I got less than 2 hours of sleep in the past 36 hours. My boyfriend thinks I'm mad at him because I couldn't form sentences this morning.

Monday, September 2, 2013

I just wrote a list of Dreams I’ve Given Up On, which started with “planting trees and having no strangers,” something there is written evidence of me wishing for at age 6, followed by "veterinarian," which is still something I would like to do, but know I have neither the grades nor the attention span / heart to do it, and ended with “being completely satisfied,” with a dozen or so bullet pointed items in between, which I thought were perhaps too personal and, possibly, too douchebagesque by proxy.

The more I think about how unsatisfied I am damn near every day, the less I mind. At least I will never settle. At least I will always strive. Even when I am happy, I am unsatisfied. There’s no reason to not want more. Unless mental health is what you’re looking to achieve.

Is it normal to have a sick, small part of me that wishes to be at The Top of the Entire Universe? To wish for a reintroduction of a clear-cut hierarchical society that, when displayed visually as a pyramid in an Ancient Universe History textbook for eighth graders of the graduating class of 5994, features me alone at the very tip, winking my left eye with an open-mouthed grin and a thumbs up?

I think it might be.