The nights I'm high are the nights I feel empty.
Even though the munchies consume me.

I haven't been writing lately. Truthfully, I haven't written anything definitive in years. I stop and go all the time - premature ejaculation without the mess, or awkwardness. It's really easy to slide, comfortable to do so. I've been debating closing my account, shutting a chapter because in a way this feeds my desire to keep living in the past.

I don't feel like I've grown. In many ways, I don't feel like I've developed into a well rounded person. My reasons for writing, specifically in this type of forum, were not the right ones. I think I believed that over time my writing here would lead to some sort of grand transformation accompanied by music of symphonic proportions. I've always wished I wrote more like Lisa, in succinct and desirable sentences. To be like the person everyone craves to know, be around and fascinated by. In that venture, I sort of lost a bit of who I am.

I dreamt I went to a Henry Rollins speaking event.
Afterwards, I noticed other people had got autographs from somewhere and there was a girl I used to work with (with whom I thought we were on friendly terms - in real life - but apparently are not, whatever) who seemed to be working at the venue. I asked her if she could introduce me to Rollins and she said no, but pointed out a back room he was in with his "people" and said I could try to go back there and try to see him myself. So I go down this hallway, and he's in this little room, sitting on a couch with someone and with someone sitting on a chair opposite the doorway and they're all watching a videotape of the performance he just finished that night. I knock and walk in a bit expecting to be thrown out by one of the other people in the room and meekly ask for his autograph which is more than willing to give - except I don't have a pen - so he signed his name in pencil on a pamphlet I had for the event. Then I went outside and went a little fangirlish where noone was looking. Then I woke up.

I remember him being super nice in the dream. And I remember wanting to say something prolific that would make him want to become my friend. I kind of really want to do that last thing.

I am, somewhat, superstitious about very odd things.

I dislike talking about how I may have done on exams and papers for fear that I may get my expectations up only to have my hopes dashed. For some reason, I think that if I reflect on how I did it may lower my grade.

If I am afraid or hopeful about something, I will not voice it that much for fear of the opposite happening. In part, I think that's why I blog, it's talking without the vocals and that makes thinking and writing about things alright because I don't have to listen to how stupid or pretentious I sound when I give voice to a thought. I also tend to over-dramatize - yet even as I type that I am fearful that I may not actually be over-dramatizing - and that by saying I may be means that what I fear is true?

Gnome sane?

I'm stressed and I think my body is telling me that I need to relax, mentally.
Some time last week, I think I may have slept funny or pulled a muscle when doing weight-training, but the right side of my neck kinda hurts and feels swollen. Not that anyone can actually tell - for the most part I can't even really tell but I kinda feel it. It doesn't really hurt, and I don't think pressing the area deeply every five minutes has been helping the problem either. But it's there, an unusual sensation. When I lie down a certain way it hurts, and when I turn a certain way it hurts, but overall it's not painful. It kind of feels bruised between my jaw, neck and shoulder - but I've been pressing deeply in that area so that may not have been the most helpful thing to do. And my mind immediately jumps to cancer, although I didn't feel anything unusual.

I worry, I realize that I worry. And then because I worry I feel ill in my stomach, and then because I feel ill I begin to think that that's part of having that kind of disease. Then every little ache I get I think is a result of having cancer and that they'll tell me I only have a few days to live and it just keeps snowballing from there until I'm so worked up I am up until 5am writing in my blog about how crazy I make myself with worry. And as a result of calling my thoughts crazy all the thoughts will become true because I am deluding myself into believing that I'm just getting myself worked up. See the logic? I really do, that's the disturbing thing.

I worry because I'm not done school yet.
I worry for when I am done school.
I worry for when I have a real job and fear being fired because I am not a confident enough person.
I worry about the finances.
About my parents health.
About the truths or lies my brother tells me about him having cancer.
About having a swollen neck and what it may mean.
About never completing anything I've attempted.
About not being good enough.
About anything else you can think of.
About imagining that when I swallow that there's a lump in my throat instead of a severely pulled muscle - because a pulled muscle should hurt when I move.
About this un-modified, un-edited stream of consciousness dialogue/list.

This is what I think about, over and over again.
I need relaxation techniques.

I share a birthday with these people:
- Alan Arkin
- Michael Imperioli
- Leslie Mann
- Amy Smart
- Leonard Nimoy
- Keira Knightley
- James Caan
- Martin Short
- Jennifer Grey
- Diana Ross
- Tennessee Williams