So last night my car just completely fucked off. I took it as a sign to just give up on things. I figure, the car can, so why can't I? So I came home, made up a lie to tell my professor, and went to blissful sleep.
I hate being a stupid cyber stalker. I hate not being able to just handle myself in social situations. I hate that even when I seem to have done just that, I can obsess over it and manage to completely fuck up the good feelings I had about it in a matter of days (hours, minutes, seconds).
How can one set of peircing blue eyes completely undo me? Oh who am I kidding? They always do. I'm fucking helpless, and hopeless, and all sorts of other adjectives. Yet, still, in the corners of my mind where things work out I can see potentials everywhere.
Or maybe not. I don't know. The muddy waters of myself never really reflect anything I can translate into experience. Just fears bouncing off wants and errant desires, swirling with visions of the best and worst outcomes dancing together, laughing at me.
