So once upon a time there was a girl called Annie, and she was ... well I'd like to say pretty and clever, but I have to admit, she was mostly just clever. Not too clever. Not very good at sociability or inference, but she knew things and she could write. That's the funny part - she could write. She used to have a pretty big vocabulary and stringing a sentence together was easy for her. She could spell damn well too. Poor old drugs casuality Anniekins.

The problem is, I love that person but I hate her so very much more. Looking back on her, she's such an embarrassment - but - she was very very very very very genuine. I'm still pretty damn genuine, but she was more genuine than anybody else. There was not a single gram of fakeness in her. And she could be very very funny at times. I just read her old diary. Poor Annie. The thing is, I can understand her a bit better now. She was young. It explains everything really. She was cool though, and silly enough never to believe it. The fool.

I like myself for several reasons and it's what keeps me going when I'm in one of those depressed moods that just strike you like a match from time to time. First I think - I can't do anything, I can't play the guitar or any instrument, I can't draw, I'm so clumsy, so shy, so bleugh looking, so unconcious of my own body language, I can't write anymore, I can't string a sentence together anymore and then I just realise that 1. I'm a very loving person and that is something good about me and it is a reason for people ot love me 2. I'm a genuine person, I don't really lie at all, or hold anything back, and if I'm thinking something I will say it and it really pisses me off when people use that to embarrass me - I know that it can be used to do that quite easily but it pisses the fuck out of me 3. I am pretty clever 4. I could probably do all of these things, it isn't as if I've exactly tried very hard. Maybe I fucking should. I suppose I just don't have the passion.

I do have to beef up my vocabulary enough that I can beat Jess at the naming long words game.

But all the same, yeah, I locked young Annie's diary. Fuckit. I want to be the only person who remembers her. She's mine.