Back from the dead, incase you forgot. It's not like many people read this anyway. So, Jenna came over the other night. She was normal for about fifteen seconds. Then, she started telling her sob story. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't mind listening to her. I'd like to think I'm not the most insensitive person in the world, but I mean, it gets to be a bit much. She started going into how she's "sick of being alone" and all this jazz. Yeah, like I'm just some piece of chopped liver or something? It makes me feel great that you come to me crying that you're sick of being alone. So, am I supposed to comfort her? Tell her she's not alone? Yeah, so she can use me? No dice, pal. I like Jenna and all, but I draw a line at losing my dignity (the little that remains of it, I mean). I'll be there for her when she needs me, but not if that's the only time she'll want me around. I may be horribly ugly, but that doesn't mean I'm a sellout. I think she was, like, mad at me. Yeah, mad. At me. For not caring enough, or something. She was all like "Stop acting as if you hate me" and stuff. Ah, yeah, when you stop acting as if you're using me. Sitting there and crying to me about how you don't want to be alone? What do you want me to do, run out and find a guy for you? Jesus, man, I'm willing to accept that there is no way in hell she likes me the way I like her, and I'm not upset with that (I understand. I mean, look at me, I'm ugly), but I draw the line at handing her off to the opposing team. You're sick of being alone, I'm here. If that's not enough, then I can't help you. Don't get mad at me for not going out of my way to make you happy. I don't even do that for myself...  ¶ 12:51 AM