.o0 Freedom Of Choice 0o.

Sunday, Oct. 26, 2003 - 3:08 p.m.

Any IDEA how sick of your shit I am?

You're going to feel what you're going to feel. I can't do anything about that. But if you insist of feeling nothing but shit, please PLEASE do not dump it on me.

I tried to be clear... knowing full well that it was impossible. I tried to tell you that it is impossible to be clear here. I tried to tell you that I had no idea, that I didn't know, that you didn't know, that nobody knew, that you should just let yourself feel good... but don't hang it on expectations of me.

Don't Hang Your Happiness On Your Expectations Of Me.

I said that to you countless times.

You didn't listen. Your idiocy. Yours.

If you don't stop, I'm going away forever. I will have no choice.

Fuck that. I *will* have a choice. I *always* have a choice. That's the whole fucking point. But if I choose to let myself be latched onto and milked for pity and affection, then I will have given up my choice.

I will NEVER give up my freedom of choice. Not for you, not for anyone.

If you become a parasite, you will be aborted.

  -=last time -- next time=-