Ben Folds

He couldn't sleep at night for fear that she
in a stupor from the drugs that didn't
ease the pain
would set the house ablaze


I don't know what to write, now that this isn't private. Heh.
And I'm already paying the price for the way I didn't properly conceal my Xanga, and now . . .
What do I do, establish twenty new blogs trying to keep secret?
I don't know. I don't know. It seems silly to want to put something secretly on the internet, but at the same time it makes perfect sense to me. The people in my life, in my real out-here life, they're . . . they're in a position to make trouble and then they do. But I don't want to be anonymous, I don't want to be secretive. I wish I could have friends and not be afraid of what they'd do.
Maybe in a couple months, when I'm all graduated, beholden to no one, as't were, then it won't matter what I write and where I write it. Maybe.