Ever go to the grocery store to “just pick up a few things” and realize about halfway through that the “few things” that you had originally meant to pick up — which has now turned into 43 — is turning into a stack that’s almost equivalent to your height and is gradually getting heavier and you’re collapsing under its weight and the cashiers and the baggers all start laughing at you and calling you names and even the other customers in the store start joining in and you’re just laying on the floor with a mountain of groceries making their home on top of you and you just want to go home and sit on the couch with a medium-sized bowl of brownie ice cream with caramel syrup with only the few groceries you should’ve gotten in the first place? Just me?

Continually debating if Tumblr is even worth my time. And if it is, do I blog about thoughts as was customary when blogging was first started? Or do I join the ranks of most other Tumblr users and post pictures? And If I do that, are the pictures that I post supposed to be ones that describe me, or simply one’s that I like looking at? This can’t be worth the trouble.

I’m trying.
No TV. No radio. Only tweeted five times within the last hour.
I’m trying.
I’ve been lying in the dark for over three hours now, trying to fall asleep relatively early so I can wake up at a decent time in the morning without feeling like I was trampled by a herd of giraffes.
I’m trying.
I started counting sheep at one point but they quickly became exasperated at the thought of being labeled with numbers, as though it was depreciating their value. I tried reasoning with the sheep but they simply refused to be counted. Only in my mind are suppositional sheep as stubborn as I am.
I’m trying.
Hypomania.

andreacastle:

I danced myself out of the womb.

This is not pain. This is an entirely different experience on its own. 
     I’m sitting down in the living room, ironically, since I don’t feel like I’m living at all. The TV is on, but only at a very low volume. Sound is amplified, so every word spoken sounds as if it’s coming from a megaphone. My brother is in the kitchen and even though I’m not looking at him, I know everything that he’s doing. 
     I can hear him. 
     He opens the pantry door. The hinges squeak at maximum decibels. 
     He grabs a bag of chips packaged in an obnoxiously loud bag, which were incidentally manufactured with the sole purpose of pissing me the fuck off. 
     The pantry door closes and when it does, it sounds as if it was slammed with an ogre-esque force. I’m convinced the door must be broken after being slammed so violently. 
     My brother grips each side of the bag of chips and it screams underneath the grasp of his fingers. The top of the bag splits open, and after the bag screeches from being ripped apart, I feel an immense wave of relief crash over me knowing that the worst of the noise pollution is over. 
     Then come the footsteps. 
     Someone is walking down the stairs with 300+ lb. shoes on and I’m wincing at the sound of every step. All fourteen steps and I’m counting each of them and can’t wait until they’re finished.
     Unfortunately, they’ve decided to move in slow motion and I’m cringing against the couch, blanket now over my head, as I’m forced to listen to what sounds like fourteen gunshots. 
     Step.  
     Step. 
     Step. 
     Step. 
     Step. 
     Step. 
     Step. 
     Step.  
     Step. 
     Step. 
     Step. 
     Step. 
     Step. 
     Step. 
     
     My body feels sick: I’m dizzy, nauseas, freezing, having cold sweats, and my head is pounding. 
     My head is literally pounding. 
     
     This is not even the half of it. 

The thing I love about the character “London” from The Suite Life (of Zach and Cody/on Deck) is that she’s so one-noted. Since the first episode, London has been the narcissistic and egotistical princess that gets whatever she wants and since then, she has never changed. That’s what I like about her. Her character shadows real life and actual human qualities. People never change or learn. By nature, they’re forever cursed to relive their own mistakes.

People are constant, perpetual even.

Don’t consider this a new beginning.
Don’t consider this progress.
More than anything, this is a confession.
This is but a mere glimpse into reality.
Words, images… They’re all drawn at random from the mind, sometimes because they may seem more prominent than others at the time.
Welcome.