apparently ivy league boys and drug dealers like me.

I have been hit on more times than I can count this weekend and have been called pretty by two strangers in the past two days. I was also two random guys "good luck charm" for beer pong.

but they sucked and having me around did not change that fact. it might have helped if they had just let me throw the goddamn ball. they had one cup left and missed it about 8 times. I was sober and totally could have made it. I eventually left because they were disappointing me and I was in a shittastic mood.

on my way to the door, some really cute guy with a face covered in orange paint that glowed under blacklights talked to me and tried to convince me not to leave the party. he said I was "very pretty." I said his face was very orange. I was very flattered by his compliments but wanted to leave. so I did.
I probably should have stayed.

also, on the train home today some black man who was dressed quite "thug" and went by the name "big" and had two cellphones decided to sit next to me. he asked my for my name, if I had a boyfriend and if he could "call me sometime." I told him I don't give my number out. the whole two cellphones thing makes me think he was involved in some sort of criminal activity such as drug dealing. he was quite nice and polite, though. before he left he said that I was "really pretty."

I suppose this sounds a lot like bragging, but you have to understand, THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN TO ME. EVER. 

boys do NOT show interest in me. especially not smart and/or interesting. and NO ONE (other than my mother) tells me I'm pretty.

is this a normal thing for actually-pretty girls? because it felt pretty goddamn strange to me.
kind of pleasant, though.

apparently I need to visit upenn more often.

I also need to write more. perhaps I will tonight. 

judgements.

I think the only way you can judge someone without knowing them is knowing what music they listen to. it's very telling. my personal taste in music says, "I'm a mess, I have no idea who I am, and I like it that way."

5. Little Boxes Made of Ticky Tacky

I used to really like to hide. From myself, from other people. It’s the only way I knew how to get by. The only way I knew how to be strong. And I am very good at it. I used to compartmentalize all of my emotions and lock them away, opening as needed. Sometimes it got too hard and I forget to lock them away. Or they stayed open on their own. That was always the worst. It’s when I messed up the hiding that I get hurt.

But now, I’ve decided to let my love box be really open. In fact, I don't think it could stay shut anymore. It causes problems this way too, but at least now I know where they come from. I have more and less control. I have more control because I know that the box isn’t going to spring open when I don’t want it to; I have less because now I love everyone. I love people in romantic ways and in just normal people ways.

I guess there is probably too much love. If anyone who I loved in a romantic way knew it, they would probably be scared. I mean, how could I love them? I barely know them. Having someone love you is scary, I suppose. But I don’t love like that. It’s a subtle kind of love. More like a strong “I-really-think-we-might-be-matches-and-even-if-we’re-not-I’ll-still-love-you-as-a-person” kind of thing. That doesn’t seem scary to me. I don’t think I would mind if someone told me that. I think I would understand. And if I didn’t think that we were matches, I would tell them, they would move one, and we would just love each other as people.

I’ve started loving myself, too. That is a weird feeling. Have you ever loved yourself? It’s weird. I don’t love myself all the time, but when I do, I feel almost worthwhile. When I love myself, I feel like I deserve someone worthwhile to love me. But at the same time, I won’t feel really worthwhile until someone worthwhile actually loves me. I have learned to love my mind. Everyone should love his or her mind. It’s a beautiful thing. Everyone’s is. No exceptions. Not even the normal crazies. Their normal minds are beautiful, too.

I wish everyone would love freely. It would make the world a better place, and people would understand better. I wish more people understood.

They don’t though. People think that their emotions are the only complicated ones. That when they hurt someone, it is only because they had no other choice, or because it seemed like the right decision at the time. But when other people hurt someone, it is because they are inconsiderate jerks. Why don’t we understand other people’s motives? It seems so strange to me. I understand. Or at least I try to. Even when someone hurts me; throws my love back in my face. I try to understand why.

It helps me keep loving. Before I started letting myself love, I tried to understand so that I wouldn’t hurt. When things hurt, I have to hide the pain and that can be hard sometimes. It helped me to define things. Put them in the right boxes without trying too hard.

Now, understanding helps me to love everyone, no matter what. Everyone has motives. When you understand why people do things, you can understand them better. I think that once you understand a person, it’s really hard not to love them.

Everyone’s mind is beautiful. Sometimes it takes a little while to unravel a person’s mind, but once you do, it’s easy to love. When you love a person’s mind, you love that person.

