I don't read enough and I don't write enough.
I have this recurring nightmare where I'll suddenly remember that I have a pet and I'll walk into the room and look into its cage and see a petrified carcass looking at me with glassy, accusing eyes. "Fuck, I forgot to feed it for how long? Months? What kind of person am I?"
It's like this blog. I sit here in the coffee shop and work on some headlines for Zifty.com and feel depressed because I can't write worth shit, and then I remember, "oh god, my blog!" But thankfully it's still here even though I haven't fed it in months.
I'd love to get a cat but I fear that I'd kill it. I mean, clearly, I have some underlying issues with responsibility. I've kept my several house plants alive for the last 6 months even though my apartment gets less sunlight than Mars. So that's something.
I struggle to accept my grown-upedness. Every day I fight against it. I just googled "Peter Pan (and threw in a) Syndrome (just for fun)" and lo and behold, there's such a thing as Peter Pan Syndrome. As a side note, if I were to have any crazy mental health issue, that's the one I'd want, because Peter Pan is awesome. Also, there's worse things than refusing to grow up and um, have the social skills of a child...
I don't grow facial hair well. I'm just saying, it could contribute to my Peter Pan Syndrome. If I had an insanely hairy face, maybe I'd have whatever the appropriate syndrome would be - "someone who looks way too old for their age-syndrome." Instead of never wanting to grow up, I desperately want to be old and have the social skills of a 100 year old man. I will do anything to be old. Put me in a wheelchair, immediately.
And just like a 100 year old man, I can't seem to figure out what else to write about because I'm cranky, tired, and sore.
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