“Your problem is you.” –Charlie Sheen

One day I’ll be able to speak openly, sincerely – that’s the word – sincerely without immediately feeling vulnerable, worthless, and fucked. It will happen. I’ll go up to that specific person and say “Hey, Look, you inspire me so much. The stuff you’ve taught me/showed me has…” See, I wouldn’t say this to everyone who’s inspired me or helped changed me in a minor/major way, but it would be a triumph if I could get over this little thing *I* do which is Never Say Anything At All. Like I always miss my chance to be a human who talks. Not all the time, not all the time.

My ipod stopped working during an afternoon walk yesterday on my break and it was hopeless. Yesterday was a day I needed distractionss. A train ride was gonna happen later followed by my first day of a new improv class followed by some walking around in the city and then going back home – all things I couldn’t be alone with Anoush for, except maybe the improv class, maybe. Yeah. I know I’m not stupid and I’m not THAT unpleasant to be around, so my fears of being THAT GUY -THAT GIRL – come from an artificial horrible, miserable self image which I for SOME reason need to hold onto and use to hack away at myself. It’s only fun sssssometimes.

I get tongue-tied and have this image of a fat girl with red cheeks smiling and telling a bad joke to hide what’s really going on whenever I, I dunno, fuck up. Not all the time – not all the time, but that’s one of my more famous self images. The other is the apologetic girl who rolls her eyes a lot – cliche. Klee-fucking-shay.

I hate certain faces. Women in supermarkets with mouths that naturally curl down at the sides so that they look angry forever. I hate that. I hate orange-dyed hair. I hate slow walkers in the city or anywhere. I hate those rolly suitcases and when people can’t get onto an escalator quick enough. Actually being around all those things without headphones, music, and the chance to dream seem unbearable. What ended up happening was my brother let me borrow his. The whole act of needing to borrow made me feel immature, but reading on the train wasn’t an option – my head was just too busy. Listening to someone else’s ipod is like being a different person for a while, even if your music tastes cross paths here and there. It was good ’cause I didn’t skip ahead to the next song as quickly as I would’ve if it were my own. I kind of…. breathed more.

My goal is to find a way to speak. A way to do something naturally that keeps me… just right. Also, my neck and arms are getting skinnier than the rest of me – i’m probably overthinking it. Saying that just reminded me how heavily some of us rely on validation. (I’m not sure how one thing made me think of the other.)

A year or so ago, I told someone that I liked his comedy because it was dangerous. It confused him, I think, or excited him for the wrong reasons. Then in class yesterday, my teacher talked about being dangerous – breaking the rules. This made me think, Well holy friggin’ moly, Anoush. Maybe you were onto something. Don’t worry, I won’t let it get to my head. I won’t let things I keep in my head get to my head. And even if I do, I’ll keep it quiet and personal and no one will ever know about it — liiiihiiike usual

The good news is that I went to the Mac store during my break and they tested it and were able to clean it out and bring it back to normal. That’s what I’m calling the process. So all I have to do is hook it up to my laptop and hope that this time, Fran (my laptop) will recognize it, as a pose to last night when she didn’t know WHAT the fuck it was. So i’m gonna try it now.

Night.

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