Friday, June 15, 2007
Hi. Long time no talk.
I've been having a panic attack for what seems like the last two hours, so this may not be the best time to write. But what else can I do with all this anxious energy?
I haven't written on this thing in so long. I haven't written anything for myself, even, in what seems just as long.
I have not written a complete song in two years.
But I've been busy. The busy part has been spent making mistakes, and then picking up the pieces of past mes, and trying to break patterns in both thought and action.
Sometimes all this is easier than others.
I thought I learned several years ago that things never get easier, that they never stop changing, that bad things can continue to happen, that people constantly come and go ... I thought I knew a lot. I even thought I was an idealist.
But what I have learned since is that "knowing" things doesn't get you very far between where you are and where you want to be.
So here I am, starting over like so many other times, while knowing this will not be the last, and pushing the envelope, trying to develop a new sense of self, a positive one, trying to not only dream, but to act, and trying to make decisions.
I am finding out how many decisions there really are.
I guess maybe I should start over, and let you know what is new, to catch you up, for whatever reason:
I have been to jail.
I've totaled two vehicles in my life.
I've made countless mistakes, and learned from some.
I've been in a fight.
I've been a camp counselor for now six out of the last seven years.
I've been the editor-in-chief of a daily newspaper.
I've been in love.
I've been in lust.
I've said things I didn't mean.
I've meant things I shouldn't have said.
I've hated myself. And a lot of other people. And the world, sometimes, and acted accordingly.
I've had dreams I wished were real.
I've had realities come at me and feel as if they were nightmares while they were happening.
But I've found that situations repeat themselves and can be presented as tests for your so-called new and improved self.
I have found that wisdom neither comes from experience nor age.
I have found that I prefer to believe that the body's natural state is one of calm, and a form of happiness, when not interjected with nonsensically emotional thoughts manifested from personal systems shaped by separate realities.
I have come to a place where I can set goals and surprise myself at accomplishing even the smaller ones.
I have come to appreciate, when I remember, that the differences between individuals are often as vast as those between nations.
I have come to recognize the past while consciously shooting for a present that I can own, and when I say I, I mean me, and the me I mean is the purest form of me, the one I like to believe is strong and good.
I read today in Les Mis, which is wonderful -- and I agree with Victor Hugo, or at least the narrator on this, completely -- that within every human being is an animal, and not just one animal but all animals ... because the last few years have shown me that within me is a turtle, a lamb, a rabbit, a wolf, a lion, a sheep, a black widow spider, a bluebird, and many more I have yet to discover.
This thought is distressing sometimes. Because these animals within humans all comprise an orchestra of virtues and faults; and all virtues have faults, and all faults have virtues. It bothers me as much in one vein as it motivates me in another. It gives me hope in still another. And at times this realization, whether in a moment of release or even in contemplation, is enough to chill my bones and palpitate my heart.
And doing "what is right" is such a broad yet narrow way of thinking, isn't it?
I've made mistakes that others would be proud to make, and have told me so.
And some of the good things I've done, the ones I am acknowledged for, amount to almost nothing in my own eyes when scrutinized underneath my microscopic system of values.
So I guess that's everything, without saying much, all the issues I've been thinking about while not really. All that a few good books, good deeds, mistakes, and a little therapy have taught me so far.
But I will say that all in all, I'm working my way toward a form of happiness I've never quite felt before -- the kind that you can get to no matter what your circumstances ... a kind of comfort I would love to feel for any length of time in my own skin, hopefully, forever ... the kind that allows you to love and give and receive, and be good to others no matter what is going on at the moment ... the kind that would just feel peaceful.
That's what I want very, very much. And that's all I'd like for the present and future. So that's all I feel like writing. I'm gonna get back to finding something to laugh at, or somethin' .... cause that's all I need. That's all anybody needs.
I've been having a panic attack for what seems like the last two hours, so this may not be the best time to write. But what else can I do with all this anxious energy?
I haven't written on this thing in so long. I haven't written anything for myself, even, in what seems just as long.
I have not written a complete song in two years.
But I've been busy. The busy part has been spent making mistakes, and then picking up the pieces of past mes, and trying to break patterns in both thought and action.
Sometimes all this is easier than others.
I thought I learned several years ago that things never get easier, that they never stop changing, that bad things can continue to happen, that people constantly come and go ... I thought I knew a lot. I even thought I was an idealist.
