Not sure who the hell reads this journal anymore, or who the hell cares...

Last night? Was a bad, bad night. I don't want to get into the wherefores of it. Basically, I found myself doing some really stupid shit. I went to D'Oblique, got drunk off of my ass, left, wandered the streets of Los Angeles for a while, caught a taxi out to a really bad dive bar in a really bad part of town...

And then I woke up on the street. I don't want to talk about it.

It was a bad idea to date Anne in the first place. She was too sweet, too nice... I thought she was great, but she should've never been with a creep like me. Never, ever. I fucking hate to admit that hanksummers was right more often than he was wrong... but that's the way it is.

Ask me now if a fling with Harmony in the closets was worth losing the chance at being a better man, and I'd still tell you yes. Because we are who we are. People... people don't change. Not people like me. We don't have the tools. I'm sorry I ever hurt her. I hope she's... I hope she's moved on. Some of them don't you know. Even the one nights, they run into me months later, and want to do something, like I was the one chance at something great.

You'd think they'd get the picture, you know? I'm not worth the effort. We'll have fun, and then I will leave. And if you're good and stay away for a while, we might actually talk again. I can't change who I am. I wish to everything in me that I could be the better man, that I could've been the reliable one, the shoulder to cry on... And not the predator.

Does everybody want to know the story of Buffy Summers? Because I'll tell it. It involves a guy who saw a lost girl, and decided that she probably would fall right into the game. Once I spent a little more time with her, she smelled of rebound. And I went in. I'd learned to do it so unconciously that I'd convinced myself that I really was making a connection and having fun and all of that bullshit...

But I'm a goddamn vulture, picking up the scraps of other people's broken hearts.

I screw up everything I touch, and I don't have anything in my life to fall back on... Except for Frank. And, inexplicably, Dennis is still around. Go fig.

I don't want to be who I was... But I have no idea who I'd be otherwise...

Current Mood: numb