11:37 p.m.
/
16 February, 2004

Today I would like to slap George Orwell for being so bloody cliched. Why do my heroes always have something about them that just makes them stupid. Why, for the love of God?!

Also, had a fight with Laura, about the fact that I kissed two guys last weekend while out clubbing. Apparently, I have to resign my membership to the sisterhood. Even though I felt nothing for them and I did it out of boredom, even though I've never felt sexually attracted to a guy (as of yet), I am no longer a lesbian. This is according to the girl who thought that because I kissed her once I wanted to marry her or something. So, there you go. It's that simple, I'm cured! Hallelujah!

Also fought with Chris about the fact that I am not proud I'm gay (this was before I was cured, of course.) I explained that I'm proud I have a strong sense of self, that I work hard for what I want and that I take care of the people I love, but that I can't be proud about something I was born with. I'm not proud I have ten toes or small ears. I had a lot of fights with the LGB people this weekend actually, I think it was because our inhibitions had been eradicated and we were actually saying what we meant.

It was their fault, they put me in a bad mood by sitting there bitching about everyone's clothes and belittling people with the courage to be a little bit daring. It's always the same, you can say what you like about me and I'll probably take it, but once you focus on other people, I will fight to the death to protect them, even strangers.

Is it me or was F.Scott Fitzgerald actually not all that good a writer? I find him actually quite incoherent. Gatsby wasn't so bad, but I'm reading Tender Is the Night at the moment, and the only part that's really sunk in is the Keat's quote at the beginning.

I wish I'd seen Elvis live back in the 50s.