Garoo

I hate people.

Well, especially men, but that’s because I’m not facing women daily, so I can forget they’re not worth any better (I kind of wish I were straight, so I could believe that women have mystery and charms and they’re an unexplored land to be discovered, all that bullshit just because they aren’t endowed the same way).

Everyone.

Unbearable.

Oddly enough, I’d hate someone like me more than anyone else, but I can live with myself—not so much because I’m useed to it, as because you don’t do the same things, and don’t expect the same qualities, from yourself (I don’t need to be self-possessive, and I never have to wait for myself to call or show up on time). But everyone else… each of them is worse than the others. More incoherent, self-centered, incompetent, more… ah! Year after year, I have slowly, gradually filled up the list of star signs I can’t stand. There used to be just two or three—the most temperamental, the least reliable. It quickly jumped to eight or nine and remained steady for a while but, now all of a sudden we’re up to 11.99. All that’s left is the exception to the rule, the one that doesn’t count. I’m really destined to be a hermit.

All I need is for my cave to be near a cruising spot. Well, and I’ll need a shower, because otherwise… and a mirror, something to shave and cut my hair, clean and trendy clothes and… oh, right, a bed, for those guys who need their comfort. Damn. Too expensive, doesn’t fit with the hermit concept.

And I’m too old to become a eunuch, aren’t I? I think that, if they’re cut off now, it won’t change my needs, only my abilities (which means even more frustration—but maybe one gets used to it).

Fuck.

(The moodlog is much funnier when it’s up to you to trace it according to my posts, isn’t it?)