I got this email. I don't even know if it was for me, but I'm assumig it was for me because i'm the only one with firstname.lastname@example.org as far as I know. I mean, I don't know if two people can share an email address because I'm really kind of new at this thing. I mean, they didn't teach it at my high school. I'm kinda older than I sound and so you might think I'm in my twenties, but I'm actually older than that and some of this stuff I've had to learn on my own because they didn't teach it to me at school and I can't get a job with my serial killer record.
Shit. I got off track. Where was I?
Oh. yeah. I'm thinking about quitting this journal. I probably won't. I'll probably just take a break. It might only be for a day or two or whatever, but man, sometimes I get so angry at the people out there that read my site. I got this email yesterday from someone and they were all like, "BB, why don't you ever write about Precious anymore? Are you two in a fight? I base all of my relationships on the relationship between you and Precious, and when you don't tell me what's going on at all times between the two of you it makes me want to give my dog away."
That's fucked up, you guys. You can't base your love of your pets on my life with PRecious. I don't tell you everything that goes on and I don't want to. Some stories are just between me and Precious. Look, the thing is I can't tell you everything. Like I can't tell you wehre I live. I can't tell you who I've killed. I can't tell you who I'm planning on killing. Little things like that that you might just expect to know from a friend I can't tell you becasue the FBI might be reading this journal.
And just in case you are, FBI? Hi. I'm not afraid of you anymore. Nice that you won't write to me and tell me that you're out there. But I'm not going to give you any more stories than you deserve. AS far as you're concerned, my name is Jack Littlefield, and I live in San Diego, okay?
Man, it's just really hard sometimes, guys. I want to share so much with you, but I really can't do that all the time. I recently found out that the mother of a girl I used to have in my well reads this page, and she's all searching for information so she can turn me in. And I really want to talk about this girl because she ended up becoming the coolest pea coat. But I just can't. It's shit like that that makes me want to just stop and write an anonymous, password-protected journal. Or just have a mailing list where I tell you everything that's really going on, because I can trust all of you to keep all of my secrets, right? I mean, the cool thing about having a mailing list is that I can just write shit and hit send and then it's out there and I don't have it anymore, and I know that nobody's going to forward what I say to the FBI or anything because you wouldn't be on my mailing list if I didn't trust you with everything. If I ever start a mailing list, I'll be sure to tell all of you everyone I've ever killed. Stuff like that. Like we're best friends. Not just these people that read my journal.
But I'm so angry that this woman wrote to me and told me A-- what to write, B-- what to write about, C-- what I should be writing, D-- what subjects she wants me to write about and E-- what to write. I mean, that sucks. I write what I want to write here, except for the things I want to write but I can't write about, like how my mother is actually buried under the sixth floorboard of my bedroom and sometimes I think I hear her screaming my name and I can't sleep because of it. I'd love to write an entry about that. But I can't.
But peolpe writing telling me what to do? I hate that.
Oh, before I forget... does anyone have a good Father's Day gift Idea? I'm stumped. Usually I'm good at sending somethign off to Dad right before Father's Day and it's always perfect, but this year we haven't been talking much (another story that I'm not allowed to share, BY LAW, and I hate it and I might share it anyway because this is my journal after all), and I'm stuck for an idea.
Oh. I did get one piece of email that makes me think that perhaps this whole "community" isn't a bad thing.
America - The land of the FREE...
see? someone wants to help. That's being POsitive.
I'm so many things on that list above. I was going to write a really funny entry about how I got to be in so many of those situations up there and how I'm now going to try and change my life, but now I've got a headache and I'm just going to post this because I've written for so long now that I really should, even though I think it's crap and nobody reads my stupid journal anyway except for the six of you that think I should just die or whatever. I could totally die and none of you would care. I was going to write a quiz and see what kinds of answers you'd respond and then I'd post them all but I couldn't suffer the humiliation of nobody respoinding and I'd have to be all, "Oh. Well, I didn't like that I idea anyway."
Shit. I totally forgot I put a fucking Tombstone Pizza in the oven before I started writing this. Right now my house is all filled with smoke and the smoke detector is going off and Precious is yipping and dancing in a circle and stupid bitch Catherine is all screaming her "Help Me" song that's just tired and I can hardly hear the television over all this fucking noise.
God. I guess I'd better get off the computer and fix everything. Oops! But not before I load up this entry.
Since it might be the last one ever.
I'm totally sure it won't.
But come on, you were scared there for a second, right?
Sign my guestbook.