I'm a lightweight, better be careful what you say

I'm a lightweight, better be careful what you say

I have this habit of trying to explain things to myself inside my head in case someday someone ever asks me why I do certain things or like certain things or am a certain way.  Only the thing is, I shouldn't have to explain myself to other people, and I shouldn't have to explain to myself why I shouldn't have to explain myself.  Does that make any sense?

Also you know when a song is so amazing and perfect and relative to everything that you think all the time that you can't help but play it over and over and over, and not just because your roommate is watching "Mad Men" on the other side of the wall and you don't really want to listen to it?  This usually happens at the most inconvenient time, when you should be worrying about rewriting your hum paper or sleeping or emailing your dad or  doing something more productive than this.

Awkward:  when you meet people in person and they're like, "whatever I won't bother remembering your name because you're boring/your roommate is cooler than you/your pink hair looks like crap" and then later you realize that they follow you on tumblr/vice versa.

I feel a seperation coming on

I feel a seperation coming on

This morning my mom woke me up around 8:45, and the first thing I thought after "mmmghdfhd I'm sleeping" was "why the hell am I so sore?"  Then I remembered that one does not suddenly become not out of shape after a week of exercising.

Also recently (as in today when I was driving and remembered that someone saw "Inception" illegally on the internet before seeing it at a theater) I was thinking about appreciation, or maybe acknowledgment of appreciation, and the lack thereof.  People work so hard for what they put out, and then they don't get what they deserve for it.  And that makes me sad - which is naive, I suppose.

But I can accept naivety - I can even embrace it, like I'm embracing my love of overproduced pop music.  There are worst things I could be, like a serial texter or a (total) bitch or someone who repeatedly burns her hair with a flat iron.  I'm trying to work on me, on this is who I am and that's okay with me.  I'm trying to work on knowing that accepting myself is cliche and doing it anyway.  What is my problem with cliches anyway?  Jeez, that bugs me.