I don’t believe in evil. I believe in lost, confused, insecure, stuck, and desperate. Never evil. I don’t think that people have the capacity to be truly evil. Unless they are psychopaths and don’t have feelings. But even then, they don’t mean to be evil. They can’t help it. You can’t really love them, though. Well, I suppose you could, but that love would be wasted and somewhat unwarranted because their minds don’t work like everyone’s. They don’t have emotions, so I don’t know if they necessarily deserve emotion. Their minds are beautiful, but not really loveable.

I wonder if life would be easier if I didn’t feel at all. Probably. It might help, too, if I let myself feel more emotions than just love. I am constantly focused on love because I hide away all the other feelings. This is good and bad. I suppose it makes me a bit obsessive, but then again, what is so bad about being obsessed with love? I think for now, I will leave my other emotions locked away. Buried deep. If I start thinking about them, I will be led down a bad road.

Now, I do feel other emotions, but usually only in the context of love. Sadness because someone broke my heart by not thinking we were a match before we could even try. Anger because someone who I think might be a match doesn’t give me a clear sign one way or another of what he thinks about us being a match. Fear right before I start trying to see if someone else might be a match. Happiness because I found out that I love a friend even more than I thought. It always comes back to love.

I also think about love in ways other than romance, which makes it almost okay that it is my only real emotion. I have found things that I love. Like activities. And friends. And animals. And colors. And ideas.

Even still, I guess it is not really a healthy way to live. But, it works for me. One day I might have to start thinking about other things. Today, however, I am content to only dwell on love. Everything else can stay in its appropriately marked box. 

googbledeegook.

so I thought that my camera was broken and it made me very sad because the sunset last night was one of the prettiest I have ever seen. ever. the clouds looked like rippled rose gold. and so did the ice on the bay.
I stood on the bay last night, too. that was an experience. I was a little afraid that the ice would crack and I would fall through and die, but then I remembered that the bay is about four feet deep and I was less afraid of dying and more afraid of being cold and wet.
I had some super heavy boots so I went on the swings and tried to fly into the pretty sky. it didn't work and my boots were still heavy. feeling like you're about to fly away only goes so far when it never actually happens.
I woke up to watch the sun rise over the ocean and that was pretty but not nearly as pretty as the sunset.
it turns out my camera wasn't even broken either.
I wish I had a time machine. I wouldn't disturb anything. I would just go back, fix the camera, and take pretty pictures. nothing would change, but my boots would be way lighter.

on another note, I had an awesome dream last night. I think I am going to make it into a story. I'll post it on here when it's done. my first attempt at fiction! woohoo!

pretty (:

I can see a teeny tiny rainbow in a reflection on the lens of my glasses if I hold my head just right.  I want to keep it. I would like to see a rainbow everywhere I go.

a poem, I suppose.

the only thing going through my head when I write is:  read this and love me. love me. love me.

please, love me.

what purpose does my life have if people don’t love me? what purpose does life have if people don’t tell me they love me?

            I will not believe you, but tell me anyway. tell me. tell me until I believe it. tell me in a way that makes me believe it. tell me I matter. tell me I’m worthwhile.

            tell me my writing is meaningful. my words are my thoughts. my thoughts are my soul.* I am my soul* thoughts.

if my words are worthwhile, I am worthwhile.

love my words.

love me.

4. False.

            If people were more direct, maybe I would feel less like a fraud. Everything I do is a lie. Nothing is done without an ulterior motive. Nine times out of ten the motive is making myself appear to be a better person than I really am. More interesting. Less cliché.

However, in doing that, I am as dull and trite as every other ball of flesh on this planet.

I strive to be interesting. To be a unique individual that people want to have long, intellectual conversations with. I want to be someone to be admired or at least seen as an equal by those who I respect.

I want to be someone that someone amazing could fall in love with.

It always comes back to love. I do not know why I am so obsessed with love. I wonder if everyone is secretly as obsessed as I am. If everyone is, they should say so and then we could all try each other out. Try and see who fits with whom.

            We could all make lists and spend some time with each person on the list. Then the lists would be refined and expanded based on the first try, and we would try again until we all found out who really belonged together. Maybe someone you never thought about would have you on his list and you would spend time together and realize that you were near-perfect matches.