But what I have learned since is that "knowing" things doesn't get you very far between where you are and where you want to be.
So here I am, starting over like so many other times, while knowing this will not be the last, and pushing the envelope, trying to develop a new sense of self, a positive one, trying to not only dream, but to act, and trying to make decisions.
I am finding out how many decisions there really are.
I guess maybe I should start over, and let you know what is new, to catch you up, for whatever reason:
I have been to jail.
I've totaled two vehicles in my life.
I've made countless mistakes, and learned from some.
I've been in a fight.
I've been a camp counselor for now six out of the last seven years.
I've been the editor-in-chief of a daily newspaper.
I've been in love.
I've been in lust.
I've said things I didn't mean.
I've meant things I shouldn't have said.
I've hated myself. And a lot of other people. And the world, sometimes, and acted accordingly.
I've had dreams I wished were real.
I've had realities come at me and feel as if they were nightmares while they were happening.
But I've found that situations repeat themselves and can be presented as tests for your so-called new and improved self.
I have found that wisdom neither comes from experience nor age.
I have found that I prefer to believe that the body's natural state is one of calm, and a form of happiness, when not interjected with nonsensically emotional thoughts manifested from personal systems shaped by separate realities.
I have come to a place where I can set goals and surprise myself at accomplishing even the smaller ones.
I have come to appreciate, when I remember, that the differences between individuals are often as vast as those between nations.
I have come to recognize the past while consciously shooting for a present that I can own, and when I say I, I mean me, and the me I mean is the purest form of me, the one I like to believe is strong and good.
I read today in Les Mis, which is wonderful -- and I agree with Victor Hugo, or at least the narrator on this, completely -- that within every human being is an animal, and not just one animal but all animals ... because the last few years have shown me that within me is a turtle, a lamb, a rabbit, a wolf, a lion, a sheep, a black widow spider, a bluebird, and many more I have yet to discover.
This thought is distressing sometimes. Because these animals within humans all comprise an orchestra of virtues and faults; and all virtues have faults, and all faults have virtues. It bothers me as much in one vein as it motivates me in another. It gives me hope in still another. And at times this realization, whether in a moment of release or even in contemplation, is enough to chill my bones and palpitate my heart.
And doing "what is right" is such a broad yet narrow way of thinking, isn't it?
I've made mistakes that others would be proud to make, and have told me so.
And some of the good things I've done, the ones I am acknowledged for, amount to almost nothing in my own eyes when scrutinized underneath my microscopic system of values.
So I guess that's everything, without saying much, all the issues I've been thinking about while not really. All that a few good books, good deeds, mistakes, and a little therapy have taught me so far.
But I will say that all in all, I'm working my way toward a form of happiness I've never quite felt before -- the kind that you can get to no matter what your circumstances ... a kind of comfort I would love to feel for any length of time in my own skin, hopefully, forever ... the kind that allows you to love and give and receive, and be good to others no matter what is going on at the moment ... the kind that would just feel peaceful.
That's what I want very, very much. And that's all I'd like for the present and future. So that's all I feel like writing. I'm gonna get back to finding something to laugh at, or somethin' .... cause that's all I need. That's all anybody needs.
Labels: Books, Camp, Jail, Les Miserables, Mistakes, Music, Regret, Therapy
Monday, December 11, 2006
Everyone dies alone.
These things I will do, next time I love, and am loved in return:
I would talk about things that matter. I would want the person I love to truly know me, and where I came from. A lot of ugly things happened to me when I was young; A lot of ugly things happened to me later -- such is life. Sometimes I can be ugly. I can do and say ugly things. Sometimes I say them when I don't mean them; sometimes I mean them, at least for a moment, and should learn to bite my tongue.
I would participate in the little everyday things that mean so much more than a little:
Like listening;
Like being more sensitive;
Like not expecting my lover to be anything other than what he is,
And being my own person at the same time.
I would take him out.
I would do more nice things -- just because.
I would trust him; sometimes the hardest part is to trust and be trusted.
I told a friend the other night that I'm confused about the future. I had been creating these dreams, about this and that, this place I want to be, or with this job or education, blah, blah, blah .... And that, my friends, is hearsay from my own mind, for me to believe whenever I needed to.
