This weekend has been scattered with good and filled with bad. In the end, as I usually do when this sort of thing happens, I focus on the bad rather than the good. It's a bad habit, but I have an active imagination which loves to sabotage myself. I understand that I am drawn to drama, I'm a theater major, but I should be drawn to happiness as well. If things start going to well, I have no choice but to pick the pieces from the whole and pull them apart.

But, even if I react too strongly, I feel slightly justified by my feelings. This is not a self-pitying entry. None of them are. Because, even in the smallest amount possible, I'm right. Even a little bit. And I want to growl, How dare you? But, I've done that before and it falls short of truth and too passionate for the reason.

I want to feel more a part of than I am. Less lonely than I feel all the time. Even when you hold me sometimes. More loved. With more meaning and more friends. If I don't drink or do drugs, does that mean you won't hang out with me? Or is it me? Can I not fake laughter well enough? Can I not hurt myself hard enough?

Not sel-pitying. Contemplative. Bored. Always bored and tired.

And wondering why.