A repost of a web-diary that predated the term blog - as previous hosting is disappearing it can now go here.
24 October 1998 - 29 July 1999 originally published on geocties.
August 1999 - 2012 originally published on ihug.
Disclaimer
Though a "Diary" my online diary is a work of FICTION.It may at times strongly reflect actual events of my life, often how I honestly perceived them and display my genuine reactions. But not always and everything contained within should be treated as a fiction.
This is also a personal diary, so by reading it you are violating my privacy. And as it is a personal diary you are not allowed to hold anything you read in it against me, as you shouldn't have been reading it anyway.
Also, this diary is not to be read by anyone who has gone out with me, would like to go out with me in the future, or suspects I may like to go out with them.
Tuesday, 8 October 2019
Stupid universe.
I headed to class, and on the intersection crossing the the university library I realised I was crossing in front of Shitlord's car. After how much all little pale blue cars are causing a hit of panic, I had realised it looked a lot like his car but I think that a lot and was not as prepared for it to actually be him as I needed to be.
He did that pointing at his eyes and then swinging the fingers to me thing to show he was watching me. I assume he meant it to be friendly, but it just felt like he was claiming some sort of right to see where I am.
He has done too many dick things, it taints everything else.
He controlled me for so long through actions I took as innocent at the time.
And seeing him at all hurts. I have all this useless love that just aches for him, and seeing him makes it so much worse.
Class was on the exam, so was probably worth being at but I really just wanted to be at home in bed.
On my way home I stepped on a wobbly brick in the footpath and it shot fetid muck up my leg all the way to my crotch. I looked like I had had explosive diarrhoea though the front of my pants - and the mud the got on my hand itched a lot, even for quite a while after it was thoroughly washed away. So it was home to extra washing of things and preparing stuff to not stain between now and when I have enough laundry for it to be worth running the machine.
And then once I was home and cleaned I cried for a while.
I would like to say it was all about the mud, but I wouldn't even fool myself with that.
The moving on is a slow process and, when I start to think I am making progress, I get reminded how far I have to go.
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