Serenity now!

I think I've got it.
Or figured it out.
My problem that is.
And I'm working on it.
And speaking in sentence fragments apparently! That's gotta stop. But if I have got things as together as I think I might have them, then I might be on the road to possible happiness. Sounds like a sure thing to me!

Now if only I could convince myself that I'm going to make a halfway-decent Ophelia, I'd really have my shit together. At least I'm coming off a tasty dinner. Oh, my lovely eggy-veggie dish! Hooray for my cooking skills! Bite me, Rachael Ray! (You cracked-out, giggling, acronym-using, artery-clogging wench of a chef!)

I'm off to be tragic.
Eggs, don't fail me now!

Can I call in "annoyed" to work?

... well, why not?!

You know, I'm thinking of telling people, "If you really want your heart broken good, move to LA." I mean really, we're the reconstructive surgery capital of the world! At least we'll be able to find you a new one.
(And some snazzy knockers to go over it!)
Actually, LA's probably not the reconstructive surgery capital of the world. It's probably somewhere in Sweden or something, but I doubt Sweden is nearly as soul-crushing and doesn't make nearly as good of a metaphor.
(Is that really a metaphor? I don't think it is. Way to mix up your lit terms, Dana.)

I know that's not the spirit I should be embracing right now but, feh. Since when was I any good at optimism? I wish I could be. Not in that blind, giddy, naive and, you know, obnoxious way. A way in which I could be confident in myself and not put myself down at every misstep, faulting myself for being "so typically Dana" that I ruin everything I come across. A way in which I didn't second-guess every thought streaking through my head, wondering if what I want is really what I need or whatever. It's no fun. Frankly, it's exhausting. I'm sick of it. I need to pull my shit together! Yeah! Go team Dana!

Ah, shit. Optimism is exhausting too.
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(This line means I hate posting multiple times in the same day.)

PS: Never fall for a person with a blog. It'll turn you into a stalker.
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Where is the line between doing something for someone else's good and doing something because you're scared to do something for yourself?
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I was going to write something else and my music pushed it out of my head.
Stupid music.

What am I, twelve?

I need to grow the fuck up.
I need to stop obsessing over nothing.
I need to stop being my own worst enemy.
I need to accept myself.
I need to respect my feelings and not immediately dismiss them as invalid.

Note to self: grow a spine