Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody.
Fiftieth Entry. Infallible me.
07-28-2003 | 10:17 a.m.

It's my fiftieth entry folks! I remember when I first got this damnable diary two years ago at the forceful pleadings of the present girlfriend, Amanda. I didn't hate it, I just had absolutely no use for it whatsoever. I don't like diaries. I think that every page has to be perfect, and that the collective whole has to be a congruent masterpiece. Thank you, Amanda. I still can't write in a physical diary..but this..this works quite well.

Well, for my fiftieth entry I thought I should write something big and meaningful. Us foolish humans with all our nostalgia and ceremony. So, I guess I'll tell you about how I finally did something two years in the making. TWO YEARS in the making! I fixed my notes..the link and the page where it sends you.. Doesn't sound like much? It isn't.

I've just been so lazy that I didn't even set it up till a year after I started. Then, I thought that I'd just send people to where they could send me a note. However, there's two problems with that. One, every note sent to me would be sent by "adorkable." Two, no one could read the notes page. I know people, and they like to read all the messages left by others whether or not they leave one themselves. I know plenty of you people regularly check up on my guestbook-as I do, too-but don't leave your mark. I'm fine with that. I mean, I've never signed the damn thing and don't intend to. As Alyson said in her diary, and as have so many others in diaries I've read, the whole online diary thing is setup for us narcissists who think there are other people out there that care about the smaller points of our life (I've taken great artistic license in the paraphrasing, but the point is still there). Well, although I spend hours everyday just staring blankly at my diary and thinking up how I want to tweak it next, I'm not such a narcissi to sign his own guestbook. Well, except for that one entry, but you'll never guess which one it is, so ha!

Well, that's enough of the ceremonial nonsense. It is a diary, and ever since last night I have been preparing an entry. That's the problem with online diaries, in my eyes. A little something I hate about them. Once you start, and turn it into a regular thing, your thoughts start coming in what I call "diary format." They come in a manner that it is as if you're explaining it in a way that you might elaborate on a point in an online diary. That's my problem, at least.

There are two voices in my head. There's the voice that knows everything. It is all-compassionate, all-forgiving, and always infallible in all of its decisions. It is the voice that leads me down every path that I take the time to choose, whether it's the roads I take to get somewhere, or the methods I use to get to a goal in my life. it is the me that I wish I could consciously be. I do not question it's judgment Ever. There is no reason for me to question it. I know that it is right and that I am wrong.

This is the closest thing that I have to a physical person that questions me. I have spent my entire life wanting someone to tell me to do what I know I need to do. However, I have no one that tells me, "Darren! You're a big, fat liar and a worthless shell of a human!" "Darren! You're wrong, and you know it!" "Darren! It's you're fault! How dare you let that poor girl think that she hurt you!" No one questions my motives because they don't understand them. No one questions my judgment because they think that I'm right. No one tells me that I'm a disillusioned little boy stuck in a man's world because no one wants to bring conflict into the air. This little voice, it is what holds me together. It is the soul reason why I have morals, and why I can't compromise them. It is why I have to do the right thing no matter what.

The second voice inside of my head is the conscious me. The one that actually makes all the decisions. I try to make all decisions in the same fashion that the "infallible me" would. I am terribly fallible, though, and don't always choose correctly. See, the me that I want to be doesn't always have something to say; it sits silently inside of my head watching me in hopes that I'll be able to do what is necessary of me without its constant aid. Or sometimes, I go against the decision of what the "infallible me" has made because I don't want to take that road, I don't want to lose them forever, I don't want to know a pain that I'm not sure I can endure.

I don't know what to do, sometimes. I make rash, erratic decisions that no one understands. I say that no one can understand me, and it's true. I hardly understand myself sometimes, while other times, I'm completely lost to my decisions and their motives. Those around me think as much of my decision for the Army. They tell how 6 years is a long time, or that I won't be able to stomach 6 years of everything that I hate..or that I'm brilliant and should have gone to college and done the world a great deed. I hear their protests and understand them, but I don't listen to them. If I did, I'd tear apart my contract and find another way to move on. I can't do that, though. The voice that I do not question has told me what to do and I will not disobey it this time. It is a necessary act for a future cause. I know exactly why that voice is making me do this. I know exactly where it is going to lead me. I know that where I'll be after this is all over is where I want, and need, to be. So, no matter how much I might despise the decision I have made, I know that it is the correct one. So many things in my life work this way...

That's all for now. I think I might go construct a "Futurama" dedication page, or maybe find some cool icons and scans to put on the diary. I could give my archive page a "Futurama" theme... I've needed to do something with it for the whole of these two years... Happy Fiftieth!

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Summer of Change
No Brass, No ammo
Lost in Translation

Last Five

And that's that.
Referenced #2
To write them.
Heart vs mind.