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4:40 a.m. - Saturday, Aug. 23, 2003
What Is that Guy's Name?
It occurs to me to wonder why, when I fear I've committed a social faux pas, my first thought is, "I'm going to kill myself."

Why kill myself? Seriously. I suppose the obvious answer is that consciousness of one's own blunder is painful, and suicide seems the only way to stop the pain, since aspirin never works in these situations.

The only other way to stop the pain would be to hunt down and kill everyone who witnessed the faux pas, and really, darling, that would be so tiresome.

It's funny that the pain would stop with the death of the witnesses. I mean, I would know I had committed the faux pas, but such knowledge would no longer be painful.

And, as what's-his-name said (that one guy who has the thingamajig against him because of that book he wrote) (give me a break, it's 4:30 in the morning), while murder is an act of violence against one's victim, suicide is an act of violence against one's survivors. If the faux pas you've committed is the sort that you don't realize is a faux pas until people fail to react as you expected them to, mixed in with your pain is anger at the people who didn't accept your words or gestures as you hoped.

Turns out I didn't commit a faux pas after all, so all of this is pointless. I'm probably going to be extremely embarrassed at having written this when I wake up (again) two or three hours from now. So don't read this, or I'll have to kill you.

 

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