            Of course, some people would probably come out of the process without a match. And the overlapping between lists would make things a little messy. Perhaps when a person could not decide between two different matches, the potential matches could play rock-paper-scissors (best two out of three, of course) for the desired one’s love and affection. That would be fair.

            Although, even if this was how the world worked, I bet I would still be terribly fake.

I like to think that the person I pretend to be is who I am becoming. Who knows, maybe I really am becoming that person. Maybe that’s how everyone lives life. Trying out new things in hope of becoming someone new. I need to try new things or else I would be a sad, boring person whose favorite pastimes were playing dress up, hula-hooping, sleeping, and eating. Now, if I were still seven years old, this would be completely acceptable.

I am not seven years old.

I need to find new, more acceptable, ways to pass the time. Like reading. And writing. And photography. Playing dress up has turned into “being interested in fashion.”

I still like to hula-hoop, though. Except now I have to tell people I play with it because it is a good abdominal workout. In reality, I love the whooshing noise the beads inside of it make each time it goes around spin. Whoosh… Whoosh…

I love the feeling of the hoop being pulled around my waist. It makes me feel like a sun or a planet. I am the center of the hoop’s universe. It orbits around me. It makes me feel important.

There is no hula-hooping major, though. It is not a relevant life skill. So I try to become an enlightened person and try to broaden my interests. Or I at least pretend.

Art. Music. Books. Vocabulary.

I like words.

I try. And, I usually even end up liking the things I believe will make me a more worthwhile person. Or, perhaps I just make myself believe I like them because it is so important to me to be worthwhile. If I am not worthwhile, I do not deserve to be loved by a worthwhile person.

Maybe I only need to seem worthwhile. Maybe that’s why I do this. So that I can appear to be someone who deserves someone great. Maybe it’s all an illusion. My life is one giant façade.

I would not be surprised.

I do not think it is, but I am very good at hiding things from myself, so it’s possible. 

sometimes you just have to put on pleather before you go to bed to make yourself feel better.

yeah. I own that.
don't judge me.

ill. and my abridged stream of consciousness.

this fucking theraflu shit tastes yucky. but I'm watching jersey shore so life is good. 

I am possibly going there tomorrow. the jersey shore, that is. we're selling our beach house and my mom took some pictures, but I didn't think that they were very good, so I want to try and take some. plus, I want to go down the shore. I miss normandy. 

even if we sell the house before the summer, I'll still be living down there with my nana. not a big issue. 

I need to get my film developed. I wonder if normal places still do that. I hope they do. maybe i'll do that tomorrow. 

snookie is really fucking short.

THAT'S ONE SHOT. THAT'S ONE SHOT. 

the lovely bones was AWFUL. do not see it. it's just creepy and weird. nothing really gets resolved, and not in an interesting "sometimes life just sucks" sort of way. it's just bad. 

there have been so many uncomfortable commercials on tonight. when my dad and brother were still watching tv with me there were two trojan extacy commercials. then my dad left and there were two shake weight commercials. so awkward. I wish there was a "watching-this-with-family" button on my remote that you could press when you turned on the tv and it would get rid of the awkward commercials. 

I need those plate for fat-asses. I've been eating too much.

if we sell our house will I be a real benny? I don't think so. 

I want to be ke$ha. and lady gaga. she's a man-eater. I'm gonna start fighting for true equality, bitches.

TODAY SUCKS.

So today started sucking in the wee hours of the morning when I started coughing like hell and sneezing and feeling just generally terrible and allergy-filled. I also really wanted a ferrero rocher and I have one in my room, except I could not remember where the heck I hid it from myself.

I then proceeded to tear apart my room to search for it and failed.

WHOOPS. Then I finally went to sleep only to wake up at about 4:30 coughing up a lung because the back of my throat was really itchy.

I then proceeded to tear apart my medicine cabinet looking for Benadryl.

We apparently don't have any.
I took some cold medicine, passed out on the couch, and was woken up at about 8 by my dad leaving for work.
I was supposed to be helping my family reassemble my beach house today. And despite how much that would have sucked, I wanted to help because I want it to be livable again and as soon as possible.
I also cancelled plans to go into Philly to do this because my mom wanted me to help out for once. I'm usually just a lazy bum.

I am, however, going to be having a lovely dinner with some friends this evening which should make things better.
But until then, BAH! HUMBUG!

