Be constructive.
I have tried for years to categorize myself as something. This is especially the case now, in this current situation. It relates so closely to the innate competitiveness I am afflicted with, I don't think I can separate them.
I need to be the best. When Jack started telling the most recent batch of drunk Carie stories, where, apparently I told every guy there if I thought they were worthy of a blow job, this exact subject came up. I retold the S conversation, "You look like you give good head." Jacob said he could see that because I have to be good at everything. I don't have a dick, and fucking blow jobs rule my life.
Which (kind of) brings me back to my point. What am I good at? I can't think of anything in particular. I'm okay at many things. What do I have that is the "best"? Again... nothing comes to mind.
Where do I fit into this? What am I? And why is it important?
I need to be good at something. I want to be the best, but I can live with good, so long as I never, ever ask if I am the best.
...
The older I get, the more I dislike my birthday. For my birthday, I'm going to try to not look at myself naked for the entire day - a gift to myself.
...
I love getting my hair cut. And it's not because my stylist is hot in some bizarre Debbie Harry kind of way. It's so relaxing. This process used to be some kind of social anxiety nightmare, and now I really look forward to it. It was especially hilarious today, there were SO many women, and all of their nattering. I closed my eyes and enjoyed being a girl without wanting to strangle every woman there. What the fuck happened to me?
...
I am still trying to determine if I missed you today, I'm not sure. I think I did. It's hard to tell between missing you or missing the habit of it, the feelings associated with that are interesting.
...
You're right, of course. I am very good at fucking my own shit up. Maybe I'm the best at that.
05.11.13 || 5:29 pm
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