My psychology teacher told me that, according to freud (i am not using capital letters on purpose), those who keep a journal or feel the need to write in general are sexually frustrated. Just wanted to point out what a piece of crap that is. I mean, come on, really? I seriously hope that i’m not the only one who totally dissagrees, ’cause that would just mean i have bigger issues than i imagined, and well that would not be good for my ego and self-esteem. I mean, if one would write (frequently) about sex in his journal/blog/whatever , then ok, maybe, just maybe, that ipothessis coud be considered (but not necessarily).  Eah i don’t even know why i’m trying to make a point here…

This might look as if i’m frustrated or something about this, but let’s make things clear, i’m not. Seriously, i am not! (little voice in the back of my head: “are too!!” … am not! … “are too!!!”) It’s just… ah, forget it.

I’m the most lucid character of this story. That’s the way is has to be, all the rest of them are just numbed by the simple possibility of living. Scary, isn’t it, realising maybe some of the things actually matter, maybe more or maybe less than you have been thought, but oh yeah, they matter don’t they? They told you something else, but it’s not in your head, you feel this -and guess what- you have no idea how to deal with it, because noone’s ever told you anything about it. And you know when that starts to come to your attention? You know what are the things you start to feel that matter? It’s the ones you miss or you don’t have. Living in the crapy world everyone else has helped built but you, living the life that was somehow chosen for you, always feeling what you have been told you would feel. But from now and then, you do ask yourself, right?  You do feel that something is awfully wrong and you start to feel the need of… well of… you. Do you matter? Not on a large scale, of course not, not to your ex-girlfriend who dumped you (bitch) for a reason she just made up while breaking up with you, not to you neighbour’s son who obviously has no clue that you’ve been living next door to him for six month and that you fuck his mother while daddy’s away with “bussiness”, not to your best friend from highschool who sweared you would keep in touch but then got married to an older, wiser, with-a-large-bank-account-er guy and forgot to tell you, yeah you probably don’t matter to them. I don’t either. I mean, who does? And assuming sometimes, yes, people matter, are they really irreplaceble? I mean how much would you have to feel to get there? Maybe i’m out of line here, and no, i do not really have a point with this, i’m just making conversation, i’m entertaining myself since i can’t sleep (nothing surprising here… ok moving on), so, maybe i’m out of line but i think overall it’s not the person that matters, it’s the spot he is sitting on. It’s the is-the-spotlight-bright-enough-to-make-me-count. It’s where you get, how fast you get there and how you see the world from the rooftops. So isn’t not being sure you are where you should be scary?

Life is harsh. Is it? I mean, really? Or am i just too retarded to see how it really works. Maybe i’m sick. Seriously, maybe i have like a genetic dissorder that makes me not function right and be a moron. (yeah… it’s called Down syndrome) (that was a cruel joke now wasn’t it?) I never got why i’m so fascinated and intrigued at the same time by everything that’s evil, wrong and prohibited, why i sometimes enjoy pain more than pleasure, why from time to time making someone cry or at least make him really upset gives me a lot more satisfaction than making people laugh for instance. Oh, don’t get me wrong, i’m not that evil, i just have an appetite for these things. Oh i also lie a lot, i got used to lieing just because it made my life easier and things are just more in your control when you set  it up just the way you want it. I like that. 

I also like whip cream and long walks on the beach (too oldfashioned?). Cats and skate shoes. Cheese and finishing a book in a couple of hours. Smoking and staying up late. Sex and taking pictures. Daydreaming and listening to rhcp. Confusing people and (most of all) making fun of myself. Oh god, i really don’t have a point with this post now do i?