In Which I Return To Where My Words Only Define Me.

This ain't a scene, its an arms race.

I love mornings where I can see the sun. I love "Stillness Is The Move" (the Solange version), mostly because it is a cover of a Dirty Projectors song. I love cover crossovers like that. I love The Mike Simonetti remix of "Million Dollar Bill" by Whitney Houston.

Dear Kanye, your talent negates your egotistical twattery.

I still hear whispers of crazy in my head. I know I have no reason to, and the position my brain is in just screams of codependent girlfriend. But its still there. I just don't want to look like a chump, you know? Yeah, I said chump. I just don't trust this girl. I really don't. And there's nothing I can do. I don't want to tell my twenty-five year old long distance boyfriend who he can and can't hang out with. And even if I did, 1. that's really shitty, it would just lead to resentment and possible lashing/acting out on both our parts and 2. there would be no way to "enforce" said restriction. But She's moving to LA in August, so that about four more months in my nuthouse. Cashew?

He says he's immune to jealousy (not his exact words, but its definitely implied).I take him at his word, which just makes me feel worse.

I have no idea what to do without looking certifiably criminally insane. I'm not sure why it matters how I look. Maybe its the fact that I watch entirely too much TV.

I also think this is the root to my overall dissatisfaction with my appearance. I can never look good enough and I keep comparing myself to everyone else around me (and even those not around me). I am not thin enough, pretty enough, smart enough, funny enough, tall enough... the list goes on. I've been out several times in the last seven days, and each time I get angrier and angrier that I can't look good. So I feel the need to be increasingly more obnoxious and crazy to compensate. Which makes me think that everyone hates me anyway.

This isn't store brand crazy. This is designer crazy.

people don't dance no more.

Don't wanna be your monkey wrench.

I'll pull an OK Go and get over it. Eventually.

I'll take my pills and say its for the best.