I have a library book to return. The format of the post below me is completely messed up and it's going to bother me for a while but I don't really feel like taking the three seconds to fix it. My birthday is in T-minus two days and I am calmly freaking the fuck out. Somewhere around your sixteenth birthday you realize how fast time is moving and how your mother used to be sixteen once, and how you'll be forty one day. I get into such dramatically sad moments for absolutely no reason. Note, that this moments always occur on days where I've been home all day. Apparently, being bored and stuck in my room warrants me to act out original scenes that should have been in 1960's romances. (Also note, that I do find myself watching romantic, classic movies on these days.) I have the need to be surrounded by the few people I care about day in and day out. Isn't it weird how we can so openly accept the flaws and mistakes of some people without even the slightest complaint? Or, honestly, without even realizing anything bad happened. And I'm not talking about flaws that can hurt you or anything, like someone being mean or ignoring you and you still accepting them. I don't know. Most people irritate me in the most absurd ways, so it's kind of weird how I managed to find even one person who I can thoroughly enjoy 100% of the time. Urgghh what does any of that mean. Birthdays make me depressed, sad face. Meeeep. Or the universe can be really great and send me exactly what I just needed. Blah.

Everyday, I am a new person. Everyday, I am another caricature of a voice inside my brain. I perceive everything around me as if I were reading it in a book, everything is a string of sentences. Lately, I want to know what medium everyone around me uses to describe the world and objects around them. Or, I just want to have a new conversation with new people. Reading through three year old blog posts (oh, goodness, how has is it been three years?) makes me feel a little happier than I am. Everything always seems so desperate and miserable until you realize how far you've actually come. I remember reading diary entries from my 14-year-old self when I was 18, and realizing how far I'd actually come from the cripplingly insecure girl. I still feel as if I'm so lost and so far away from any kind of stability, but the truth of the matter is that I have a lot of exciting things ahead of me, maybe in my grasp. Everything is a jumbled mess of great and awful at the moment, and thus I have remained in a stagnant land of mushed feelings, but it'll be okay. As of now, I want to be sitting in a dark cafe somewhere listening to jazz. I want to sip on scotch and hear the emotions of a piano and a sax and what have you.

Such an odd and numb feeling of melancholy. I'm not feeling hide-under-the-covers-in-the-dark-cry-all-day sad. I am feeling don't get out of bed, ignore all school related responsibility and watch Amelie sad. I don't know how to interpret this. I want to take it back. Half of me knows that this is the right thing and that this won't work out right now. The other half is remembering all the nice things and the plans that never happened and..ugh, the possessiveness is taking over. I don't know. Things are weird. I was in a peak a few weeks ago, but it seems I have descended onto the valley again.

You already know.

Well, hello stranger. I believe it's time again for me to confront my staleness. I am so unbelievably, undeniably BORED BORED BORED. With quite literally everything. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, October, December, what's the difference? I wish I could gain in backbone what I have in cowardice. Okay, maybe that's the wrong word. Maybe it's laziness. Or maybe it's extreme insecurity. I want to be the person that I am in my head, in the quiet of 3AM.

I wrote an enormously superficial list of clothing/makeup/etc. items that I felt I was missing in my life. I haven't done that in what seems like centuries. I know it's nonsense, but it made me feel good. I miss dressing up and bringing excitement into my life through a wardrobe. There was a point where I got so caught up in not wanting to be involved in the fashion industry that I forgot why I loved it, why it's the most perfect form of self-expression.

Next on the list of becoming. How do I go about inserting myself into the world of video games? I get so anxious and antsy watching and reading other people divulge their opinions, I just want to have my voice out there too. I guess step one would be to stop writing diary entries and start an actual blog. Side note, but just as important as everything else: Not having a journal in my house at the moment is driving me insane. I have a constant itch to put pen to paper. Gah. Somebody journal me, stat. What was my point? Oh, right. Stop being such an infant and put yourself out there. Alright.

I'm also ready to go to Japan. I have absolutely (ABSOLUTELY) no desire to pick up another boring and mindless part time job, but if it will fund the number one thing that I want to do..I guess it should be worth it. God, I'm so whiny.

Existential crisis, I will defeat thee!

Well. Adieu for now. Happy trails.

Spirit Stimulants

Or, things that allow me to forget I'm human.

Songs of this genre. (This is just what my Bardot Pandora was playing at the moment.)

Most Miyzaki. Specifically Kiki and Howl.

Any and all quotes from this book.

It's just the best feeling! And so hard to describe. A sweet melancholy. Only to be experienced while laying motionless, alone, in a room. (Reserved for the day after sadness)

I wish I felt like resizing that giant image.

Afterthought.

All I really really really really really really truly want to do is go to Japan.

There once was a boy from Nantucket.

In the last dwindling minutes of a party, some random fellow tried to strike up a conversation with me by asking what my biggest insecurities are. He kept insisting that it was the perfect time for me to divulge this information, because I would never see him again. In his mind, I guess, it made sense to share such a giant secret with someone I didn't know because it didn't matter what he thought, or if he judged me because..it wouldn't impact my life at all. The weird thing is, I find quite the opposite to be true. What's the point of letting out tiny, intimate details of my life to someone I will never have any sort of connection or friendship with? It just seems like a waste of time, and someone needs to teach that boy how to cut out the bullshit.

In other news, I've spent the last twenty or so hours over-analyzing the word wonderful.

Anyway. I've learned lately that it's very comforting to know that when thrown into a room full of people, there's always going to be at least one person you connect with. Imagine how many people there are on this planet that you would completely and comfortably get along with.

Aside from my teenage girl musings, I officially bought a ticket to Hawaii yesterday. I don't know how magical it's going to be, but I am very excited to escape to another world for a week.

Everyone else can do really impressive things, I wish I could find my niche already and be able to bring something to the table apart from admiration.