I think I'm broken

or at least, I hurt in all sorts of strange places,
and have this general feeling of blech-iness.
yes, that's a technical term, smart ass.
so that's my whine for the day.
anyone need a glass?

sometimes I forget to think about life as a full-length feature film.
I'm so focused on the present, and often the past, that I don't have time to dwell on the future.
this is odd, coming from a dreamer, like me.
my dreams are generally very non-time-specific, though.
they're usually set in "the near future".
blah blah whatever.
the pain is doing the opposite of receding.
I wonder what would happen if a man's hair did the opposite of receding...?
suppose his whole face got taken over, much like his back?
that'd be icky.

There was one named Stryker--
a 20-year old boy, unremarkable except for his glinting gold tooth.
good posture, slightly shaggy hair.
but that name.
how is it possible to carry such a name without being changed by it?
and I say "unremarkable", but.
that's not entirely accurate.
it was probably more a matter of quietness--
which can mean trouble, but in this case it felt more like depth.
who knows, though?

I was thinking the other day--
about the difference between confidence and cockiness.
confidence is quiet and strong.
cockiness is spikey, and fragile.

I feel like ass of dog.
did I mention that already?
yeah, I thought so.
I will attempt to spare you the details,
but trust me when I say my problems are many and varied.
heh.
at least that made me chortle.
well, I don't know what chorlting sounds like, but I just did something.
it was sorta kinda like laughing.
but shorter and rougher or something and stuff.

and to make matters worse...
I have my girl's night tomorrow.
and I'm scared.
remember a while back, I mentioned being devastated by the gossip news that a close friend had told another friend of ours some horrible lies about me?
well.
this is that group of girls.
and last month, it felt like everyone was looking at me funny.
which makes me wonder if word has spread.
it feels horrible to be so helpless.
and maybe I'll just bite the damn bullet and talk to her about it, finally.
I fucking hate this.

also, you know you're kind of out of it when the word "massacre" looks like "mascara", and you spend more than 5 seconds thinking about it.
...and open a post back up to add that.

faaack.
my body hates me.
maybe I'll put it to bed early and go surf for porn.