I'm too intense.

Too passionate. At times. With girls.

I'm tired, sick (head cold), lonely and I'm supposed to be unpacking (coming home from Bard) and then packing (visiting the grandparents in Indiana tomorrow and then flying from there to Kansas City for I.Y.O.U.). It's also 2:05 at home (Bard). I'm listening to five Counting Crows cds (August and Everything After, Recovering the Satellites, VH1 and MTV's Across the Wire [2 cd set], This Desert Life) on random. Not the most uplifting songs. Mostly depressing, loss of love songs. Plenty of songs I identify with (Anna Begins, Mr. Jones, Rain King, Angels of the Silences, Etc.). I'm also experimenting with a new writing style (slightly annoying I think). Oh well.

Sometimes I think that I'm too much me. Too much everything. I think I try too hard, think too hard. Too much passion. Too much push. So much initially. People just aren't ready for me sometimes. Sometimes I'm not ready for myself.

I like that about me though. I like being passionate. I like telling people what they mean to me. I like being straightforward. I like being honest. I'm not sure it's that I am those things. I think it's the way that I am those things.

I don't really need someone to make me happy. I just think I do.

"If you want to be someone else, change your mind." Sister Hazel

I'm not really all that sad. Just tired.

I sure do bitch a lot. I'll have to think about that.

Perhaps you have to have binary opposites- Extreme happiness vs. Extreme loneliness.

Oh, the structuralists would love that.

I almost put sadness there. I don't think I'm extremely sad, at least most of the time.

If I write this so that people will read it (which I must because I've made all of this public) why do I put in references none of you will understand?

Informal Logic.

Sleep. A common theme in my writing, at least the lack thereof. I'm going to do some of that now. Good bless.