Man, this has just been a retarded week. When the hell is it going to stop? I feel like the only thing that’s moving forward is time–I’m at a standstill. No worse, I’m jogging backwards. I can see everyone else moving further ahead and I’m still trying to run past a tree I’ve been trying to run past since junior high…or one that’s uprooted itself and learned to run, anyway.

I’m going to use my “Entitlement to Bitch” card now. I swear, I haven’t felt this low in self-confidence since I can’t remember how long–sophmore year, maybe. Low enough to admit it. Part of me just wants to say “fuck it” and be reckless, part of me just wants to say “fuck it” and brood, and part of me just wants to go sing Delta Goodrem’s “Woman” on a mountaintop.

If I could sum up how I feel right now in one single word, it’d be: splat. I feel splat. Unfocused and coreless. Nothing feels as good anymore, as if everything I’ve done and worked for has just fizzled down into a measly blahblahfuckyoublah. And I’m trying to make myself feel better in the worst ways. [Brian, if you're reading this: I hate you permanently for getting me involved in a little something called DL. It snowballed like hell.]

I wonder what my horoscope for this week is….It’s probably fucking fantastic. I always get fucking fantastic horoscopes on the shittiest weeks. Did I mention that I used to be a big fan of astrology? Well, I was until I started reading those goddamn horoscopes.

So, I’m making myself a vow: I’m going to be selfish. I’m going to do things for me, things that make me happy, things that make me feel good. I’m going to listen to Keith Urban. I’m going to sing more. Train more. Eat more. Not worry. Be happy. Drink Pepsi. Be sexy.
Yeah, I’ll do that…Shit, I’ve been reading too much Dear American Airlines. I feel like Bennie Ford.