Grand Street in daylight.

Why is it that when the most interesting, dramatic, tragic, or just awesome times are happening in your life, you can't find time to document them?

I sometimes think of the people who read this blog and that I wouldn't want any of them, or the strangers, to think of me lesser than awesome. I have faltering confidence. I have panic attacks, and crying fits, terribly morbid mean thoughts, and other personality deficiencies. I want to document these moments without being judged, but I feel the need to have a public blog. It doesn't make sense.

This last week was pretty insane. A friend in town, a boy who won't go away, poorly scored exams, a hot Frenchman, essentially, the things a good book consist of. Alright, maybe not a good book, but at least some trash you could buy in the grocery store check out lane.

I went to the gym today and ran. I hate running, but it felt good to hurt a little and feel my muscles burn and my throat close. I went to the store and leisurely shopped, and I thought entirely too much about things fully out of my control.

This is the issue. Thinking too much. Being out of control.

I am unbelievably busy. I'm not handling it so wonderfully. I am imbalanced and I can't fix it, or have at least owned defeat, and feel like I'm slightly drowning. I feel smothered by absolutely everything in my life. School, roommates, friends, family, weight, debt. It's not healthy.

I smoked a clove today. I pinky promised my mom that I wouldn't become a smoker and so far I have kept that promise. Even without a formidable habit, I enjoy cloves because they bring me to summer instantly. They burn a little and make me feel purposeful. They are stress-free to me.

So maybe I need to work on my coping skills. Whatever.

Boys are just too much for me. I can't do it. Dating is too much. Like everything, it's fine most of the time and when it's not, it hurts. It's just something you have to have a thick skin about and I don't have that at this point. I have frail, pale, soft skin that can't handle the crass world of dating. The deficits mentioned previously seem to surface more frequently when you are selling yourself. That is exactly what it is. A sales pitch.

A fucking sale.

It's time for spring break. It's time for summer.

I shed tears because I want it to be summer. This weekend was beautiful. I watched puppies in the park and I found an animal shelter with kittens in the window. My soul aches without animal interaction. Maybe I should have gone to veterinarian school.

Maybe he's an asshole. Maybe he's too nice. Maybe he's just not it. He's not it.