We are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world

"We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our great war's a spiritual war. Our great depression is our lives." Tyler Durden
I read the writings of my peers, and I see sheer brilliance. It saddens beyond reason to know that the prose of those close to me goes largely unnoticed. People like the Farrelly Brothers and those assholes who write those shitty movie parody movies make millions, and the literary prowess of the youth remains an untapped resource. The lack of taste in the masses never ceases to anger me.

Maturity? Overreaction?

Sometimes I forget that I'm entitled to my own opinion and that I have the right to make my own choices. Perhaps I'm too nice, or perhaps people see me as spineless. Either way, I've been noticing lately that some people treat me as more of a doormat, a stepping stool towards their own devices, than a friend. The sad part is, I had grown complacent to the newer, nicer me. But at this point in time, I do not know if being that person is going to get me anywhere as far as respect goes. I guess you can say there's been a tumor on my demeanor for a few years, and it's turned cancerous lately. Do I cut it out, or do I treat it?

Too good to be true? Of course

Anyone who knows me knows I am far from the most metally and emotionally stable person in the world. However, for about five days (up until about 7:30p.m. today) things were going very well. For the first time in almost six months, I was truly happy. Those days are no behind me. I'm back to my old self-loathing self now. All I can say is fuck people who have to interject their two cents about someone else's relationship. The one of you probably reading this, please tell everyone not to fuck with me for the next few days.