10:11 a.m. - 2001-09-07
incline
So I stumbled there, back at the clinic. I had a fit of self-doubt deep enough to want to...what? Pay money for "happiness"? Good lord. Why don't I just pipe canned laughter into my apartment while I'm at it? So SmithKline Beecham, you can take your pills and your brochure and administer both of them, suppository-style. 'Cause I'm feelin' strong (manic, whatever) again.
And thanks for the concerned e-mails...well ok, "concerned e-mail". Although, Mom, I gotta say, it did make me a little uneasy to realize you'd been reading my journal. But I appreciate your letter...and I promise I'll take your advice and try hard to stop "acting like such a pussy"; because deep in my heart I always knew (but thank you for reminding me) that you and Dad didn't raise me to be such a "whiny little bitch". And I guarantee that the man who shows up at your door this Christmas WILL be "half the man (his) little sister is", and not the "skinny, maladjusted, fag-boy" who "brought disgrace to everything this family stands for" with that last entry.
