my aunt diane has a lifetime right / I should go tell her if she's still alive

I am completely depressed with my revs mark. Lots of people beat me, many who I am acquainted with. This will not go over easily, or even with minimal humility, because lets face it, I'm a bitch and people would love to see me fall. This is probably my own fault. That said, I probably deserve it. I won't get over this for awhile - I *know* what I'm supposed to think, to do, to gain from this. I do, really. Enough people have said it to me. I know it. I just - can't - right now, okay? As dramatic as it seems, it is a huge blow to me, and for a bit there I contemplated diving off something high. Fatalistic, right?

I've been sporadically bursting into tears in the last few days, most often in foodcourts or public bathrooms, or at the MNG counter yesterday. It's kinda embarrassing, actually, to be waiting for a receipt, having your mind wander and then shedding tears on your new favourite cigarette-cut jeans. Today I'm at a spa and cried during my milk-and-rosepetal soak. Headtrip like whoah, girlie. Headtrip like whoah. Me and C, vodka, ASAP. I think I might need it. That, and a good hug. Would probably benefit from the former, would probably kill for the latter.

no love,
your girl