I’m up past my bedtime. I was skipping past VH1 Classic and got sucked in by retro videos, and then I got to downloading music and now I’m making CDs. Rock the cradle of love. Rock. The cradle. Of love. That video was like hard core pornography for a 12 year old boy, or however old I was. Because damn. Hotness.

Too. Many. Periods.

She’s got a smile that seems to me reminds me of childhood memories. Whoooaaahhh ooohhh ohhhh.

Speaking of pr0n, I watched Jenna Jameson Confessions on VH1, because speaking of hotness…It’s funny when she was talking about when she was a stripper and how that’s not a good job to have when you are forming your impressions of men (she was 17). It seems like a lot of strippers come away with that attitude. Not unfair, just unfortunate. Not to mention the whole “seeing behind the curtain” aspect of reading/watching about “the industry.” It kind of kills the mood, y’know?

You know what else is a mood killer? Finding yourself relating to an Avril Levine song. Because that’s the hallmark of grownupness and maturity. “So much for our happy ending.” It’s so stupid feeling that way, but I still do. Cheated, robbed, betrayed, and I’m so sick of it. So. Fucking. Sick. I hate how it feels like it’s fucking up any other chance I may have at happiness because I can’t get past this. “When Harry Met Sally” was on the other day, and I managed to catch the part where she says “It’s not that he didn’t want to get married. It’s that he didn’t want to get married to me. Why didn’t he want me? What’s wrong with me?”

Free your mind, and the rest will follow. So much truth in music.

It sucks, and I hate it. End of story.

Moving on, as they say you need to do when they are sick of listening to you whine.

So other things are kind of back to normal (whatever that is). I went to the gym today, and I’m sure I’m going to be feeling it tomorrow. I’ve managed to get some semblance of internet back home, which is nice. It’s the end of another weekend and I’m like “Oh crap, I didn’t do this or that or the other.” Since becoming “in charge” at work I’ve turned into a total workaholic, which I’m sure makes everyone thrilled, as I put in appearances on both days off, “checking in” and all that “jazz.”

I felt that “paragraph” needed more “quotes.”

It’s good though, because I like my job. I enjoy my new responsibilties and all that crap. It’s kind of disgusting, but I do. Now if I can just focus on my other job more, y’know, the writing shit (well, not shit, hopefully). I think I’ve moved past the stage of my life where I think that if I get all this stuff done and taken care of that I’ll be super-happy and okay with everything. I know that’s not true, but then again, I’m not above enjoying all the stuff that comes with it.

I hate setting things out there on such a negative note, because I’m not negative right now. I am happy, I am feeling better than I have in years, mainly because I refuse to let this nagging festering wound get the better of me.

Because I said so, I remain…