the ramble

i am inept to societal cues sometimes making me an absentminded self-unaware tool. i have no idea how to make friends let alone meet women when im not drunk. io still havent gone on antidepressants yet to curb my anxiety issues. i miss the feeling i got when i was pursuing a woman and was legitimately scared of what was gonna happen. it felt so good to feel something. now im vapid because i havent met anybody that i feel so strongly for in a long time. i hate that i complain about my romantic life. it's like i dwell on pseudo-problems and shallow bread-and-circus conscripts of life and it gets so old. i just really hate overthinking myself, because that's what i'm doing right now and it's irritating me and making me crazy. and i'm also ranting just because i feel like saying all this before i go to sleep. i should write it. i wish i still had the passion, the fervor for writing that i did when i was younger. when i used to spend weeks just cracking out story after story, flimsily spilling my guts while i made up the goings-on. trying to make something matter. makign an outlet. i don't do that anymore! it sucks. i'm not even as articulate as i used to be. my mind has become complacent, stagnant. i don't sing nearly as well as i believe i can sometimes. phil says i don't give myself nearly enough credit. alex used to tell me i'm a doormat. miranda would say i have no self-worth. i just hate being this stewing, bored muddle of plagiarized personality and ideals cobbled togetehr into my being, my mind. i'm not proud of anything i've ever done. i swear to god, i better have kids so i can teach them to never be like me as i am right now. a loser.