May. 31st, 2001

Enough people have asked me if I'm alright, I've started wondering myself.

Last night I was out with Simon and Rachel and it was quite a lot of fun, but quite a lot of standing around playing gooseberry too. I don't think that was bad in itself - I thought we had a pretty good time. I just can't work out if there's something going deeper than that I should be worried about.

I was in bed by midnight last night and slept through my alarm until nearly 10am. Not having a real job right now helps matters in that respect. Perhaps it is respect that I'm lacking right now - I feel rather fat and ugly, more so than I have done in a while. I also feel like there are a number of people I have not been able to help when it has seemed they've most needed it. And I hate that, more than I can describe.

I don't know if I'm a good friend or not. I try to be, but in a way that makes the inevitable failings seem all the worse. And how many of the failings aren't inevitable per se, but only because it's me? I'm not the greatest at social communication. Oddly enough, I'm fine at work - phoning, writing, whatever - but at home I just can't. I've been very very crap to a number of people, and others just seem to have to take what they get from me, and I feel bloody inadequate for that.

Of course, it's not me to decide who my friends are, really. I do care for every single friend I have, no matter how awful I am at showing it.. but if the love appears entirely internal, is it all a delusion? Would people really miss having me, or is it more they'd miss the fact they could approach me if they needed to? And am I becoming less approachable these days?

I really, really don't know how people can call me important. I know I'm not important. I'm not going to change the world. I hope I can, in some way, make a few people's lives better - but I never believe I'm having a overwhelmingly positive influence on people's lives anyway.

Perhaps when it comes down to it, I'm just a raging hypocrite who can't cope with his own life and has to turn to other people's to give his existence some value. Perhaps the only way to measure the value of a life *is* by the effect it has on other people. I don't know.

I want to be there for my friends. Right now, I'm not. Therefore right now, my life has very little meaning. That's not right, it's not clever, and it's dangerous. But fucked if I know what the hell to do about it, eh?

Sorry, everyone. I will try harder.

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typisch

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