I'm Sticking With You

Isn't life just peachy? Noooo, no, seriously, ain't it just a bowl of freaking cherries?

Yeah, didn't think so. My life is fucking perfect. Yes. Yes that is so right.

I am a suburban-sprawl child, I am blonde, mildly intelligent, straight-A sort of kiddo.

Then whyyyy am I so unhappy here!? I just need to know why! I want some answers. Some damn good ones.

I am raging pissed for some reason. On the inside. My exterior is so utterly calm you'd never know. Why am I like that!? Why can't have an angry outburst to prove my point!? Why can't I go batshit crazy in front of PEOPLE!? A POPULATION!? Why am I only truly myself behind the closed door of my suburbanly-normal home!? WHY did I end up so crazy-normal!?! I am so White-bread in this white-bread town! I have nothing special!? Yes, that's a question. Because I don't know. I really don't. I can't stand this. Any of it. Take me away, far away, to where I can get un-normal! Please, anyone, everyone!! Come one, come all, watch the extra-ordinary mental collapse of me. ME. This normal chick right here. Yeah, ME. I don't like that word. It means what it says. ME. This one. Here. The normal one. Who over-exaggerates her life's problems like the hipster-loser she is. Yes. I am mad at ME. Me, and only me, can fix what I've gotten into. But you can't scrub away normality. Nooo, no you can not. No sirree. But don't people long to be normal? I want to have something to claim. Something to pin myself to being a little bit different. I'm cookie-cutter. But I'm below-par. Nobody wants a pessimist, nobody wants ME. Why would they? Even I don't want me at times. Existence is like a curse. It IS a curse. But death is my greatest fear. The irony. It's over-freaking-whelming. I want to make things STOP. To freeze time. Saunter about like they do in the films.

I want too much. I must stop. I am so selfish. Another flaaaaaaw!! Maybe I need help. But normal people don't need help. No. They do not.

This isn't goodnight. I'm going to guiltily look at Swedish furniture. Maybe cry. Play me some solitaire and forget this outburst.

It'll drive me crazy if I don't forget. It's little teeth will gnaw at my soul-innards.

But yeah, I still love you? I think it's more obsession now. Can obsession be love? I think so. Because I still claim to be horribly and unrequitedly in love with you. Yes. I do love you. But you can't love me back now can you? Yeah. Life happens like that, doesn't it? Just to screw with our heads a bit.

I bid you all adieu. Off to Ikea.com...