The truth is, I've been alone for most of my life. Even when I'm not alone, I'm alone.
I dream up all these ideas in order to persuade myself that this is who I am, and I don't need anyone.
But my heart tells a different story, and no song or book or dream or words aloud can change it. It's reflected back at me in lines from some of my favorite movies:
"Everyone dies alone."
"People do belong to people."
"Anything less than mad, passionate, extraordinary love is a waste of your time."
And that last line, maybe it wasn't just about relationships and kissing dating goodbye. Maybe it was about life, because at this place in my life, it's hard to see a point in most things.
I have made a horrible mistake.
I have lost a great deal of my footing.
But the greatest loss is not the present one; it's something else.
Money isn't real.
A car and an apartment are things.
People matter, love matters, and everything else doesn't have to define me.
These things may not change overnight, but at least I've found out what is most important to me.
It is immaterial ...
If everyone dies alone, then maybe life isn't meant to be lived alone ...
These things I will do, next time I love, and am loved in return:
I would talk about things that matter. I would want the person I love to truly know me, and where I came from. A lot of ugly things happened to me when I was young; A lot of ugly things happened to me later -- such is life. Sometimes I can be ugly. I can do and say ugly things. Sometimes I say them when I don't mean them; sometimes I mean them, at least for a moment, and should learn to bite my tongue.
I would participate in the little everyday things that mean so much more than a little:
Like listening;
Like being more sensitive;
Like not expecting my lover to be anything other than what he is,
And being my own person at the same time.
I would take him out.
I would do more nice things -- just because.
I would trust him; sometimes the hardest part is to trust and be trusted.
I told a friend the other night that I'm confused about the future. I had been creating these dreams, about this and that, this place I want to be, or with this job or education, blah, blah, blah .... And that, my friends, is hearsay from my own mind, for me to believe whenever I needed to.
The truth is, I've been alone for most of my life. Even when I'm not alone, I'm alone.
I dream up all these ideas in order to persuade myself that this is who I am, and I don't need anyone.
But my heart tells a different story, and no song or book or dream or words aloud can change it. It's reflected back at me in lines from some of my favorite movies:
"Everyone dies alone."
"People do belong to people."
"Anything less than mad, passionate, extraordinary love is a waste of your time."
And that last line, maybe it wasn't just about relationships and kissing dating goodbye. Maybe it was about life, because at this place in my life, it's hard to see a point in most things.
I have made a horrible mistake.
I have lost a great deal of my footing.
But the greatest loss is not the present one; it's something else.
Money isn't real.
A car and an apartment are things.
People matter, love matters, and everything else doesn't have to define me.
These things may not change overnight, but at least I've found out what is most important to me.
It is immaterial ...
If everyone dies alone, then maybe life isn't meant to be lived alone ...
Labels: Love, Regret, Relationships
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Winter
Another cold front's coming, and it's going to get colder before it's over. Ray Bradbury talked about winter as a repeated theme in Something Wicked This Way Comes. I remember reading that book last year; it intrigued and terrified me.
Winter in Houston is like winter anywhere. You can feel it starting, but you don't know how cold it's going to get or when exactly it's going to end.
It can warm up for a couple of days. You might even feel a bit of relief when the cold breeze lets up, and you can step outside to shiver a little bit less. Only for the wind to come down again, or worse, rain. I haven't had one of those cold winter rains yet, but it's coming.
As for me, it's winter again. Not just outside, but inside. That season in your life where it's cold and dark, and you pray the Groundhog won't see it's shadow and hope for at least a little sunlight to bring you through the day.
I hope that when the winter is over I will be able to appreciate the spring. Appreciate it by taking it for granted, I mean, because I want to.
One day last week, I had a really shitty day. Shitty in the way that a million things every hour on the hour from the moment I woke up till just before bed just kept on happening. I almost want another shitty day like that, though. It's hard to explain, but at the end of it, all I could do was laugh. I was so glad to have been distracted by mundane, petty things. That shitty day was the closest to normal I have felt in the last few weeks, ever since the shithole I've created grew tremendously, so much so that I still can't write about it properly, and won't be able to provide an explanation for some unpredictable faraway time.
Where do I go from here? Where do you go where everything in your life is different than it was before? Where the goals you've pursued for years are shattered, and your thoughts consume you, and confuse you with their many contradictions.
