Sometimes, such as right now, I’ll be laying (or is it lying) in bed, watching the LEDs on my router flicker off of my faux wood-paneled walls, and recall a memory. This memory may be from a year ago or five years ago, but, either way, I’ve completely lost touch with the actuality of this remembered occasion. It’s odd that something can happen and I can play it back in my head a thousand times over, but at the same time feel so utterly removed from it. I know these things happened, there is no question, but it seems like it’s completely impossible that they happened to me. At least not the same me. Perhaps a different me is born with evey new experience and an old one dies a somber, utilitarian death. Maybe it’s important to compartmentalize these sections of life for easy recollection. Perhaps it’s an organic filing system, designed to show me where I’ve been, but also to keep me always moving forward. I have a tendency to dwell on the past. Maybe this is my conscience’s reaction to prevent me from going completely insane.

Written at 3 am EST on an iPod touch. Lightly edited.

The best songs are the ones that make you remember precisely when you most felt like complete shit.

If this underlying, yet still nagging, sense of desire for female companionship could simply recall the last month of my most recent relationship or the last month of any relationship in history, then maybe it would shut its goddamn mouth.

For shits and giggles, I entered in five of my longer Tumblr entries / rants / whatevers into this website to see which famous writer it would compare my literary stylings to. I got Dan Brown and James Joyce one time each and David Foster Wallace three times. I’ve never read a Brown or Joyce book, but I am about 100 pages deep into my first DFW piece, the epic Infinite Jest.

Some people can possess immense and extremely unfair power. Maybe this is just me and perhaps no one will relate to this at all and everyone will realize just how crazy I may or may not be, but, I digress… upon the sight or mentioning of certain people, always girls, always girls that I’ve somehow been in an awkward (on my part) or unfavorable (on my part) “situation” with, I get the feeling as if someone had punched me right in the diaphragm, forcefully expelling all of the breath from my body and making me feel quite uneasy and even perhaps a bit angry. Also, I love every cute girl. And I don’t just mean like, typical, average, cute. I mean like super cute. Something special.

And to further expand upon this, I mean I don’t even have to see these people (see: girls) in person. It can be on the internet! On the Facebook! I mean come on. Honestly. Chemical reactions in the brain are like little kids mixing food coloring with all of the condiments in the refrigerator and pantry combined.