"Oh, Oh. I do not hook up, up." - Kelly "LIAR" Clarkson

NPR on "Hooking Up"

This topic has become fascinating to me to the point where it's an obsession.
NPR made some sense of it, tying in the fact that people are more concerned with "finding" themselves and establishing a career. People are considering growing up before they settle down.
A thought that didn't occur to previous generations because women were uneducated and life expectancies were shorter- facts that I'm sure are well known. I've read studies that have proven that the younger people are married, the faster they divorce. So maybe hooking up and fooling around as we grow up is a good thing. My high school U.S. Studies teacher always told us,

"Don't get married 'til you're thirty. You'll thank me for this."

As much as I agree (straight up) with all of the points made, the part in the article that stands out is when they start to speak about how women feel that casual sex is empowering and liberating in the present day. Which I suppose is a concept that most women of the 21st century can relate to. Women are making just as much as, if not more than, men are making in the working world. They don't need a man to take care of them. They're just looking to satisfy (and quiet) the natural urge to... well... "fuck," for lack of a better term.

I guess in a way I'm concerned for myself. Am I going to keep meeting people that are just concerned with hooking up or will they also care about my feelings? In my experiences, there aren't many people in my age group that actually care about their hookups. To survive this dating world, none of us really can care. It's the same emotional detachment that's increasing in our daily communication with one another. Maybe I'm an old soul, but I'd rather be alive in those days of goodnight kisses instead of good morning pats on the back.

"In summation"*... there's no hope for a serious relationship until we're thirty.
Thanks, Mr. Kennedy. You are wise.




*I fucking hate that phrase.

Another depressing one. I'll get the better ones back soon, I swear.

Despite everything some people have put me through, I can still look past it and care about them.

I'm not sure this is a good quality anymore.
In fact, I'd say it's what has caused me the great amounts of anxiety I've experienced for four years now.

My ex told me he was gay and then proceeded to tell me that it was a lie a year later because he was mad that I wouldn't sleep with him.

And I'm still talking to him on a very regular basis.

There are only a few people I talk to that make me feel like the wind has been knocked out of me.
Those are the people that I shouldn't have forgiven.

But I guess how people treat us is how we let them treat us and we're only as respected as we respect ourselves.
So when you tell me that it's not my fault that I'm treated this way, you're wrong.
You're fucking dead wrong.

If there is one thing that I could change about myself, it would be that I didn't feel the need to apologize for things that other people have done.

Why the fuck do I feel like I need to apologize for EVERYTHING when I've done nothing wrong?
The urge to reconcile usually comes full force after someone fucks up with me.
That's right. I want to resolve things and take the blame for whatever it is that someone did. Just to avoid conflict, really.


Next time I say "sorry," and it wasn't warranted, if you're a decent person, smack me.
Thanks.

I miss yellow lines in my roads. Some color on monochrome. Maybe I'll paint them in myself.

I've been having difficulty watching my friends and acquaintances graduate and move on with their lives.
They're moving away.
They're growing up.
They're zombie getting jobs.

And I'm still here.
I'm still zombie here.

And you're still talking to me.
Still zombie talking.
After all these years.
I thought you were dead.
No. You're a zombie.

This fucking sucks.

New! Pepsi Throwback with REAL sugar... like they used to make it...

There's something incredibly terrifying about the fact that things aren't made with REAL anything anymore.
It just suits this world of cold, automated machines instead of flesh, reading "i luv u" instead of hearing it, isolation via earbuds and people with smiles plastered over anxiety and depression.


People don't talk about anything with substance.
I can't even hold a conversation with someone during a car ride.

I guess this is a fitting entry for today, since I saw Terminator Salvation.
Which, by the way, was nowhere near as awesome as I thought it would be.
But whenever I really think about the Terminator movies' message, it scares me.
Machines will fucking own the SHIT out of us eventually and it will be all of our faults.
It's terrible, really.
But what isn't terrible is the fact that Charlie Bartlett dude, Anton Yelchin, is in Star Trek AND Terminator Salvation this summer. He was born in Russia so that accent in Trek is fucking dead on. And he's only 20.

What am I doing with my life??

And all I want right now is pizza.
Why do I want pizza so badly?

Some people just aren't meant to have fun lives and fun jobs.
Some people are meant to share the weight of burdens of the world.

Unfortunately, I'm starting to believe that I'm one of those people.

For some reason, when people meet me, they automatically trust and confide in me.
Just about everyone I meet feels a strong connection to me.
At this point in my life, (as I turn 22 today) I've come to accept this.
One of my friends and I have a running joke that we're "empaths," people that actually experience other people's emotions. Not really a joke when it's your reality.

The medication I have been on lately has numbed me a bit, taking the extreme emotions I feel down to a normalized level. In a couple of months, the dose will only increase.

Should I be normalizing these feelings?


The other night, as I sat on the stairwell my friends smoke cigarettes on, I realized way more about myself than I wanted to acknowledge. I don't believe I'm worthy of being loved. I've known this about myself for a while, but I've never heard it from a friend, let alone heard it out loud.

I cried. It was the first good, solid cry I had in 2 months, excluding the cry I had during the season finale of grey's anatomy last week.

Then I had a cigarette.
And drank too many Sparks.
Spent one of my remaining nights of spring 2009 with the graduated seniors.
And slapped my friend in the face with a hamburger patty.

Last night, I went to Sonic and ate my feelings, watched a zombie romantic comedy called, "Boy Eats Girl," and fell asleep to the sounds of the Daily Show in my friend's bed.

I think I grew up a little last night.

Happy Birthday to me.
Happy Birthday to me.

"My feelings are more important than yours."

I'm really enjoying "The Heretic" by The Sound of Animals Fighting.

"A moment to think
Before we both sing
That beauty's a lie, so sweetly
And don't be afraid
Don't be afraid
Don't be afraid"

Simple, but touching.

I'm starting to get anxiety about how uncertain my life is at the moment.
Nothing is stable.
This used to excite me. The possibilities of life seeming endless gave me such a rush and I'd daydream and just be content with that.
But as I get older, I realize that stability is all I long for.
A steady job.
A steady routine.*
A steady support system.
A steady beau.

I have an outline of where I want to go and who I want to be.
It's just getting there that's concerning me at the moment.
And this Education of Self class made me aware of plenty of things I do that prevent me from achieving those goals. Looking at myself in this way makes me worry about myself.

Does anyone else worry about these things?
Does anyone else lie awake at night with racing thoughts of worry?

This is what causes more anxiety attacks than I'd like to admit to.

Remembering my medication everyday is getting easier and easier. But I'm not sure if it's effective. Nothing feels different. I still get overwhelmed to the point of paralysis. No fun.

Adding to all of this, I'm not treating myself with the respect I deserve. The chosen methods of destruction are those that I'd prefer not to mention. But, I'm in the process of writing a book about all of my experiences over the past four years. A book that will probably never get more exposure than this blog, but I can dream.

Where do our perceptions of ourselves end?
And where does the reality of who we are begin?

*Repetitive. Awesome.