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Melissa says this site is a diary. I don't intend it to be one, but I can see how it's like one. I always thought that the defining characteristic of a diary was the emotional slant of the entries, and I try to keep that part of me separate from the general public. I guess I have too modes in my life: funny and stoic. When I can't be funny, or at least try, I tend to be nothing at all, at least on the outside. I've never wanted ianwallace.com to be some sort of emotional wasteland for people to slog through. I wanted it to be cool. Cool so that people would like me. I like the internet, and I wanted my little peice of it to reflect me, but in a way I could control. Keep the bad bits of my real life out so that people on the 'net wouldn't be so turned off of me like real people are.

I'm so alone right now. I hate my house. I hate being here; there's nothing for me here. I hate being alone in it, with no one to talk to or be with, even when it's full of my family. All I have when I'm here all alone is my fear and depression, and I don't know how to deal with them. When I'm out and with my friends, I can pretend that I'm valid and important and liked and even loved, I can make decisions and have opinions and feel like there's a future, but I can't do that when I'm alone. And I keep getting more alone. The more people I know, the more alone I am. My co-workers hate me. I try not to care. I shouldn't need the approval or respect of wage-slave slackers and bitchy lifers, but when I have to go there for so long all the time and have no one to talk to or laugh with it's so hard. If it wasn't for Nick, I don't know that I could do it anymore. School is so horrible, too. I suck at it. I'm so terrible at being a student. I just want to learn and grow and be with other people who feel the same way, but it doesn't work like that. Everyone is so serious, so focused on remembering all the details and all everyone ever talks about it deadlines and bad professors. My classmates don't have time me; I don't think they even have time for themselves. All my friends are so busy. And soon they'll all be gone, off to school and work and other cities, and I'll be so far away because I didn't work hard enough, because I'm not smart enough, because I don't have a car or any money, because they can't afford to miss me or stay with me, because in real life they can't afford to love me as much as I love them. I don't know if they even like me anymore. And when they go, they'll be relieved. They won't have the moocher, the beggar, the irresponsible geek bothering them anymore, and they'll all know how I've held them back. I'll just be some guy that they run into at the Stampede and have to feel embarrased about.

I hate being alone. Why is the thing I hate so much so inescapable?