a friend or family member, on journals such as this, you have to be balls-to-the-wall and say what needs to be said, because if someone shouldn't know it then it shouldn't be said here. So you have to say everything...or you have to be quiet. Go quietly into the dark. ...Have you noticed my dramatic decrease in posts, especially posts that pertain to my life? It's because I've been busy in my head. Because I feel that my friends no longer care enough to deserve to know my mind. They're too busy or not close enough or whatever. [laughs] It's a pill that I am turning my head and not swallowing. My horoscope (which I never check, by the way, but checked in response to a friend's blog) is such:

How can something be 'too good to be true?' We don't say things are 'too bad to be false'. We know full well that dreams and deceptions can take us into territory that's far darker than any reality. Why, then, should we place a limit on positivity? Some things, most definitely, are very good and very true. This brings me neatly round to your forecast. You are worried about a prospect or possibility. It seems to be offering you support but you fear that if you put your weight on it, it may collapse. If it can't serve that purpose, though, what use is it? You don't need another daydream to escape into. You need a promise you can rely on. That's what you've got.

I...I had come to rely on Drew a lot. I realize that only now that he's busy with work and girlfriend and we never talk or hang out. I am surrounded by people of strength. Moral strength, Emotional strength, Financial strength, even Physical strength, though that I rarely need. Some of them offer to provide support in whatever way they are able. Others would but do not believe the offer needs to be made. Yet I stand alone. I...I always feel as though it is my role in life to be supportive to my friends as an example of joy and fun, to remind them that life is good, that we are good, and that when they and we are not, we can strive for them to be so. [shakes his head] it doesn't matter what I feel I need to be, I always try to be superhuman, and through my superiority, help or inspire others to the same. But I'm not superhuman. I have weaknesses, failings, insecurities and vices. And I need help. [laughs] and mom, I love you, but I don't mean you. I don't ask for help. I look for opportunities to help others without them asking. I want others to do the same for me. No, I expect them to. and I am disappointed, because I expected of people something when I asked them for nothing. I don't even know how to ask. It's not a pride thing; it's a feeling of powerlessness, that asking for help is an insurmountable obstacle. Part of it is because I am not able to help Grace. I cannot comfort her, or give her strength, ease her loneliness or help her find peace. I can't give her money or a home or a job, and I can't even give her the feeling of usefulness by letting her help me. Part of it is because I look at my friends, solid or insubstantial, secure or crumbling towers, and I see how I can help them. But I do not see myself, and therefore I cannot see how they could help me. I have no more words tonight. Goodnight, blogger, and sleep well. hopefully, I will too.