Oversharing

Thursday, April 7, 2016

I don't know. That's my answer for you guys. I don't know why I'm not writing or why I'm not taking photos or why I'm not interested in anything to do with the Internet right now.

I'm not depressed, but I'm PMSing. I'm not bored, but I'm tired. I think it's affecting me more recently because I’m constantly struggling to choose between my relationships or content, and I think there's a dangerous line. I watch a lot of my peers overshare online and it's beginning to scare me. I have a lot of shit to say as I get older, I just am not sure it’s worth saying. This is why I need to start writing fiction, but I find fiction writers to be zzzzzzzzzz... see?

It’s hard to be angsty when life is good, and it’s hard to get real gritty when everyone reads your blog. I'm feeling apathetic. I don’t have “grudges” per say, like I don’t actually harbor anger towards people, but I do hold on to certain stories and the emotions that came with them for entertainment. PMS gives my brain a fog of thinking this translates as humorous when really I look like a lunatic for divulging them. 

For example, one of my favorite stories is when Seika called me a Trash Digger in the quad in 9th grade after she tricked me into getting a soda can out of the trash for her for recycling fundraiser. That’s a good one. Or when my homecoming date whose name I can’t even remember took pictures with another girl and I sat alone all night until I made my mom come pick me up. Or when Stacey threw a party where I was housesitting in Malibu and invited "a few" friends over and got so wasted that one of them threw up on the dog, and when I called her the next day to ask what had happened and why is there barf on the dog and in the toilet and in the pool, her "grandma was sick" and she "couldn't help" so my mom drove out to help me clean some random's puke and shit. Literal shit. The toilet overflowed and the dog needed to be groomed twice. Or when Dani would make fun of me -- I mean tease me relentlessly, CONSTANTLY -- about my Instagram following and my hairstyle, and then three years later got the same hairstyle and has told some of my best friends some really mean, untrue shit about me, that I am STILL afraid to ask or talk about.

OH ACTUALLY, I'VE GOT ONE. I WILL NEVER FORGIVE MS. DOOLEY FOR NEVER LETTING ME SING THE IMPORTANT SOLOS AT THE CHRISTMAS REVUE, ESPECIALLY DURING "SILENT NIGHT," BECAUSE I DIDN'T "FIT THE LOOK" OF THE SONG'S TONE DESPITE THE FACT THAT SHE MADE ME WEAR A RECYCLED DRESS WITH BLEACHED OUT ARMPITS AND THEN TOLD ME MY SHOULDERS WERE TOO BROAD, SOMETHING I THINK ABOUT EVERY SINGLE DAY OF MY LIFE AND THE REASON I DON'T WEAR TANK TOPS.

ALSO FOR THE TIME SARAH SAID MY EXCUSE FOR BEING MAD ABOUT IT WAS "PATHETIC."

I could go on forever actually.