Should have known.

It's funny.

There's a lot of things I COULD be doing right now. Going to bed would be a really good one. Working on homework. Even maybe writing.

Nope. Too busy drinking my feelings again.

Why, you ask? EventhoughyouprobablydontbutIwontgiveyouachoice.

Great question. Not sure. Don't care. Get drunk. Forget it all.

Sure, that sounds really emo. It's not supposed to be. I'm just... unhappy. Like, really unhappy. What's new, right? When am I not whining about how shitfuckingterrible my life is?

I'm trying to distract myself by looking at cabins up North, and thinking about how cool and awesome it would be to spend a few days away from work with 3 awesome people.

And then I promptly get sad again.

What the fuck me? Come on, man. Get it together.

It's the same old problems and insecurities; the same things that have been driving me crazy forever. So why now? I know better. I know everything better. But it won't go away. It probably doesn't help that I woke up this morning and just... my dreams are haunting me. The other night, they were really good and cute and adorable and fun. And last night they were soul-crushing and terrible and I hated every second.

Fuck.

I could write. I should write. Writing takes me to a time where everything was fine and great and I don't have to worry about right now when I'm being a fucking douche over nothing.

I won't, though.

I don't know what I'll do.

Ramble here? To you? You won't know what to say.

I know better.

That's not a mal-intended statement, despite it's attempt in sounding so. It's just fact. I don't know what to say either. So that makes two of us.

Not like it matters a whole lot. Let's be completely, boldly honest; you could light my cats on fire and I'd still give you the world. For free. All you'd have to do is ask. We both know it.

So, whether or not anything was said in response to whatever it is I'm saying is completely beside the point.

Jesus tittyfucking Christ what the goddamnshitfuck am I even TALKING about anymore?

I don't know.

Like Carl once said. "It don't matter. None a dis matters."

Nope.

And I'm not entirely sure why I'm still wasting my time writing it.

I should really edit it. Like, it's... yeah. I should.

I won't though. I don't care enough.

What is wrong with me? Like, no, really. I'm kind of... strange right now.

Betcha didn't guess.

Whatever man. I just... I'm going to do something besides whine. Or something.