Some thoughts(full of contradictions, no doubt).

I think I’m on the mend. Or at least I’m on an upswing and -with any luck- my next plummet won’t be as dramatic as this last one.

I don’t like socially volatile scenarios, scenarios where I have to navigate through the zoo of human emotions.

I’m sick of thinking about myself all the time. When I say I’m sick of thinking about myself it’s a round about way of saying I’m sick of thinking about other people and how their sadness affects me.

I saw so many girls downtown today that made my heart flutter. I have no choice but to believe in love at first sight because I fell in love like six times today.

I don’t really have that much trouble attracting girls; I mean I don’t have any glaring impediments in that department. Other than my unusual level of fear, of course.

I need to work on my self-confidence, accept my limitations and work within them to better myself.

I’m a little hazy these days, but not enough so that I can’t do my job properly or have a little fun from time to time.

My dangerous lows are an unfortunate inevitability but I mustn’t break under their weight, I mustn’t be fatalistic.

I think I’m finally coming down to planet earth after several years of total romanticism and fantasy.

I think central to my problems is a strong desire to be understood.

I never used to expect so much from myself; I’m displeased with myself but I don’t think I was ever much better.

It’s a confounding conflict in me that I want to meet a girl who A. doesn’t want to change me and B. makes me want to improve myself.

Sexually, I probably need to discover some freaky new thing that’ll make me wild. But until then, I’m gonna be pitchin’ notably fewer tents.

It seems lately that you are whatever you think you are. Because the only person paying attention to your slight behavioral changes, is you.

God only knows what kind of impressions I’m making as a sad twit who hates himself, but I’m sure they’re no worse than the impressions I’d be making as the egoist I’m always wishing I was.

Artists need to spend a lot of time by themselves; making art, introspecting and investigating other artists and their methods. These are areas I’ve been neglecting lately.

I sometimes fear I don’t know enough about the world around me to hold the interest of a good woman for more than a few fleeting weeks.

I’m reading this tedious book because I had a brief interaction with a pretty girl who liked it.

I had a conversation recently with a girl I was once infatuated with. Thankfully I’m now capable of thinking of her as just an ordinary human being with flaws and blemishes; she’s no longer above scrutiny. She still seems funny and thoughtful, but lots of people are.

Two computer geeks sit across from each other in a crowded deli, one has a mustache and the other has the kind of smirk on his face that can’t be controlled.

“The thing is,” says the one with the smirk,” I wouldn’t have acted the way I did around her if you hadn’t told me you liked her.”

“You’re an asshole.” Says the guy with the mustache.

“I’m serious, human relations are so weird, I was deliberately acting aloof around her so you would seem like a nice guy. Usually I’m pawing and fawning like an idiot when they’re that pretty.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Says the guy with the mustache, his sternness at odds with the comical amount of mayonnaise in his mustache.

“And then at the Christmas party she starts flirting with me like crazy. I’m sorry man, but girls who look like that get to make all the decisions. We’re all just witless mules waiting to answer to their whims. I mean what am I supposed to do?”

“For starters you can choke on your tongue.” Responds the man with the mustache.

I don’t have anything to do at work and I sit in a really high traffic spot. So, everyone can see I’m not doing much of anything all day. Today I drew uninspired doodles of anxious people on post its. If they’re not gonna give me any work to do they at least could have stuck me in a cubicle. Then at least I could pretend I was busy, but no, I’m right in the middle of all the action. Everyone else has work to do so they’re all pretty unreceptive to my weird jokes. The lack of affirmation makes me resort to ever-more childish antics until I end up embarrassed. Then I sit there silently listening to Adam Carolla on my Ipod, I like that guy a lot, I tend to enjoy the loudmouth-types, the ones who say audacious things without feeling any shame. I like Adam Carolla, John Kricfalusi, and Ben Weasel; I live vicariously thru their self-assuredness. I daydreamed a lot today about having magical power over 18 year old girls, they would be defenseless against my charms for the entirety of their eighteenth year. The day they turned 19 though my spell would be over and they’d be left to decide for themselves: is this guy worth a damn or have I lost my mind? I imagine it would be sad as hell ‘cuz invariably they’d all leave me after I’d grown attached. Until one day maybe one of them would stay on for her nineteenth year, of her own free will no less. What a treat that would be and then her twentieth, twenty first and twenty second years would follow with any luck. If this failed to happen at least I could continue spending my days and years in the company of charming young women at the doorstep to adulthood. Oh people would talk, they’d say, “that creepy old buzzard has some kind of a scam going, he’s not charming, handsome or even polite.” Let them talk I’d say, the men would all be jealous and the girls would all scornfully mock and pity me, but what a life I’d lead! As years progressed and my body grew tired and old, I’d yearn for the girl who'd love me past her magic-induced year of devotion. I’d have less and less in common with the youth and one day I would die, essentially alone save for a beautiful young girl I’d known for less than a year.