And memories fade.

It’s hard looking back, sometimes, because you remember the way things were and you think to yourself self, how was I ever that happy/sad/in love/angry? This is the place where the dissonance kicks in:

Self, you weren’t - you know you aren’t now, and you just thought you were then // Self, you were - you know you aren’t now, but that doesn’t change the fact that you were then

Then there is guilt over losing the emotional ties to the things of our past. And this is the place where the guilt kicks in:

How is it that we can remember loving someone so much, but not feel that any more? How is it that we can remember grieving at the death of a friend, but not recall that pain as deeply and as intensely as we once did?

It’s not because the love was phony or imagined. It’s not because we’ve forgotten about our friend.

Memories fade so new ones can take their place.

Those faded memories never go away entirely, though. They stay with us. I suppose they’re kind of like ghosts. The ghosts of good things, and bad things, and all the in between things. In my head I imagine the ghosts to be a bit like the trippy love child of luggage and auras. Floating along behind us all transparent and fuzzy… forever to be carried around with us, but (entirely) out of sight and (mostly) out of mind.

And I’m okay with this scenario. I’m okay with the idea of my ghosts being with me always.

What I’m not okay with is how many ghosts I have.

here is something i just can’t get over: people who take the elevator to go from the ground level of the parking garage to the second or third floor of the parking garage. i am similarly annoyed by people that use the elevators in the school buildings. i imagine that taking the elevator from the basement level to the fourth floor is semi-justifiable, but if you’re skimping on pretty much anything short of that then you’re just plain lazy.

I wonder if she comes easily. Or at all. I won’t go to a bed with a girl who doesn’t. If I can’t make a girl come, then why bother? It’s like asking questions in a letter. Hm, I’m hungry.

self,

hi. how are you? this is you last night, up at 1:18 AM. you are in a good mood. how do you feel while (when?) reading this. you feel good now, but you doubt you will tomorrow. you feel good while writing this. you wanted to leave yourself a little something leftover from last night (RHYMING!) so you could appreciate it in the morning. they’re not much, but you thought that they were questions ENTIRELY (both figuratively and actually - both, both figuratively and actually, (you stopped to deliberate that last comma but decided to leave it because it would be inside the thingies (quotation marks))) merited via (not by! (and not by because it was misspelling of bye or be (which is the misspelling of nothing other than something other than misspelling (figurative rainbow arch into a pot of gold coins!))) the night via (oooh.. haha!) the whole.

in no particular order (or are they!!!11!!!1one!2!!?!(TIA!!!)) that you could possibly (prove yourself wrong!) remember:

how do you feel about the ‘a’?

and how do you feel about the corner of the ‘a’?

that’s all. i hope you are able to appreciate the inherent value in these questions when the morning rolls around. basically from two words ago until the end of this paragraph you aren’t going to be reading much other than the filler you came up with to make this last bit of text a large “block” in an attempt to offset (block) this large “block” from the large “block” at the beginning of this letter.

mission: accomplished!

*cue black backdrop* *cue red and blue waving flags(!!!)* *cue fireworks*

efforts have been made for you to prove yourself right by proving yourself wrong. don’t forget - you can prove anyone wrong if you try hard enough. but also don’t forget about the mirrored book in the circle of iron (LOL, RITE!? (!AIT)). prefrontal cortex (frontal cortex?).

love,

you

p.s.

does the “`!`comebeforethe`1`andshouldyouuseanother`!`andwhataboutthe“`(““` or ““?)”!?(TIA!)

p.s.s.

seriously. prefrontal or frontal? and how do you not know?

p.s.s.s.

(!AIT)

I didn’t know where I was going, some place unoccupied I hoped, at first I thought there were things about her I would never forget, But in the end all I could think about was-…

platonic cuddling is a myth, and sex is just an elephant in the corner.

“There is nothing beneath our dignity if it is a place our dignity refuses to let us go.”

“I’m like this thing, jumping tree to tree!”

“You’re more like a sperm, swimming to the mothership.”

“Well that’s a less grandiose way of putting it…”

i learned again this morning why i type my entries in word and then copy/paste them into my browser… it’s so when the internet goes “OOOO A PAGE AND A HALF OF BRIAN BEARING HIS SOUL WITH A SIDE OF HTML TAGS! DELICIOUS!” and consumes my the last 45 minutes of my life i don’t feel like punching a baby.