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I was reckless with my Swedish Fish, and now I have none. NONE! Oh why do I take the things I love for granted?!

Uhmm.... I got a big Ultimate Spiderman hardcover book that has lots of issues in it. Not all of them, mind you, but a lot.

The pickle I was given was limper than I would've hoped. I like them crisp, damnit.

I express depression in the most embarrassing ways. Luckily, nobody's there to see it so I can at least keepa ze dignity.

I am far too prone to comical pratfalls. I wish people would stop leaving stray banana peels around the halls...

This Mt. Saint Helens business would be sorted out in a jiffy if they just tossed a virgin into the volcano. I mean, seems to me like that's the only thing that'll appease Tiki Tambu.

In high school, you (meaning I) just sort of assumed that being able to transcribe your emotions to paper somehow made you a poet. But gawd, now I know better and after having to pull three goddamn poems out of my gullet with my bare hands for the end of the poetry unit I really have no desire to write anything in fucking stanzas ever...
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October can eat my ass. As luck would have it, there's an SG named October. This post is not in reference to her.

Though being glum isn't, in itself, a particularly enjoyable experience, I relish the opportunity to use such a fun word to describe my mood.

Yayyyy.....

Feeling needed and wanted is one of the most unnerving sensations I have ever felt. The circumstances could be better, though. For one thing, they could less morally iffy. I'd like to be able to talk about what's going on with me without feeling wretched (at least when sharing with more or less complete strangers, like whatever lovely person happens upon this entry).

I know...
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I pick my nose with my pinky, because I'm afraid of stretching my nostrils. It's important for people to know this, so they know which finger to avoid when shaking my hand.

I don't wanna vote, but I'm registered. I think I'll vote on behalf of someone who can't vote in the election, like a Canadian or a parrot.

I don't understand why some people (myself included) think that suffering somehow makes them special. Even if it did, I doubt anything could be as self-destructive as connecting your feelings of self-worth to your feelings of misery.

I kinda feel like I've supported my one roommate in the sense that I've spent time with him and listened to him when my other roommates and, apparently...
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