there's moments in which there's too much going on to allow my brain to relax enough to sleep.
it's as if there's a limit to madness. sometimes i feel like my crazy is always bogo. i wonder if i'm happy with where i am right now, if i'm getting enough out of all this shit.
when i listen to a certain lit major talk, i decide that my parents are right, that grabowski's just aren't college material. that education breeds bullshit. i have a love-hate relationship with pretension. or not. i'm probably just full of shit.
at the same time, i love that bullshit. i just hope i'll never be a chronic intellectual masturbator.
and, fuck, i hate being female about 90% of the time. part of me wants to abandon gender and societal norms, or maybe just ignore them, and part of me wants a fucking normal, bullshit, magazine-reading life. i'm aware of the inaneness of it all, but jesus it's still magnetic sometimes.
how typical of me.
and i can't help but wonder if i'm missing out on something by being tied down. but i've always fucking felt like i've been missing out on something. when i've been single, i told myself i wanted an intimate friend. there's always something that i push all of my resentments toward. if this were different, life would be perfect. it's bullshit. i don't know what i want anymore, but i cannot lie and say i'm not just a little bored.
i doubt i'll ever be satisfied. there's this image in my head of the perfect situation.. only problem is that it changes every fucking month.
now, similarly to the entirety of my life, i'm under the illusion that if i was a skinny bitch, i'd be the best and most happy bitch in the world. same bullshit i've been telling myself since 6th fucking grade.
what the fuck.
and i haven't had such a documented moment of self-importance in a while. probably since i was an angsty high schooler. as if anything has changed. i love pouting, no joke.
feels good though. i'll never be satisfied.
just try and satiate me, bitches. i love that word.