Dear Diary,
As I write this on you I'm in a funny mood after the realisation that almost all public notes here seem to show hopelessness (even if the writer has started life recently, let's say). But something else made me laugh harder today.
It was the shortlisting of profiles in the dumb matrimony apps. I'm using one of those and all that really happens there is shortlisting of profiles. Like they are asserting dominance and assuring me that something great will happen now, after spending 37 years on earth. Like they are saying, "hey, I've shortlisted you for my partner choice so consider yourself lucky today". In the free version, we can't really see clearly the blurred profile who shortlists you but yes you can sometimes see it's a funny profile. Just like mine must appear to those whom I shortlist so frequently and out of hopelessness, to show that I'm greater lol.
What I said about writers here who just started life. I'm not saying that I was a different teenager. When I was in my 20s I was suicidal too and wrote nonsense. That's what the purpose of a platform such as this is, after all. Art and expression. But these hormones are a temporary phase I guess, when everything has more intensity. My advise to my past: consider yourself lucky to be healthy and alive. Don't rant, just act.
When I walk in a crowd alone there is this feeling of insignificance I get, like I deserved more, like I had to be big. I wish there was someone with me who could make the trip feel like a time machine. What I actually feel is my needy desire that the people passing by knew some flavour of my misery. That they knew me to be great, or if not, that all I ever wanted is all I saw others attain.
There is no more competition for me, why? 37.
No one to meet me? 37.
Nothing to learn anymore? 37.
My friends have families? 37.
People are getting old? 37.
What about thrill? 37.
What age do they call you? 37, "grow up".
There is one hope. I have twice donated some earnings to Gaza through UNFPA. Best use of money, I'd say. God bless humanity. What do I know? Nothing except the videos of some poor children on Facebook that always bring me to tears.
You, dear diary, will collect humungous trash from me. I don't want it but maybe someone (a lady, probably?) will lead to it all getting deleted and lost! I hereby deny any importance attached to this event and to my notes in that case. The reason is below.
There is a laughable amount of contradiction in dreams versus reality. For example someone who reads this will get a picture in their mind. Now suppose if the same person meets me or gets a sense of who I am and how I look, they'll say the word Ridiculous! And this is why no one should destroy you out of evil forces and envy, my dear diary.
The future seems creepy as well. As I'm planning to write about women I got to know in my life. Maybe that'll help in some way. Writing about them. Girl of the day...
Disturbing one with childish garbage and irritating noises through the wall when one is engaged in personal activities is truly the nature of a psychopath with the mind of an infant. But why am I writing this today, I'm okay today.
What else random memo can I throw today. Oh, my employer hasn't called me back to the work city for quiet some time now. Giving salary to a person without tasks is a good way of indicating that he is in the risk zone.
God bless "All"