Another day of sitting on this chair in front of my computer screen. Two movies down, and three microwaveable dinners. How dissapointing.

I called up Justine, but she's out with her father day. Touching.

Lately I've been flirting with this nagging, stupid thought that I love Greg simply because he loves me and spends time with me and keeps me from being alone. This isn't true. Dustin loved me and hung out with me and I wound up kicking him to the curb because I found him annoying (srangely enough, by Greg's reccomendation). And I do love Greg. I don't know, but I can't get it out of my head. Usually when I overanalyze myself it's for my betterment, but this is ridiculous. For some reason, I got to fantasizing about Zach Braff and Damian Kulash and ridiculous boys and I thought maybe there are better hotter guys out there--maybe Greg isn't so great. But who am I kidding? I am not ugly, but I'm not a model and I can't ever reel in a Zach Braff. Sometimes I girls who are unrealistic like that, I always like it when ugly, horrible, loser annoying people get another ugly loser annoying person. Like they face facts and see, "This person is what I am supposed to get." I suppose I have to do that, except Greg is not a horrible loser... i mean.. I mean, what if I lose him and he's the best there is? What if it doesn't really get any better than him? Then what? Then I'd have thrown away a magnificent love for a pipe dream.

Sometimes my head likes to shape doubts for myself. Do we even have good conversations?, I asked myself, I can't remember the last important, real conversation I had with him. But I'm being just like my cousin, Gigi. She dumped a guy because he was too quiet. he loved her and supported her and was amazing to her for years and years but he never yelled back at her, never went, "Shut up!" So she broke up with him. He listens. We may not talk about Einstein or Frued or anything all the time, but we talk about interesting things nonetheless...we laugh. I'm interested. I'm not bored. And we actually do talk about that sort of shit. We'll talk about race and have important conversations about intelligent shit. That's so unimportant and shallow, but I like it. I like really TALKING about stuff, instead of just...smalltalk. Like, "How's the food, I hear Wendy's fucking Jason now." We used to more often, but I think now that Greg is enveloped in college work he likes to dumb imself down when he gets away from it. But we do. We did at the ice cream shop the other day.

I don't know why I do this. I've always done this. I've always tried to hurt myself. In good situations, even if it's not that amazing, I'll pump myself and inflate myself until it's spectacular, in bad situations, I'll slap myself around until it's truly horrible. I guess I have this obsession of really feeling everything to its full extent. I don't want to miss out on something when I could be having an amazing experience with emotion. I don't know why. Emotion is overrated, isn't it?

Sometimes I think it's just for the sake of ideas. Sometimes I'll do something just for the pure experience of it so I'll have something to write about later. Sometimes I'll want to engage in conversation with somebody or do something just for reference. When someday I'm writing a novel or sitting in bed dying I can go, "Hum! Well, what do you think of that." Stupid, incredible stuff. Geez.

I guess what they say is material shit comes and goes but experiences stick with you forever. Stupid, sadistic, masochistic experiences. I've just babbled on a long, stupid string of words that make no sense and are in no particular order whatsoever. Ugh, I'm so disgusted with myself! I wish I could shape my feelings and thoughts into something better than this lump of shit. I hate myself!