Sometimes I read over my archives (and yes, the fact that I have archives proves what a silly, narcissistic little prancy pants I am) and it's like my brain is literally shot back in time. Total out of body experience.

I am nineteen years old.
I love my body.
I love my friends, have had them for years, and they will never discover what a fuckwit I am and leave me.
I have a wide open future ahead of me.
I have no debt.
I have a best friend that totally gets me, and I'm not afraid to hug her.
I am not afraid to be hugged.
I have a boy named wonder, and he will never ever hurt or ignore me (he told me so himself, and boys never lie).
I believe that my words will make a difference.
I think dick cheney is a robot.
I abuse nyquil to fall asleep (some things never do change).
I spend a lot of time on AIM with a really smart, awesome professor, and he will never know how much I suck.
I also spend a lot of time on AIM with a really smart, awesome closet monster, and he is also unaware of my suck level.
I don't actually think I suck.
I believe we will all do exactly why we set out to accomplish.

All of this sounds very melancholy but it isn't. Life is turning, burning, changing shape. My time consists of family dinners and ticket sales, martha stewart food porn and charming company, putting Abe Lincoln in his place and acid trip quality dreams... And through it all I find myself with a funny optimistic feeling that might be totally unwarranted but feels nice just the same.

I dunno. It's Sunday night and I'm home alone, with nothing but a recently discovered spotty wifi signal. I need some schnapps to drink. As Paul Gamba would say... "what are you, fucking 16?!"

I am out of practice with this. Blog-apologies.