...Or anything else with the word "safety" in it, for that matter. I would probably pick exploding things with my brain.

It could be worse. I could have lupus. ...Oh, wait, no I couldn't. Lawls.

I think we should hold insane people accountable for their insanity.So what if it isn't their fault? They don't know that.

I almost miss being miserable and heartbroken. Things are always more interesting when you're unhappy.

I kinda feel like dancing. It isn't for a nice reason. It's for a delightfully evil reason.

I think that speaks for itself. I'm an idiot.

Anyways, I'd rather hang out with my coupled friends than go on a date of my own these days. Luckily, as long as both people are reasonably attractive, watching displays of physical affection doesn't really make me uncomfortable. Unless I'm related to whomever I'm watching. Although I don't see myself ever being in that situation.

Solitude is not a four-letter word. I'd rather be alone than be with someone who alternately bores me and gives me panic attacks.

...You know, boredom actually is one of my panic triggers. Which explains everything.

This is why I meddle and go to great lengths to learn things about people that they shield from view.

Most nosy people eventually learn that you don't really want to know what people are hiding. People only hide things that are embarrassing and heartbreaking. And even if learning something awful about someone you dislike usually supplies a smirk and a burst of self-righteousness, it is short-lived. Eventually it fades into pity, which is probably the least enjoyable emotion ever, next to that associated with abandonment.

That's the odd thing about treating people as puzzles. Picking out all the pieces and putting them together is the fun part. But seeing the whole picture is...usually revolting.

I learned all this a long time ago. But I still do it. I still like figuring people out and using what I learn about them to humiliate them. I have maybe a dozen or so people I won't touch, because I respect them, or because they're so similar to me. But for the most part, learning exactly why people are worthless no longer disappoints me. It's almost fun--for me--because every new idiot and asshole vindicates my point. People are not naturally good. Being good and nice are learned behaviours. Our basic instinct is to serve our own interests, preserve our survival. Even going out of our way to protect those we love is self-serving because most of us require companionship to be happy. People who go out of their way to save strangers tend to suffer from a hero complex. Sniveling lapdogs who do as they're told are worse than compliant--they're cowards who fear any measure of punishment. In summation, even seemingly self-sacrificing acts are only to further our own psychological needs.

That truth used to make me miserable, but now I find it liberating. It has helped me let go of all the shame and guilt that growing up in the church instilled in me--the only two things that remained after my beliefs were dissolved by knowledge and reason. Knowing that everyone is selfish is helpful. It negates the need to be gentle. Now we can be honest instead. And then we can grow.

My mother does not think I'm funny. I can't tell if it's because my jokes are over her head, or she just finds them in poor taste because they're usually at someone else's expense.

Also, there is a very fine line between "misunderstood loner genius" and "awkward 20-something college dropout who can't get girls or make friends because he's creepy." And the latter of the two needs to stop hitting on me or things will only end in tears. Not just because I'm mean, but also because I have mace.

My new home is evidently an excellent muse for evil. Maybe it's a coincidence, but I've been really, really mean lately. To everyone. And not always on purpose. I no longer have a filter for the inappropriate things in my head, so they've just been pouring out my mouth. I think I'm pissing a lot of people off.

And I've almost never been happier. I'm having so much fun.

I guess if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with. In my case that means being in love with myself. Which is fun. And super-healthy, obviously.

Evidently I'm still an Internet Superhero.

I live in my new house now. Pix to come on Facebook once the living room and back porch are done.

Also, there have been interesting developments involving one or more of my illustrious exes. Flocked details to follow at an undetermined time. Just know that drama and lulz are soon to ensue...if they haven't already. (PROTIP: They have.)

I do so love being evil. More specifically, I love being GOOD at being evil.

That reminds me, and this is distantly related to the aforementioned lulz: I've begun arching an especially cunning protagonist. She is the Captain Hammer to my Dr. Horrible. Except I'm a little more competent and a lot less pretty than Neil Patrick Harris. Fitting, as she's no Nathan Fillion, either.

...Sidenote: I hate it when boys are pretty. It's weird. And it makes it really hard for me to take them seriously.

...Not that I take men all that seriously in the first place...anyway. I have to go. If I don't finish my naan then I can't have any curry.

Every day I hate men a little more.

And not in an angry, feminazi, ball-busting kind of way. I just don't like being in the company of men. Any men. They make me feel bored and irritated. It kinda sucks, because some of my best friends have dangly parts, and it's hard to maintain a friendship with even the most likable man when you have an inexplicable adverse reaction to testosterone. Or whatever. In any case, the result is that I'm being anti-social today. I don't have the energy to pretend I like everybody, and I also don't feel like pissing everyone off by being a misanthropic bitch.

In my defense, though, I wouldn't be this anti-social if everybody didn't suck so much.

Drinking in bars may be the least fun form of recreation ever. Especially when it's a dead brew pub on a Sunday night and I'm the only fucking girl there. The pinot noir was delicious, but it would have been equally if not more enjoyable had I paid less for it at a liquor store and consumed it in the comfort of my own home, by myself, and not in the midst of a drunken sausagefest.

