prev my cheating heart next
2002-03-16 | 9:51 p.m.

With all the things I should be doing with my life, I sit here and wonder if I ought to rewrite my profile.

Pathetic.

Anyway, in case you've wondered, it's true. I'm cheating on you. I started a new diary, a locked one, and I'm dumping stuff in it that doesn't feel entirely fit for human consumption. Some people might imagine there's nothing I wouldn't say here, but it's not true. I am honest, maybe even to a fault, but I still have issues to work through.

Frankly, it's probably true that I would publish just about any thought I'm ever likely to have. It's unfortunate, and I try to pretend otherwise, but I'm realy no better than anybody else who has lived through the golden age of TV confessionals. From Donahue to the Real World, we learned that you can tell a secret on national TV, and nothing bad will happen.

When there is no fear, there is no shame.

I realized this the day I was sitting in a hospital emergency room, pregnant, burning up with fever, and completely forgotten by the admitting staff, watching a 12-year-old girl on a television talk show explain how she had given birth on the toilet and then buried the baby in the backyard, so her mother wouldn't find out she had been pregnant.

I don't really have anything to say after that. Except that sure, you probably didn't guess that I was two-timing you. Nothing is ever entirely what it seems here in Diaryland, I suppose.

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