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the mixed up files
warning: for those about to read this entry due to the link on epiclylaterd.com, it is about work and totally boring. sorry i can't entertain you all the time, or that my life is semi boring, or that i go on tangents. this is a fucking diary. it is not the truth, it is not a column, and it is not work or real writing for that matter, whatsoever. it is virtual vomit. that being said, i am so sick of the excuse "i edit your stuff and make it better so you better thank me" also translated into a previous entry in which i described gavin as saying "i turn your shit into gold ever month." why am supposed to be greatful for that? you're an editor. that's your job. if my shit is such shit than don't ask me to waste my time in your magazine of golden sentence structures and absolute truths. to map out my anger in the form of resentments, i have found it easy to work within the 4th step formula. i resent: J the cause: didn't put my column in this month and didnt bother to tell me. when called on his bullshit, i felt as though he was lying and he sounded rehearsed. nevertheless, it is hard to fight with him because he won't let people argue with him about anything, so rather than try to be the exception, i try to let that go. i am still rather upset that the entry was left out. affects my: security, pride, self esteem. my part: selfish-i care so much about my column that i didn't bother to think or care about how he put the mag together, the stress he may be under, and act as if it is the most important part of the mag for everyone just because it is for me. self seeking: want to see my column because it makes me feel cool to see my name and writing in print every month. the coolness makes me feel like i'm doing something important and will get street cred and recognition for it. it also provides great comfort to see that i am getting published every month. fear: with one missing, maybe they don't want it anymore? if they don't want it anymore, do i suck at writing? if i suck at writing, what is my life? etc etc etc poor alone loser with no money career life or love. with that jazz out of the way, i still don't really feel any better. but on the other hand, i know its not that big of a deal and its just whatever anyway. i guess i liked the one i wrote for this month, and i worked on it, as well as the reviews which oddly enough also got cut. and nate dogg or whatever, that was such a riveting piece. man, do they have to fill in an ethnic quota? was that part of some settlement? i'm sorry but that piece was boring and who is nate dogg and who cares? not that DD was better, but it is like, 300 words. smaller than an ad. and J just "forget" mention. thank god didn't ask what picture he used when i was at the office. that would have been realllllly weird. on to other topics. i hung out all day at teany with some boys who are mostly haters of women, aka they hate themselves because some hot girl at one point in their mediocre lives hurt them or broke their heart or fucking whateves and now they act all sXe about it, but not with drink-god no, or drugs, but women. and i sat there and actually laughed and had a good time while they commented on every fucking girl who walked down the street. until oh my god a girl who actually has half a brain and maybe has a few funny stories to tell up her little french fucking cut sleeves blew their minds out of their assholes, where they've been stuck for the past whatever years. and i actually had them laughing, losing arguments, defending what they said and having that fail, and watching minds get changed like fucking dj's at lit. i'm too fucking tired. its 4am. i feel liked the mixed up files of mrs. franklin p. rockerfeller or whatever the fuck that book is called. i dont know if i want to go to LI. i don't know if i want to talk to certain peoples on the phones, and i don't know how to keep fucking shit contained in this stupid forum. nothing is safe anymore. not my real diary because jo will read it. not this. not nothing. i guess i'll have to keep all my real feelings repressed and when i turn into a serial killer next year, i can blame it all on the lower east side.
3:38 a.m. - 2004-08-05
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history - mystery
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