I wish it wasn't so easy for me to see through people. My relationships would probably be a lot more fulfilling if I didn't know exactly why everyone I know lies and makes fools of themselves.

I also think it's interesting that the more attractive someone finds me, the more I resent them. It's not that I don't enjoy being admired...but I can tell easily WHY someone likes me, and it's always for a stupid reason. Also, more often than not, they aren't really interested in ME. They're merely projecting some ideal personality on me or using me as a proxy for something they're missing. That's not what I want. Only two people in the world have ever really loved me and seen me completely, and they both ran away screaming. I'm the one who needs to be fixed. I don't have time to fix anyone else. Maybe that's why my companion for the time being is a lot like a robot. It's safe and undemanding, and no matter what happens, I'm not going to get hurt.

Why do I even delve? It only makes me more depressed.

Boo to Lexapro and Klonopin. I just want a drug that will make me stop thinking about him. Do they make those? Sort of an Eternal Sunshine-esque thing?

I wish I'd never fucking met him.

Our legal system is the biggest hoax in history, next to Christianity and Y2K. The police are nobody's friends. If the police were an ice cream flavor, they'd be praline and dick.

When you are in trouble, the police and lawyers do not help you (especially if you're gay, black, or foreign, but that is another rant I have about legal injustice and we shall save it for another day). They first question you as though you're the criminal, and then when it's revealed that you don't know the legal system as well as they do (even though it's THEIR profession, not yours) they ridicule you. Then they question the real bad guy who is trying to steal your money/dignity/Magic card collection/etc for about five minutes before deciding YOU don't have enough proof for an actual conviction. Shame on you for not taking pictures when degrading and unethical things happen to you.

I have never had a good experience with law enforcement. Note that I have no criminal record. Note also that no one who has committed a serious crime against me has a criminal record either.

We'll use one of my favourite examples, a case in which justice was served, but not by law enforcement--No, I had to turn to the Internet for retribution. You all remember Trent and how gloriously we pwned him on EllJay. What you may not remember is before that, I did the sensible thing and went to campus police. They said, "Well, you were probably leading him on." Then I went to the real police, who said, "No semen. Wasn't rape. What's that? He put his mouth on your genitals when you were sleeping? Well, unless you have DNA proof, we can't help you." Then I went to a lawyer, someone who was supposed to be a very good lawyer, because at this point I wanted to sent UMD security to prison along with Trent. They both think rape is cool, so I figured they'd make good cellmates. I told this lawyer everything. In excruciating detail. I started crying and everything. You know what that fucker did? HE LAUGHED at me and insinuated that I had an unrecruited crush on the pervert who put his face in a sleeping girl's vagina.

You don't LAUGH at a girl who was violated like that. I don't care who you are.

Now, more recently, I've been having problems with Ship Rock Management, the company who owned the apartment I shared with Martin. They should be put down like rabid animals. First of all, while I lived there, the front door to our building didn't have a lock. We sent them weekly notes asking for the lock to be fixed. They not only ignored them, but then pretended they hadn't gotten any of our notes. Sometime in December homeless people decided to start sleeping in our building's basement and hallway because, hey, THERE'S NO LOCK ON THE FUCKING DOOR. We alerted Ship Rock, who called the police to remove the squatters, but still didn't fix the fucking lock. Eventually it stopped being a regular occurrence, but then one night a homeless and/or drunk person who was not aware of the utter lack of door security tried to force his way in and broke the doorknob. We asked Ship Rock to fix it. They accused us of breaking it and then refused to fix it. So for the remainder of our time living there the front door to our fucking building had no lock and no knob. We might as well have not had a door.

Another and more irritating stunt they pulled was when they asked us if we wanted to renew our lease. Obviously we did not because they are landlords from Hell. So in December we sent them a written notice that we did not want to renew our lease and would be moving out at the end of March. Right before we moved out they claimed they'd gotten no such notice and that we had to submit a notice at least two months in advance. In other words, according to them, we had to stay until the end of May. We told them to find the damn notice we'd sent them in December and that under no circumstances would we stay in that shithole and give them more of our money. They said "Okay," and I thought everything would be fine. Then I got a note from them saying they were holding our deposit money until someone else rented the place out because we moved out early. I angrily called them and they assured me I'd have my deposit back by the end of the month. This was at the beginning my May.

Then, a company in the cities called ECDI who evidently REALLY owns the building (which means Ship Rock lied about that, too) claimed that they did not have our evacuation notice and that if we didn't let him keep our deposit then he would sue us for two months' rent.

My mother works with a very good lawyer but he says there's nothing we can do about it legally. So I'm out $300.

And as much as all that sucks royally, the very worst part of it all was when I had to call Martin and tell him why he wouldn't be getting his half of the deposit back. He didn't get angry; as usual, he was cool as a cucumber. Water off his back. It's as though he measures how upset I am and matches it with an equal level of indifference.

I've never missed him more in my life. I thought I was getting better and I was finally over him. Hearing his voice made me realized that that is simply not the case. And now none of my financial problems matter as much as how much I hurt without him.

