You know what's really fucking hilarious? If I hadn't lived in fucking New Jersey all my fucking life, and if it weren't just an hour away from home and if home hadn't decided to get whacked in the head senior year, I'd probably have gone to Drew. And, if I'd known then that what has happened now was going to happen, I'd also have gone to Drew. And that would be almost as ironic as me going to Holyoke if not more for reasons that I'm not going to explain because that's frankly none of your business and I have a blistering headache and don't really feel particularly rational.

So, I could've gone to Drew, where I'd have been either too intimidated or too fucked up or too much the wrong sort of person because we all know that I am. Then I'd be in the same predicament I'm in now only worse because of that horrible horrible irony that makes me wonder if some higher power doesn't find my being completely and utterly pathetic and detestable vaguely amusing, at least to the point where perpetuating this mess seems worthwhile. And of course I'm not making sense, I'm not even attempting to make sense, why should I bother making sense when all I'm doing is talking to myself?

I swear I'm not going crazy, I'm just tired and frustrated and in pain because my body has chosen the worst possible time to rebel, and I've been playing the possibilities game again because really, I never learn.

The grass is always greener when you're not looking at it.

Fuck, I need to go to sleep.