My Defective Life

That when I devote time to eating healthier and more minimally, I kinda like the way my body feels a bit more empty, like it's kinda humming and hollowed out. It's the way self-control feels.

That the overabundance of self-absorbed people in the world today makes me want to be a hermit. And that if I have one more conversation with someone that basically never moves to my sector of existence but revolves only around them like some interplanetary moon that's sucked into their fucking all-consuming planetary orbit, I may very well buy a one-way ticket to some Appalachian-mountain hide-away.

That I want to create something that makes me feel the way, say, Half Nelson did, like it knows me better than it knows myself and in doing so, feels like it's tearing me apart from the inside out and breaking my heart.

That I may try cutting my own hair, all short and asymmetrical in a month or so, and then letting a stylist fix it up if I botch it too badly.

That blogs are the devil. That myspace is the devil. That all of the above allow people to feel like they're interacting in someone's life, that they're participating and are up-to-date with what's going on with a person, that they're connected, when really, it's all just an illusion, a facade, a two-sentence note left for the whole-world to see that says about as much as a poofy pink whirl of cotton candy. That people need to just pick up a phone or write a goddamn email and stop fooling themselves.

That Casimir Pulaski Day may be my favorite song, though I haven't quite decided yet.

That I need to stop staring at this blog over and over when I get bored at work, especially since I'm not staring at it for any other reason than that I like the way the colors make me feel.

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