And in moments your guilt, self-pity and regret seem larger than you. Where you're brain only creates self-hateful thoughts. Where your conversation holds no hope or intellect.
When you are so far into the present that the past doesn't matter and the future seems unthinkable. Unimaginable.
In all other winters, which in retrospect seems degrees warmer than what I would have thought to be intolerable, I always had something, whether it were myself, a plan, a sense of humor, or hope.
But the emotional blizzard is so strong that no shelter lasts for long. Friends, books, movies, even sleep, all wear thin, breaking in the wind and blowing away.
I fight to get them back, just as I fight to be strong. The work is exhausting.
I sleep deeply, or I don't sleep at all, and never know which until the early morning when I start all over again.
Another cold front's coming, and it's going to get colder before it's over. Ray Bradbury talked about winter as a repeated theme in Something Wicked This Way Comes. I remember reading that book last year; it intrigued and terrified me.
Winter in Houston is like winter anywhere. You can feel it starting, but you don't know how cold it's going to get or when exactly it's going to end.
It can warm up for a couple of days. You might even feel a bit of relief when the cold breeze lets up, and you can step outside to shiver a little bit less. Only for the wind to come down again, or worse, rain. I haven't had one of those cold winter rains yet, but it's coming.
As for me, it's winter again. Not just outside, but inside. That season in your life where it's cold and dark, and you pray the Groundhog won't see it's shadow and hope for at least a little sunlight to bring you through the day.
I hope that when the winter is over I will be able to appreciate the spring. Appreciate it by taking it for granted, I mean, because I want to.
One day last week, I had a really shitty day. Shitty in the way that a million things every hour on the hour from the moment I woke up till just before bed just kept on happening. I almost want another shitty day like that, though. It's hard to explain, but at the end of it, all I could do was laugh. I was so glad to have been distracted by mundane, petty things. That shitty day was the closest to normal I have felt in the last few weeks, ever since the shithole I've created grew tremendously, so much so that I still can't write about it properly, and won't be able to provide an explanation for some unpredictable faraway time.
Where do I go from here? Where do you go where everything in your life is different than it was before? Where the goals you've pursued for years are shattered, and your thoughts consume you, and confuse you with their many contradictions.
And in moments your guilt, self-pity and regret seem larger than you. Where you're brain only creates self-hateful thoughts. Where your conversation holds no hope or intellect.
When you are so far into the present that the past doesn't matter and the future seems unthinkable. Unimaginable.
In all other winters, which in retrospect seems degrees warmer than what I would have thought to be intolerable, I always had something, whether it were myself, a plan, a sense of humor, or hope.
But the emotional blizzard is so strong that no shelter lasts for long. Friends, books, movies, even sleep, all wear thin, breaking in the wind and blowing away.
I fight to get them back, just as I fight to be strong. The work is exhausting.
I sleep deeply, or I don't sleep at all, and never know which until the early morning when I start all over again.
Labels: Books, Depression, Goals, Insomnia, Regret
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Confessions of times I've said some really stupid shit.
I've put my foot in mouth before. Lots of times. Sometimes it was months or years later, way after when anyone gave a fuck about the stupid things I said. Still, I'm fessing up. Why? Because I'm neurotic and I thought maybe these things would repeat in my own head less if I just put 'em out there. Or something.
#1 -- Aaron's Mom
So one time, last summer, not at band camp, though I was working at a camp, I came home for the weekend to see my boyfriend, Aaron. His mother asked me about the multicolored wristbands I was wearing. I explained to her that they were from the waterpark where we took the kids three times a week. Some of the kids collected them, wouldn't take them off all week. I didn't take 'em off all summer. I had some kinda eighties, wristband, waterpark thing going on ... She asked me how the waterpark was. What is was like. She actually asked so many questions while Aaron stood there quietly that I became nervous. Finally I said something to the effect that I probably wouldn't go there if I were off, but that it was "the perfect place to spend a day with the kids." That might not sound bad in itself. But there was something to the air in my voice of dual condescension and cheesy sincerity, along with the stupid grin I get whenever I think or talk about camp, that I just can't possibly get it across completely on a blog. Maybe it's a waste, cause you weren't there, but for some reason at that moment I felt like she lost respect for me. Or maybe I lost respect for me. I dunno ...
