February 21, 2003 | 3:17 PM

Oh dear. The endless drama. Even when I try very hard to avoid drama at all costs, it falls right in my lap. Even when I try to avoid hurting people, I hurt them anyway. Even when I try to find a safe anonymous way to deal with my own feelings, it blows up in my face.

And, I should have fucking known better, of course. Although I didn�t in any way want what happened to happen, I should have fucking known better. The only safe place to deal with your own hurt, vengeful or angry feelings is in a notebook that you keep under lock and key, hid in a drawre underneath your underwear. Or in a therapist�s office, if you really feel like you have to be heard by someone, because by law they can�t repeat what you say to anyone else.

There is absolutely no such thing as a secret diaryland diary. Even if you don't tell a soul, people will always find it. And they won�t tell you either. They�ll watch and wait until you realize they�ve been staring at all the thoughts you never meant them to see. All the things you�ve protected them from. All the things you wanted to say to somebody, somebody faceless that doesn�t know you.

I was just going through a billion and two old emails on my work account�emails back from a year and a half ago. The ones in my �personal folder�.

Such small things� plans for drinks after work. Commiserating about ugly wedding dresses. Lists of movies playing at the Brattle. Discussions about relationship woes.

Those small details pile up into something called Friendship. And it means everything. And then it�s gone.

Jesus. I can�t write about this anymore. I can�t write about ANYTHING anymore. I have to wait until the only things on my mind are politics and movies and philosophical problems. It becomes difficult enough to ignore and restrain and use diplomacy when your heart is just breaking�it�s difficult enough to do that in real life.

When I was 14 years old, I wrote in a journal,

Writing in a diary is so lonely. Like picking up the phone and talking to nobody on the other end. It reminds you of how isolated we all truly are.

That�s why I loved diaryland�the idea, that somebody could be on the other end of that phone�someone you don�t know. Someone who might relate. Despite the cheesiness and narcissism of the online diary concept, I always thought that was such a lovely idea.

This diary started off as being private. Then I told my ex about it. Then everyone knew. And it became something else. So I started another diary a few months ago in the original spirit of what I wanted to do. Don�t get yer hopes up�90% of what was there has been erased.

You can�t hide. You can�t keep some people out and others in. You can�t control where your words go unless you don�t let them go anywhere at all.

Maybe I should start viewing everything as a huge post modern joke. Maybe I should look at everything through the lens of removed irony. I�m tired of feeling like my heart is a window that people can throw baseballs at. Everything can be seen. Everything can be broken. Nothing can be contained. I envy people who know how to draw a curtain, or better yet steel bars.

I�ll be back when I�m in a more Romper Room mood.