Everything right now is spinning as if I am a part of a dream, a dream which is on the verge of a nightmare; and although it's on the verge of a nightmare, it isn't a nightmare yet; so I continue to dream, I continue to grow more anxious and depressed, and I continue to lose myself in a maze of hyperreality.

San Francisco was extremely fun. I haven't met that many new people in a while. It reminded me of ninth grade, when I first realized that people liked me. I had put myself in a box throughout middle school, which I didn't think was escapable. I didn't think I was funny, attractive, nor particularly original. I of course defined originality as artistic. What I now realize is that I was original in the sense that I was completely different from everyone else that I was ever friends with in middle school. I wandered from group to group, never really identifying with anyone. I talked to absolutely no one about anything I found significant and I ended up adopting a personality in order to be acceptable to everyone around me. I adopted a false confidence through being offensive. I pretended not to care, which of course made me instant friends with all the "cool" kids at school. They thought I was something that I never really cared to be, and that's what they loved me for. Everything started to blend and blur. I remember waking up one morning near the end of seventh grade only to realize that I couldn't remember the last few months of my life.

I still think about that sometimes to this day, although I get uncomfortable every time I do. I didn't know of anyone else who had actually lost track of their own life/identity for that kind of time. I also wonder if losing track was all in my mind the same way deja vu is just your brain temporarily thinking that it has seen something before the moment it's actually happening. Maybe the memory resonates so strongly because it's all a figment of my overactive and highly dramatized mind.

I finally found myself in ninth grade. Or at least a part of myself that only comes out rarely now. It's the part of me that likes to be social. The part of me that likes to be liked, and loved to be loved. I like knowing people and being known. The only problem is that too much exposure leaves me tired and depressed. Especially if there is hyper exposure followed by nothing. While in San Francisco I met alot of really cool people and talked to lot's of pretty girls, who all seemed genuinely interested in me and what I said. We all became close in just a few days and now we're all separated and it's back to the same Boise routine.

I didn't feel like myself the whole time. It was me but I hadn't felt that was in so long. I was taken back to ninth grade and the discovery of laughter and the ability to make people feel at ease.



I can't figure out where I want to take this yet. I haven't slept in days.

I do know that I take everything way too personally. I mean fuck, I met more people this weekend than it seems I've met in a year, and I had an amazing time, but it doesn't feel like it was enough. I didn't meet everyone. Not everyone loved me. I had more girls hanging out with me than I've even seen in a year and I'm not satisfied in the ways that I thought I would be. I think in the back of my mind I was putting myself out there too much, or at least more than I have in a really long time, so every time people didn't want to hang out, or a girl I really liked didn't seemed to reciprocate, I took it so personally. It was like they were rejecting me as a person just because they didn't seem to find me as attractive as I found them. Which is ridiculous because it was only over the course of a few days. Who knows what they really thought. FUCK I don't know why I'm so upset right now but I can't stand it. I think I just need sleep.

I also realized today that I haven't cried since I was eleven. I've even tried to cry a few times in the last few years, but it seems that I've forgotten how. Maybe that's what keeps me imbalanced and either extremely happy or highly depressed. Maybe I'm just overly normal and I can't stand that. Maybe I'm just so mediocre that I need to point out something as silly as not being able to cry as a sign that I must be different from others. Maybe I'm over thinking this. I don't know Jodi. I want to believe in humanity. I want to believe in romance; to believe in love lasting longer two years. I want to believe that potential exists and that it can be actualized.


I'm slipping off.