Dead from the waist down

Good freaking god. I was cleaning up my bookshelf, and I came across a random notebook I'd only sporadically used as a journal. From 2005. It was full of bullshit about the last jerk I dated.   There's a reason I don't journal much about relationships during the odd times when I actually have one: because it's goddamn freaking embarassing when you find the stuff months/years later and realize the jerk wasn't worth any of the heartache.   Moan, moan, moan HE WASN'T WORTH IT. NONE OF IT. *snort* I'd forgotten the "casual" remark he made to me when he broke up with me OVER THE PHONE. That still pisses me off.   What a douchebag.   I ripped those pages out of the journal, tore them into bits and tossed them in the trash. Right where they belong. I couldn't light a fire in my room, or I'd have burned them. That's usually what I do.