3. Hello My Name Is: FRANK

Have you ever noticed that you were moving your hands like you were having an animated discussion, but in reality you were only having a conversation in your head? Like when you’re imagining having an intense argument with someone you're very mad at or with someone who is very mad at you. Even though it’s all in your head, your hands move like it’s not. And when you really see the person you were arguing with, despite all the clever quips you conjured up, the fight never happens. You realize it's not worth it. You don't really want to be upset with anyone. Maybe you love them. Maybe you just don't want to expend the effort. Maybe you're too much of a pussy to say how you really feel. Maybe they let you down and never start the fight.

I have those fights all the time. Mostly in the shower. They never come to fruition. Ever.

I also have the blunt say-what's-really-on-my-mind mental confrontations about other things too though.

Like. "Look you're really awesome, but you can't handle my weird. Or maybe it's that my weird can't handle you. You probably don't understand that, but basically, we will not work together. I am genuinely sorry." (I make adjectives nouns sometimes.)

Or. "I think we would fit well together. If you agree at all, give me a shot. If not, I'll live. Just let me know so I don't sit here thinking about what might happen if you think we could be a close match.”

I wonder what people would do if I actually said what was on my mind. Or if everyone said what was on their minds. 

I think it would be kind of beautiful. 

Everything would be so simple and straightforward. If you had an interest in someone, you would tell the person and he or she would tell you what his or her thoughts about it were. Right then. None of that “does-he-doesn’t-he” bullshit. That is by far the worst feeling I have ever experienced. Not knowing. If someone doesn’t like me, I can deal. I’m strong and fully capable of (mostly) moving on. I never like to fully move on just in case what if he changes his mind. I get myself to a healthy dealing place and stop there.

If someone I had a strong interest in at one point in my life decided that he liked me and I no longer had any feelings at all for him, I would be very sad and frustrated.

I move on enough that he doesn’t consume my thoughts and I can think about new boys. Maybe find one that likes me from the get-go.

I never find those unless I don’t like them to start with. It’s only the ones who I don’t consider options who like me. Usually if I am not very into someone when he express interest in me, it doesn’t work out. I get bored and move on. Or I actually develop an interest and he moves on. Whatever the exact scenario may be, for some reason it just never works.

I don’t think that would happen if people were upfront about their feelings more often. If someone I had never considered as a potential romantic partner told me he was kind of into me, and I thought it could possibly work despite never thinking about him before, I don’t think I would run away scared. And then I wouldn’t have to act as if I liked him or didn’t like him while I figured out my feelings. I could just let him know that I had never thought about it before.

I think he would understand. I know I would understand if someone had never thought about me in that way but was willing to feel it out. I would also understand if he ended up deciding it wouldn’t work. Then I could move on completely because I would know that he really did give it a shot and probably wouldn’t change his mind. My heart would be a lot lighter. Less weighted down with potential near-matches. 

That is the worst. Although sometimes having maybes is nice. That way all hope isn’t gone completely. It let’s you grasp at something when you feel like there’s nothing. It’s definitely not healthy, though. It’s delusional, that’s what it really is.

I mean of course the hope of “someday” might sometimes be valid, but the majority of the time, someday is never going to come.

I wonder if you asked a “maybe someday” boy if he really would admit to being one. That is, if he really was one. Maybe he wouldn’t know. In that case, you could continue hoping despite a direct “no.” That would be incredibly unhealthy. But you never really know for sure. No one does.

Feelings change. People change. Realizations happen.

I wonder if any of my near-matches feel the same way about me. I should send out a mass text. Or a mass email.

From:        Me

Subject:      Potential Matches

Date:       Right Now

To:             Him, Him, Him, Him, and Him

Hello. It’s Me. I think that there is a chance that you might possibly be a good match for me. Do you feel the same way? And if so, do you want to try us out, or do you think we would only work if something changed? Please reply at your nearest convenience. Thank you.

I really wish that I could just do that. Things would be so much easier. 

They Call Them Rogues

I am like a sinking boat. I keep bailing out the words but more keep pouring in; faster than I can get them out. I am going to drown in my thoughts. That would be a poetic way to go.

i need to sleep.

