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December 9, 2008
I knew last night I wasn't going, and thus I didn't go. Once I'd figured out that I only had to have one reason not to go—even if it came inside the restaurant itself, like last year, when I turned and left immediately—I would not be going; and it was this realization that reflexively meant I wasn't going.

It's painful when you are always expecting people to not like you. It keeps you alone most of the time. What did I do to deserve this? I'm here; not there. Maybe it's because I myself really quite hate people.