#2 -- Conversations with boys
A) Aaron -- I had a horrible time one night out with Aaron and his friends. They were lots of old friends, sort of like a party, and a few of them were older and married, but they all went way back. Aaron got really high and was socializing with everybody. I talked to Rebecca, his best friend's girlfriend, until she went to sleep. Meanwhile, my friends called me. They had invited us out because some old friends were in town from out of state. They called me from the bar they were at to give me shit for not being there. I had not mentioned anything to Aaron about it because he was so excited about his friends being in town and me getting to meet them. But at the house, everybody kinda ignored me. Aaron didn't even really introduce me to anyone. I had quit smoking and ended up bumming a cigarette from one of Aaron's friends, partly because I wanted one and partly to piss him off, since I was sort of quitting for him. Anyway, Aaron was so high that on the way home he was in his own little world and didn't even notice I'd fallen asleep. When we got to my house we kissed, and all the sudden he stopped and stared into space. I asked him what was up and he said, "I'm sorry. I'm just really high." I slammed the door of the car when I got out. At the time I had issues with pot because I sort of blamed it for Jeff's lack of motivation, which is a huge part of what eventually broke us up ... So the next day I was talking to Aaron in the morning and I said that I was sorry and I shouldn't have gone out with him. I should have gone out with my friends because I would've had a better time. I was just trying to say that if I had something else to do I should've done it. It was my fault for not bringing it up and just doing what he wanted to do. He broke up with me that night. Um, yeah.
B) Wes -- Wes is the guy I went out with a few times before I got together with Aaron. I sort of wrote him off as a prick after he dissed me, but this is what I said to him. We were having drinks, the last time we hung out. I had a few pints in me and we were talking about life and goals and all that shit. I started talking about money and how I wanted to make a lot of money. How I was tired of being poor. Wes's parents were new money. They became very successful at some point in his childhood. They were ballers. And he started arguing with me about how that's not important and he saw what it did to his parents, and they're still not happy, blah, blah. I don't feel that way at all about money now. I don't know why I even said that at the time, when not long before I'd spent months living out of a suitcase in my car and sleeping on friends' couches .... On second thought, maybe that's exactly why I said it.
C) There was this other time I had just started dating a friend when one night over margaritas I somehow word-vomited that I was in love with someone else. He as a friend encouraged me to go tell the person. I've still always felt like a shit for that.
#3 -- Things I've said in school.
A) My junior year at Hastings I auditioned for the musical, like I did every year. I had even gotten the CD for the musical from a friend and learned all the songs word-by-word and note-by-note so I could be perfect, or so I thought. When the call-backs sheet went up, my name was not on it. Even after the choreographer and everyone in theater said how great I did. My choral instructor even addressed me in front of my whole class and said I had a great audition. She asked how I did, and I said coldly, "I didn't get called back." Then she said, "Well, that doesn't necessarily mean anything. You should still get a part." "Yes," I said, "I just won't have any lines." I was sure I'd be cast as a chorus girl. And no chorus girl wants to be a chorus girl. Every singer wants their own song. Not to mention that I performed in so many things my parents put added pressure on me, unknowingly, by the fact that they stopped going to most of my performances unless I had a solo. Anyway ... I sure was wishing for something better than a chorus girl part, but when the cast was posted, my name wasn't on that either. I think my teachers had a conversation ... Then I asked to be on the lighting crew, 'cause I'd always wanted to learn that, but my director wouldn't even let me do that. This shouldn't matter. It happened when I was 16. But I guess if I still think about it, even rarely, it does.
...
I don't have the energy for any more of these. If I haven't bored you to death or showed you how crazy I really am yet for thinking about all this crap, don't worry, I'll write some more crap real soon.
I've put my foot in mouth before. Lots of times. Sometimes it was months or years later, way after when anyone gave a fuck about the stupid things I said. Still, I'm fessing up. Why? Because I'm neurotic and I thought maybe these things would repeat in my own head less if I just put 'em out there. Or something.
