...without you, it's not as much fun to pick up the pieces...

So, I still feel really bad about snapping at Jeff at rehearsal yesterday. I apologized to him before he left and he accepted it but I'm still carrying around a little baggage from it. That kind of venom should be spit at people who deserve it. Don't you just love it when your hobby turns into this horrible....labor. And all over a pair of red suspenders. Don't ask, it's not even half a story.

What the Hell is wrong with me? Such a coward. I can never tell two different people the same story. Sometimes I feel like I don't really have a personality, just a series of concepts and masks that I change depending on who's in the room with me. I hate that about myself.

It's like all the people I know and sort of know are these differently shaped, colored glass jars (flasks, vases, beakers, whatever). And the shape and color of each of them is their personality and stories and opinions and all the things that make them into people I like (or dislike or am indifferent to, depending on the person). And me, I'm like water that just pours himself into whatever people I'm around, giving them an aspect of myself that more or less reflects their shape and color. And sometimes when there are too many shapes in the room, I don't know who I'm suppose to be anymore. God, rereading that makes me feel a little dizzy and
odd.

I'm a sheep. I never stand up for myself or for my friends. Useless. I just go along to get along. Even when I know things are wrong I just freeze....and do nothing. I would probably have made a great soldier for Cortez, killing Aztecs, or a wonderful NAZI party member, or an aide to Joseph McCarthy. Frozen. Go along to get along. Even when I know I'm doing something wrong. I never want to rock the boat, upset anyone. Confront anyone. I never stand. I hate that about myself too.

Freud Freud go away, come again some other day.