pseudotherapy

Ithaca is known for making people a little crazy, and before I moved here I thought it would be oh so hilarious if, in an attempt to take a break from the craziness of New York and chill out and reevaluate my goals and plans and all that nonsense, it made me even crazier. Well score one for Ithaca, because, though I'm not about to jump into a gorge just yet, it is presently 5:23 a.m., I am neither drunk nor high on anything, I have no intention of going to bed any time soon, and I just housed two bowls of Raisin Bran Crunch (that shit is almost as dangerous as Nutella.) For once in my adult life I have the physical ability and the time to sleep, but I just don't feel like it. Kinda like how in high school and college when I was constantly busy and always had a million things hanging over my head and just wished it would all go away so I could watch more Ricki Lake, well, now it really has and I'm fucking sad and confused and Dr. Phil isn't cutting it. Of course, I have done absolutely nothing to change any of this, like get a real job or take the GRE or get a hobby other than writing about myself on the internet and illegally downloading music, because procrastination has been my specialty since first grade. I'm even too lazy to get therapy or medication to help with my debilitating laziness (AKA, clinical depression, but I prefer to blame myself and just say "lazy," because I'm depressed...neat how it's all so circular.) But alas, if I could make it through the unibrowed, acned, overly Pringled junior high years, high school supergeekdom, and four years of Division I collegiate rowing, I should be able to find a shred of happiness now somehow. I just need to stop thinking it'll happen without a lot of kicking and screaming and crying, because, before the procrastination, my specialty was the temper tantrum (sorry, Mom.) Okay, the birds have started chirping, and I have to draw a line somewhere. Nightie night.