#1 -- Aaron's Mom
So one time, last summer, not at band camp, though I was working at a camp, I came home for the weekend to see my boyfriend, Aaron. His mother asked me about the multicolored wristbands I was wearing. I explained to her that they were from the waterpark where we took the kids three times a week. Some of the kids collected them, wouldn't take them off all week. I didn't take 'em off all summer. I had some kinda eighties, wristband, waterpark thing going on ... She asked me how the waterpark was. What is was like. She actually asked so many questions while Aaron stood there quietly that I became nervous. Finally I said something to the effect that I probably wouldn't go there if I were off, but that it was "the perfect place to spend a day with the kids." That might not sound bad in itself. But there was something to the air in my voice of dual condescension and cheesy sincerity, along with the stupid grin I get whenever I think or talk about camp, that I just can't possibly get it across completely on a blog. Maybe it's a waste, cause you weren't there, but for some reason at that moment I felt like she lost respect for me. Or maybe I lost respect for me. I dunno ...
#2 -- Conversations with boys
A) Aaron -- I had a horrible time one night out with Aaron and his friends. They were lots of old friends, sort of like a party, and a few of them were older and married, but they all went way back. Aaron got really high and was socializing with everybody. I talked to Rebecca, his best friend's girlfriend, until she went to sleep. Meanwhile, my friends called me. They had invited us out because some old friends were in town from out of state. They called me from the bar they were at to give me shit for not being there. I had not mentioned anything to Aaron about it because he was so excited about his friends being in town and me getting to meet them. But at the house, everybody kinda ignored me. Aaron didn't even really introduce me to anyone. I had quit smoking and ended up bumming a cigarette from one of Aaron's friends, partly because I wanted one and partly to piss him off, since I was sort of quitting for him. Anyway, Aaron was so high that on the way home he was in his own little world and didn't even notice I'd fallen asleep. When we got to my house we kissed, and all the sudden he stopped and stared into space. I asked him what was up and he said, "I'm sorry. I'm just really high." I slammed the door of the car when I got out. At the time I had issues with pot because I sort of blamed it for Jeff's lack of motivation, which is a huge part of what eventually broke us up ... So the next day I was talking to Aaron in the morning and I said that I was sorry and I shouldn't have gone out with him. I should have gone out with my friends because I would've had a better time. I was just trying to say that if I had something else to do I should've done it. It was my fault for not bringing it up and just doing what he wanted to do. He broke up with me that night. Um, yeah.
B) Wes -- Wes is the guy I went out with a few times before I got together with Aaron. I sort of wrote him off as a prick after he dissed me, but this is what I said to him. We were having drinks, the last time we hung out. I had a few pints in me and we were talking about life and goals and all that shit. I started talking about money and how I wanted to make a lot of money. How I was tired of being poor. Wes's parents were new money. They became very successful at some point in his childhood. They were ballers. And he started arguing with me about how that's not important and he saw what it did to his parents, and they're still not happy, blah, blah. I don't feel that way at all about money now. I don't know why I even said that at the time, when not long before I'd spent months living out of a suitcase in my car and sleeping on friends' couches .... On second thought, maybe that's exactly why I said it.
C) There was this other time I had just started dating a friend when one night over margaritas I somehow word-vomited that I was in love with someone else. He as a friend encouraged me to go tell the person. I've still always felt like a shit for that.
#3 -- Things I've said in school.
A) My junior year at Hastings I auditioned for the musical, like I did every year. I had even gotten the CD for the musical from a friend and learned all the songs word-by-word and note-by-note so I could be perfect, or so I thought. When the call-backs sheet went up, my name was not on it. Even after the choreographer and everyone in theater said how great I did. My choral instructor even addressed me in front of my whole class and said I had a great audition. She asked how I did, and I said coldly, "I didn't get called back." Then she said, "Well, that doesn't necessarily mean anything. You should still get a part." "Yes," I said, "I just won't have any lines." I was sure I'd be cast as a chorus girl. And no chorus girl wants to be a chorus girl. Every singer wants their own song. Not to mention that I performed in so many things my parents put added pressure on me, unknowingly, by the fact that they stopped going to most of my performances unless I had a solo. Anyway ... I sure was wishing for something better than a chorus girl part, but when the cast was posted, my name wasn't on that either. I think my teachers had a conversation ... Then I asked to be on the lighting crew, 'cause I'd always wanted to learn that, but my director wouldn't even let me do that. This shouldn't matter. It happened when I was 16. But I guess if I still think about it, even rarely, it does.
...
I don't have the energy for any more of these. If I haven't bored you to death or showed you how crazy I really am yet for thinking about all this crap, don't worry, I'll write some more crap real soon.
Labels: Depression, Regret
