Who Is Your... Forget it. Who I Am and What I Do.

Who was the last person you talked to on the phone? Dammed if I know, it was probably a telemarketer, wrong number, or a recorded message. I'm not sure the latter counts as a person, but I'm sure a person came in contact with the message at some point in time.

Do you sometimes worry about losing that person as a friend? I would most certainly hope not.

My Facebook home page is often bombarded with such silly questions, and every once in a while I feel the need to take part in such shenanigans. Not because it's cool, not because anyone is ever going to read all 276 questions in today's quiz, and definitely not because I have nothing better to do. My reasoning behind taking the 15 to 20 minutes out of my day to start answering questions I'll never get to the end of is simple. It makes me think.

I am an over emotional, sentimental, pack rat, who can't remember what day of the week it is, but can remember the tiniest, most meaningless events from more than a decade ago. For instance, if you were to say something to me, right now, I would either forget as soon as you stop talking, or I'd just stop listening all together mid sentence. Entirely unintentional, let me assure you. I have no idea when it started, or why I continue to space out, I just do. However if you were to ask me Something random, from 10 years ago, I could probably tell you what we were wearing, eating, saying, doing, and what the whether was like. I have boxes, yes plural, of pictures, yearbooks (okay, pieces of paper I made people sign), ticket stubs, autographs, lyrics and poems, random objects, and art (I use the term as loose as possible). I have books full of random thoughts and scribbles from before high school.

I think about people, a lot, some more than others, but if you have graced me with your presence at some point in time in my life, I probably still think about you.

High school was a particularly low point for me. Like a lot of teenagers, I had some seriously self-worth issues, which resulted in me tolerating a lot of events that I shouldn't have, a definitely wouldn't anymore. Unfortunately, these feelings lasted much longer than high school, and caused a lot of problems for me later in life, that at times, still haunt me. Perhaps I'll get over it in time, but I doubt it. The nightmares aren't any less vivid, or frequent, and I still have panic attacks.

I haven't posted here in a bit because I've been working on a story, about young-ish people trying to get out a negative cycle by putting a positive spin on their lives, and the events that have gotten them where they are. It's a story about them finding themselves, in ways they didn't expect, or want, but ultimately being better because of it. Boring, I know. But I find that I often make sense of things by putting it in writing. Which is sort of funny, because as someone I know very well pointed out, I don't read. I used to, but I don't anymore. In fact, I probably won't even read this over, so you'll have to excuse any misplaced words, or spelling mishaps.

I've also been working on some music, not quite my usual pop-punk. I've gone in an acoustic direction. So if you love me, when it's all done, you'll check it out.

Anyway, I'm off. And remember, respect yourself.