I'm in North Jersey. Barely made the bus. Looked like an idiot. I need to go to the city more. I like it there.
The sunset was really pretty tonight and I wanted to take pictures with my new camera but the guy next to me on the bus didn't seem happy so I didn't want to disturb him. Or have him judge me.
He kept moving his hands like you do when you're talking angrily at someone. He was either having spasms or mentally confronting someone.
Like when you imagine an intense argument with someone you're very mad at or someone who is very mad at you. And then you really see the person and despite all the clever quips you conjured up on the bus, the fight never happens. You realize it's not worth it. Or you don't really want to be upset with anyone. Or maybe you love them too much to stay mad. Maybe you just don't want to expend the effort. Maybe you're too much of a pussy to say how you really feel. Or maybe they never confront you. That's the worst.
I have those fights all the time. And a lot of times when I do, I end up accidentally gesturing like I would if I were actually speaking. I think that's what he was doing.

ps i meant to post this a few days ago when i was actually still in north jersey but my computer died. SO SAD! ): HOWEVER. i just realized that this window was still up and that despite it not being on time, i can still post it. huzzah!

mah lyfe, bitches

It's currently is a wee bit messy. I always make messes and just hope they get cleaned up. I think this one I'm gonna have to deal with on my own though. blehhh
It won't be that bad, but it definitely won't be good. I need to learn how to not be such a desperate hoeface. That would help immensely.
Or I need to learn to figure out what I really want before I end up in too deep in situations that are only going to end up badly for all parties involved.
I just want to live my life and not have to force things. I don't think that's too much to ask for. Is it?
I don't want to deal with this. Someone please make it go away.
FUCK EVERYTHING. It's naptime.

chapter 2. Let’s Break the Ice

When I use metaphors, I am very literal. Meaning, I picture the metaphor occurring when I use it. For instance, when I say “…if dig in the trash, I can retrieve the file,” I am picturing myself digging in a landfill full of manila folders.  And the “trash” of course is not even real to begin with. It’s a metaphor, in a metaphor, in a metaphor.  The computer is a metaphor for my brain. The “trash” on the computer is a metaphor itself. I forget where the third metaphor comes in.

No matter.

Sometimes I wonder why I sometimes stop being able to sleep normally.  I never feel particularly stressed when it happens. Maybe I am.

I feel like I am trying to renovate my life, kind of. That’s stressful. It’s nice though. I want to be a better person. Doesn’t everyone though? I feel like that’s the real motivation. For everything.

The reasons for wanting it might be different and the concepts of what it actually means may differ, but it’s the real reason.

Some people want to be better so that can have power. Some people want to be better to find true love. Or a true friend. Or a true friend who is their true love.

These people have differing visions of what it means to be a “good” person.

I fall under the last category. Every step I take is to become a better person so that I can meet my soulmate and have them want me as much as I want them.

My soulmate is going to be someone worthwhile. He (or she, I shouldn’t be narrow-minded and completely rule that out) will be smart. And creative. And nice. But, at the same time, he won’t be so nice that he forgets to take care of himself first. I believe that self always comes first. Of course, you should always help others, even if it means sacrificing.

That may seem contradictory but it’s not, and it’s not contradictory because by helping other people I believe that you make yourself a better person.

Everything is selfish.  Everyone is selfish. People love to be loved in return. People give to get. There’s nothing wrong with it.

People who don’t seem selfish are the worst. I feel like they all have ulterior motives. I feel as if we should all be more upfront about our selfishness.

We should be more upfront about everything. 

photographs in my mind.

Jesus Cristo. I need a goddamn camera. I take pictures in my head all the time. They don't last very long though and I can't really share them with people. I cannot decided if I want to settle and get an Holga in New York tomorrow or hold out and get a niftier old one from Goodwill online. Maybe we can find a camera store and I can get a Minolta or Pentax in the city. I just want to take real pictures. And I want them to become tangible entities that I can hold in my hands and show people.
I really cannot wait to get to the city. Camera in hand or not. I miss Rachel oodles, and Emma might be staying over now, too!!! I need them in my life again. And Jess and Brendan, too, but they're not coming this time ): Oh well. Another day.
I love New York. There's so many people and things to look at. It makes my mind go wild. But in a good way.

batshit, chapter one.

If there is one thing I have learned in my life, it’s that I shouldn’t talk so much about myself. People don’t want to hear it.  I’m a terrible storyteller. I stumble over words. I get distracted. I talk in circles. People don’t hear me.

Even when I keep my self-centered speeches in check, people don’t hear me. Sometimes I wonder if I’m really speaking at all. I check sometimes.

I’ll ask, “Hello? Am I talking right now?” And not in a sarcastic way.

