Ah, double-dipped chocolate-covered peanuts dropped into a bag of freshly popped popcorn. So good, so utterly gooey-gross.

It seems so weird to me that you can get Amy Jo Johnson albums on CDbaby. I mean, I knew she sang and whatnot, its just. I guess my brain has trouble concieving of her without a pink helmet involved.

I seem to be in another period of sleeping in brief, random bursts. I’m already sick of it, and its really just aggravating my “nobody likes me or wants me around” gloom.

On top of it, I feel selfish and awful for feeling that way, because Mel and Glory both have way, WAY more reason to feel depressed and stressed and unloved than I do, and they’re…well, actually, I imagine they feel pretty awful. But they actually have a reason, and they’re not sitting whining about it when they don’t have reason and people they care about are getting fucked by life.

It just sucks, and I suck, and. There’s a lot of sucking.