I'm not the happiest person in the world. That's a given, really, because otherwise I wouldn't be writing this thing, right? It's so predictable of me, sure. Now that's settled.

It must be Sunday. I get here and I feel very, very rattled. No, it's not because of tomorrow, because I seriously couldn't care less about the bitches; if you're impressing Seattle, then by all means, do so. Then again, it could be a factor. There's always something with the end of the weekend, the start of another five days of wondering why you even bother trying when nobody will give you another chance.

It's what it's been, really. Nobody gives you another chance, or at least that's how it feels most of the time. After so many years of being there for anyone, nobody is being there for you. Same old complaints, followed by the same old realizations, that someone is there for you, then you spin it around.

Yes, a mood swing.

Ning almost laughed at me yesterday when I told her that I felt bad whenever I check Facebook. No, really, it's something as shallow - or as big, if you're CNN - as Facebook. Highlights section to the right, there's always a smattering of posts, and nothing involving you, and yes, that is shallow. It's the power of the tag. You let someone know what you've written and ask for reactions of some sort.

Shallow, but there are all of the things they talk about. "I'm off to dinner with..." or "I had a nice time with..." or "I think he's..." or whatever, just a means to let everyone know what they're up to, and definitely to spite them. A big finger, I must say. I'm being cynical. I'm wondering what I've done that's made me just the last choice, or maybe not a choice at all. Seeing friends dissing friends, you wonder whether they do the same for you, and they do. There's the reason why I felt offended when Jason, Jill, Malia and Ale started talking about four years ago. There's the reason why I felt Ariane didn't want to tell me what happened to her interview, or why I feel Icka is slowly annoyed when I talk to her about stuff, or why I'm suddenly willing to single people out. My "friends", so to speak.

That's all you're good for, anyway. A punching bag, but not as stylish as Jeanine and Evan. Apart from that, you're not any good for them. Fail, fail. And you wonder why you even bother, because in the first place they've already decided that you do not deserve it. Lip service, no effort, just appease him so he'll feel better and he'll leave you behind and you can focus on screwing with someone else, goodbye.

There's a reason why I don't invite anybody to Starbucks.

Gerald said it quite nicely, so I'll pretty much paraphrase him: why do we have to deserve someone's friendship? If it's a purely good thing, then there must be no reservations, no requirements, no entry fee, and no doors whatsoever. Just give it because you have to and they need it. If it fails, then let go of it, but always provide an option to return - much like overdue fees in libraries. All I get is a feeling of insignificance, that nobody in this world gives a damn about me, that nobody wants me to be anybody for them, and fuck you if you think I'm wallowing in self-pity or calling for attention or being desperate and all. I'm sure you've felt this way, but in one way or another someone's brought you up. Isn't it that hard to pass it on to me?

And your responses...

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