Parents like to pretend that if they don't talk about sex, their kids don't have it... and

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Sometimes I work myself into a right state just thinking about stuff... and

I need to stop overthinking. Really.

Have you ever just sat down and thought? Like, not thought. You're supposed to be doing that 24/7. I mean, just pondered everything from where do we come from to where are we going to who am I to why.

And then an endless number of whys just start to tumble down on you and you wonder why you started in the first place. But then that's another why and the cycle continues.

Overthinking is such a bitch. Pardon my language, of course.

But it really is.

It is the mother of insecurity and the cousin of depression. Gets you stuck in the prison of your own human inquisitiveness and then you're basically screwed.

I'm gonna go to sleep now though, because it's getting closer and closer to prime overthinking hours and I just can't manage tonight. 

Yours pensively,

me.

That moment when you lock eyes with someone you know like the back of your hand and learnt how to love like it was a skill... and

Then you both look away, hurry along the corridor and disappear quickly.

Sometimes I wonder... are we strangers now or were we always just strangers pretending to relate?

But alas, that's an ex for you.

Once upon a time you knew them like you knew yourself- what made them tick, how they loved, how they kissed, how they argued, how they slept. But now you stand at opposite ends of a corridor and one of you goes the other way. Now you buck up on the stairs and look down as you cross to the other side. Now you pass their classroom and suddenly become fascinated with the spots on the ground.

It's not easy, forgetting them. But remembering them is worse.

The memories. That's what kills.

Yours reflectively,
me.

We're all a little messed up... and

It's sad.

Welcome to Generation X.

Where instead of talking to people, we use pointless social media and condense our thoughts into 140 characters and send texts that don't follow the rules of grammar and prose. We don't tell our parents things. We take drugs like it's no big deal. We care more about the clothes we wear than what we put in our bodies.

Where we let our boyfriends, our girlfriends, our friends-with-benefitses touch our bodies, taste our tongues and probe our genitals... but don't ask them how their day went. Where we date for three weeks and then profess undying love, only then to scream and slander and hate when the relationship ends. Where we think knowing what someone looks like naked means knowing someone.

Where we hate ourselves; we wish we were skinnier, prettier, smarter, better... and care too much about what's on the outside as the inside rots away; like spraying perfume on a casket.

Where books don't get read. Where music demeans the woman. Where movies depict sexual relationships. Where art is obscure in all the wrong ways.

Welcome to Generation X. I hope you enjoy your stay.

Yours disappointedly,
me.

Can I just take tomorrow off... and

Stay home and watch Once Upon a Time and eat icecream and wear my PJs and wrap up in my blanket of misery and patheticness?

....no? Okay.

Seriously now.

I'm so freaking tired. Not sleepy. Just tired, exhausted, worn out... pap dung. I can't deal with stress. And I'm not even stressed out by schoolwork. I'm stressed out by myself. By my feelings.

That's not cute.

Yours pop-down-edly,
me.