But really... saying I didn't go to class last night because I was sick would not really be lying. As far as the lying goes -- well, yesterday when I saw my psychiatrist and told him I was fine, I'm wondering if maybe I was overstating things a bit.

You see, I was all prepared to go to class, but then I couldn't find my knife. You see, one of my older sisters had given me this cool black and silver folding knife for Christmas (strange, really, because they all know I shouldn't be trusted with sharp metal objects) and I was really very fond of it. Basically, I'd started carrying it with me pretty much from the day that I got it.

Now, you may wonder, why the hell did I need to carry a knife? And the truth is, I didn't. But. This knife was a gift. It was a gift from my family. And I really, really liked it.

Ended up about 30-40 minutes late after having searched everywhere several times... and after that said, "Screw it. Not finding my knife, not going to class."

And believe me, I argued with myself over that one. The stupid knife is obviously gone. No amount of childishness on my part is gonna change that. Shit happens, right?

Unfortunately, I became locked in a circular pattern of thought whose ultimate point was: Why the fuck couldn't I at least keep a pointless keepsake? Fucking hell.

There's a point when you get tired of saying, "Shit happens."

There's a point when you get tired of rolling with what comes.

There's a point when you get tired of letting things go, because you can't control what happens.

There's a point when you start to wonder -- why is it that, even if all I want is a small and simple thing that's of value really to no one but me, I still can't have it?

And sure. Since it was my knife, and I kept it on me, clearly I would have no one to blame for its disappearance but my self. Oddly enough tho, somehow that doesn't make me feel any better.

So another night secluded and brooding. I think even Best Friend is starting to worry/wonder at my state of mind. And it really takes a lot to phase him.

I'd said this before tho, kids ... there come a point when you no longer want to bother trying, because clearly how hard you want and how hard you work for something have precious little to do with how that something turns out. At least, that's how it seems for me.

If I can not care and not try, and sometimes end up fine -- or alternately care a whole lot and try my hardest, only to be screwed -- I dunno. Kinda hard to feel like yer the master of your own destiny, then.

But whatever. The world doesn't care that I'm upset that my knife is gone. Or whatever the fuck is bothering me. Life goes on. And you can keep moving with it, or die.