May 25, 2003
The sound of my own forced oh so fake laughter rips through my brain as soon as it falls from my lips and wiggles its way into the phone receiver, where it then snakes its way into the ear of the person on the other end of the line. These laughs don't shake themselves loose from deep within my stomach. They are in no way visceral. Rather, they are wrung from somewhere way too close to the surface of my conscience, somewhere entirely artificial. And I cannot wait for myself to shut the fuck up and hang up the phone.