I've reached probably the lowest state of pathetic that exists. Might as well go huff some nitrous oxide. It'll make me feel better.

Today is my favourite day of the whole year, next to my birthday and the Park Point estate sales.

I really hate to stoop to relying on gossip, but they're the kind of rumors that one can't help believing unless one is presented with concrete evidence to the contrary. Especially when one hears them from people who have no reason to lie...

I sincerely hope it isn't true. I'm not even going to post it until I know for sure that it is, because in that case I will have a helluva lot more to say about it.

The scariest part of all is that it would explain everything.

...I'm legitimately worried for his life.

I need a new fucking job. And not just because I would rather be with my friends in the evening. It's one thing to hate working. I'm going to hate working no matter what I do, unless it's an outrageously awesome job for which I need more qualifications. But working overnights is now starting to affect my health because my natural sleep cycle is raped and beaten on a nightly basis. And it doesn't matter how much sleep I get or do not get during the day; I always start to get sleepy around 11 PM. So far this disturbing interruption of my basic functioning has caused me to fall prey to excessive anxiety (that is, more than I would normally feel even with my disorder), frequent nausea, insomnia, increased irritability, and now migraine headaches, the last which I suspect is actually from my work environment (we're locked in a stuffy, dry building for eight and a half hours with little ventilation and excruciatingly bright lights). Also, I've been getting random nosebleeds again. Target is not too terribly pleased that I'm sick so often, because that means I am not working up to my full abilities and I'm missing shifts. They can eat me. They refuse to switch me over to days, although that may not be a bad thing, as working with Martin might be less than pleasant at this time.

I just want to not be at Target. I still remember all the reasons I went back, most of them money-related. But I've reached a point where I'm making far more money than I need and it almost makes me miss the Ghetto Spur, because there I didn't have to do anything ever. I sat on my ass and sold people cigarettes. In a way, even though it sucked royally, it was a little bit awesome. Also I got to go outside and breath real air during my shifts at SA. ...Nostalgia.

My new employment search shall commence on Monday.

Spring...that special time of year.

Except we're having a fucking snowstorm. It makes living across the bridge from everything good that much more unpleasant.

Also, my lease expired and I was going to go back to the apartment to make sure everything was cleared out and clean...but my car would not cooperate with me. More accurately, the weather would not cooperate with the suck that is my Cutlass.

Every fucking year for Xmas since I was 16 I've asked for snow tires. That's all I really want. But my dad insists I don't need them. Well, let me tell you, I fucking needed them today. I was going to accomplish things. I live in Northern Minnesota (Wisconsin, technically, but whatever). I should not have to stop doing things just because of snow. I should be equipped to deal with snow.

...Other than that, I had a wonderful day. Okay, no, I had a shitty day; I had a marvelous evening.

And my mom ate all the good ones. Like the chocolate-covered espresso beans.

I'm tired of working nights because it pretty much means I only get to have a social life 2-3 nights a week and that is not really enough because I needs to find me some sexing. Evidently decreased libido is not a side effect of this particular anti-depressant. Also, I haven't had sex since January, and even then he just sort of...laid there. I know some of you haven't had sex in years and you probably have to pay for it but I'm more attractive than you, and therefore I am accustomed to regular intercourse. At this point even just being able to make out with someone would be fucking awesome.

I feel like a teenager.

I don't think anyone to whom I'm attracted right now wants me. It's fucked-up. I used to be able to take my pick of sexual partners whenever I felt like it. I mean, that's how it was last time I was single. But I was with Martin for a year and now I don't know how to flirt or be alluring anymore. Which is total bullshit, because it used to come naturally.

Now I'm just kind of...awkward. It's unfortunate.

Today is the day I finally clear the rest of my shit out of the apartment.

It is just going to suck.

Someone better provide me with liquor later. I'll definitely need it. I could probably stand to get laid as well, but we won't hope for the impossible. Although liquor and bad judgment have made far more unlikely things happen...

...Anyway, I'm gonna go buy me some drugs. Shalom.

The cause seems to have disappeared, but the symptoms remain.

That is, I've stopped thinking about him incessantly. I've convinced myself that I no longer want him. At this point I miss his cat more than I miss him.

Which doesn't explain why I still wake up in a state of complete panic, but whatever. I can probably attribute that to the stress of having to live with my parents for the next two months. The important thing is that I'm getting better. And sooner than I'd hoped I would.

...I'm sure a lot of it has to do with no longer seeing him every day, because the other day when I saw him at Target my heart jumped into my throat. So I probably still do have feelings for him. But that doesn't matter. We both need space, I think--we don't have to be friends again right away.

It's easier for me to breathe now that he isn't around. It's kind of a relief.

My Zoloft is making me nauseated. That's pretty much my all-time least-favourite side effect and why I generally try to avoid pharmaceuticals.

Why can't we have medical cannabis up here? It eases my anxiety, and the only side effect is incessant giggling. Oh, right, and a sense of well-being. We certainly don't want our citizens to have that.