Oh my god, today was a horribly shitty day. And, yes, I am aware that it is nearing three in the morning, so I should technically be saying "Yesterday was a horribly shitty day" but you know what? I DON'T CARE.

Anyway, I really hope that this manic-depressive bullshit is just another one of Nature's fun ways of telling me that I'll be on the rag soon. Maybe this month, she really, really wants me to know or something.

Why the fuck am I talking about this? Oh, yeah. I'm trying to find the reason behind the random and totally unprovoked crying jags that happened all day long. That's why.

At least I have cookies. EL Fudge Sandwich Cookies, to be exact. It's been awhile since I've had them, so I was happy to see that the elves now have their names stamped into the cookie. It makes for a much better experience knowing that I'm biting the head off of an elf named Fast Eddie.

So, yeah. Inspired by the conversation that took place last night, which was, itself, inspired by this entry, particularly the observation I made of being the one constant in all fucked-up crushes, I broke out the old notebooks.

I read page after page of rants and letters and musings, some going back seven years, and realized that I repeat myself. A lot. And am very fond of the phrase "elusive bastard." It didn't matter who or what I was referring to...I would always make the same observations and come to the same conclusions. And what were those, you ask, you masochistic freak?

I'm scared of failure, I refuse to assume, I need to just do it if I feel like it cuz I'll only regret not doing it later, and past crushes have the disturbing tendency to get institutionalized/incarcerated. I wish I was kidding.

A friend and I were on our way to Orlando one afternoon and saw a prison group picking up trash along the highway. I said that we should just pull over and grab me a boyfriend cuz that's where they're all going to end up anyway. I thought I was joking. Christ. At least I never had a crush on that kid who drilled a hole in his head.

Anyway, I'm way off topic, I think. Whatever. It wasn't very interesting to begin with. Oh, and by the way? Reading those notebooks was not one of the things that made me cry today. It was more amusing than anything. Just thought I would point that out so I don't sound like a dork or anything. Because me sounding like a dork is such a rare thing and it would ruin my reputation and shit. Right.

OK, it's time for me to go to bed. But before I do, here is a little something written years ago. Just for shits and giggles.

"This is what it has come to...writing letters to induce memories. We're living in the past, dwelling on why some things were said and why others were not. All I want is to feel like I did that night. What night? It doesn't matter. As long as I don't feel like I do tonight. I do not like where this is right now yet I am too dumb to do anything to change. I know how he feels and he knows how I feel. So why is everything so stagnant? Every action should warrant a reaction because without any results, the action was inane. I hate feeling my words were futile. I hate sitting here waiting, fucking waiting."

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