A very late night blog. Maybe the only time I'll actually post something worth reading since... Hell, if I know since when.

The past few nights' IMs have all turned sour one way or the other. In both cases, I've done nothing but pissed off James by frustrating him. Tonight was a double header. Not only did I end up pissing off James, but I pissed off Bill too. Just when everything was looking to be on the up and up too.

Why is it that all I ever do is something stupid? All I do is frustrate people. Then, as if by some kind of unwritten law, I try to drag them down with me unknowingly. Why is it I do the things I don't mean to do? They said it's cause I don't think before I speeck. Well, The way I closed my conversation tonight with Bill involved thinking. I scratched off every possible question I could ask him to keep a conversation going and ended up using a comment about how sour the night turned just to see if that would stir up even a slight conversation. It didn't and I ended up saying that I ran out of things to talk about that could keep what little conversation we had going. Way to go, Zeek. You screwed up again.

Right now, I should be e-mailing Andrew and Aaron, but what's the point? I mean, yeah, they'll read it, but I'm still in the wrong. I've always been. They'll try to defend me, which I have to say I appreciate more than I can really express, but I'm still wrong here. I've always been wrong. In everything. From life choices to how I say things to even something as what video game to play. I rarely make any good choices... or at least any that are worthwhile. I don't know. I'm just useless.

I write this blog with heavy eyes and an even heavier heart. Maybe fatigue made me stupid; maybe I'm just saying that for a way out. I don't even know why I'm blogging this. No one reads this anyway. There's no point to read this. I mean, who wants to get into my head? Who really cares? I have my e-mail address up there for how long and all I've gotten is spam and a few e-mails from people that more than likely read this damn thing once and aren't even coming back.

So do I blog this now? Why am I typing the first thing that comes to my mind instead of sleeping the rest of this nightmare away? Simple. Cause I can't say what I want when I want to. Not without frustrating anyone.

That's always the thing with me. The moment I try to intimitely share something about myself, no one really acts like they are listening or care. It's as if I'm nothing but a broken record. True, I bet that if you go through the archives, you can see that I've pissed off someone at least once a week. And it's always my fault too.

Maybe I should just forget about all this and just get over it like they keep telling me to. Why can't I? Why is it I always end up taking things to heart? I mean, in some views, I'm such a big baby. I still like cute plushie animals; I watch cartoons; Hell, I still live with my mother! I'm nothing but a lost cause. A failure to all those that saw something in me that I have yet to see in myself.

What was that spark they saw in me anyway? What was it that made me worth something to them? It can't be my intelligance. I'm not smart enough to even talk to someone on a computer screen without offending them. Hell, I'm not even a good liar! I just wish I knew what was it that made me seem worth more than I will ever know to people that know something I don't.

If I'm lucky enough to catch the attention of a theropist, please e-mail me some kind of diagnosis. Depression is the only thing I can come up with that's logical for why I keep doing this. That and stupidity.