2003-05-19| 9:12 p.m.
A million years ago maybe I wrote to you, like anyone FUCKING CARED what I did all day or who I saw or what I said. A million years ago I was a different person with a different name and a diary that's been sucked under.
Somewhere along the line it became about the challenge, and then it became about the need, the oh so very raw need on those days when I was[am] torn and shredded and pieces go every which way like confetti [!] like so so so much confetti.
But it's never enough. [Never enough, like those days with the clay and projects rolled back into a blob because they were NOT ENOUGH] I never described myself as a perfectionist but I strive to be BETTER THAN YOU.
There's so much I never learned and so much more that I have and wish I hadn't, there's so much more than what anyone knows and yet so much less [I am transparent like glass.]