Usually a few seconds pass and then someone will look at me and nod or give me some other small gesture to show that they can hear me. People hear me, but they don’t listen.

The ones who answer when I ask are usually actually listening. I talk to them too much. Around them I don’t shut up. I’m sure they hate it.

I don’t talk about myself to just anyone though. No, only a select few get to hear me stutter and ramble and backtrack and repeat myself. Those people are the ones that I think are like me. The crazy ones. 

We’re all crazy. Some people are more crazy than others. Some people are hardly crazy at all. Some people are crazy in a bizarre way. Others are crazy in the normal sense.

I don’t envy those people.

Their brains must be so quiet. They have to be lonely with so much constant silence. Except they don’t even realize they’re lonely. That is terribly sad. I feel sorry for them.

People like me are never lonely like that. Our brains are always loud and keep us company. This can be good and bad. Having bad thoughts keep you company late at night might be worse than being alone.

We are frequently lonely in the more conventional sense, of course. Some might even say we are more lonely because none of us really crazy people think exactly alike so no one will ever be able to relate to another person perfectly. 

When you find someone who thinks similarly, it’s wonderful. It’s like finding a near-match for your favorite earring whose partner disappeared long ago. It’s not exact, but you can wear it again. It’s even bigger than that though.

When your near-match leaves, however, it is as distressing as it was wonderful. The world stops spinning. You think you’ll never be happy again. What are the odds of another near-match coming into your life?

However, sometimes a new one comes along. It may not be as good as the first and that’s always disappointing, but it is better than nothing. Or, it might be an even closer match. When this happens, it is thrilling. The feelings you felt for the old match seem silly. Trivial.

Sometimes people get stuck on lost matches though. That’s what I do. I get so stuck thinking about what I lost that it’s tough to find a new, possibly better near-match for my brain. It’s like my feet are trapped in cement. No matter how hard I’m pulled, I don’t budge. And my ankles end up hurting. That hurt just reminds me of the hurt I felt when my near-match left.

Sometimes the near-match you lost was never really acquired in the first place, but a glimpse was caught. That is sometimes worse than actually getting it. Because when you never had it, you can’t tell for sure that it wasn’t as close to perfect as you would ever get.

That has happened to me. The cement was poured shortly after. And then a lesser-match came along and I didn’t want it. I thought it might be better than nothing, but settling for such a poor match seemed sadder than not having any match at all.

This is what I talk about too much. My matches. Or rather, my near-matches. Or possible near-matches. And the not-so-near-matches. I talk about them too.

I often wish I didn’t want to talk about myself or matches so much, but then that would mean that I wasn’t thinking about them. And if i wasn’t thinking about them what would I be thinking about? I don’t want to think about nothing. It would be easier, of course, but too boring. It would change who I was. Although, I guess the new me might be the kind of person who didn't mind that kind of stuff. 

I’d need a whole new set of matches, though.

I suppose I need a new set often anyway. My brain won’t sit still. It’s like a constantly changing Jell-o mold that won’t set. I know each mold would probably end up looking nice, and I would be happy with most of them, but they keep switching anyway.

I don’t like Jell-o.

I like to think that the other not-normal crazies think at least a little bit like this. When, I’m wrong about someone I thought was weird-crazy and talk to them about crazy things, it’s very embarrassing. Then they know I’m not quite right in the head and I know they must be lonely and not even know it. 

I am rarely wrong about that though. I can’t even remember the last time I was. I remember the feeling though. I don’t usually remember things. I forget most of them. I remember feelings though.

Because I don’t remember things, I am bad at telling stories. Maybe I tell my bad stories so that I will remember. Sometimes during my backtracking and circle-talking I remember new things.

I like to remember things. My brain seems to automatically delete things after a short period of time. Whether I want it to or not. It’s quite unfortunate, actually.

Most of my childhood is gone. There are a few vague memories it couldn’t get rid of completely. I treasure those.

Most of last year is gone, too. And last month. And even last week is on its way out.

I often wonder why my brain does this.

Is it some sort of defense mechanism like they teach in psychology? Do traumatic things keep happening to me? I don’t really think they do, but I often wonder. 

I like to think of my brain as a giant computer whose hard drive gets full and to compensate everything viewed as non-essential is deleted. However, sometimes, if I dig enough in the trash, I can retrieve a deleted file. 

i'm a copycat.

Soo... blogspot allows for comments. I like that.