2002-05-21 10:42 a.m. You know what? No. You don't get to read any of what I just wrote. I wrote it. I read it. I didn't like what I'd written. And now, it's gone. Gone to the d*land ether or cache file or wherever deleted entries go. Here's the thing. It wasn't a bad entry. As writing goes, I actually thought it was pretty good. It wasn't a secret entry; there was nothing in there I'd want to hide from anyone. It was just, well, it was an entry where I more or less wallowed in self pity. And I don't want to wallow. I've been there before. It's dirty and the customer service is horrible. (what?) Feeling sorry for yourself is fine, for a while. As long as you don't let it cripple you. And were I to wallow in the self pity, I'd be on the road to cripple-tude. Prolonged feeling sorry for one's self serves no purpose outside of acting as a convenient escape from dealing with the real issue. For the short term, yesterday's problems have been solved. For the long term, well, I don't know. But I'm not going to run away from the problem. I'm not going to hide. I used to hide all the time. Not anymore. Fuck self pity. downtown----uptown leave me a note, fool!

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