No one really reads this, right? Good.
If at any point in reading this you feel urged toward pity (or are just annoyed), please just click away. I may very well delete it later anyway, but my evening has consisted of Netflix and McDonalds, neither of which I was that into, both of which I was too down to really care about. I'm not looking for sympathy or advice or attention, just a more productive form of grief.
Sometimes I get sad. It doesn't have to do with things that are currently happening (most of the time). It has to do with things that A. probably never will happen, B. have happened in the past that I had no control over or fault in, and C. I am imagining to be happening that absolutely have not occurred (Why, yes. Yes, I am a little bit crazy. I make up things to upset myself. It's awesome).
(Relevant) Tangent: And then, of course, I do what I'm doing right now, which is to start rationalizing these thoughts. Because I was just about to write (in all seriousness) something along the lines of "except sometimes the horrible things I'm imagining are happening, but no one is telling me because they don't want me to know (that they hate me)." The good thing is that I know this is a completely irrational and paranoid way of thinking, and being able to recognize that helps me to ignore it. The bad thing is that I still do it. The really bad thing is what happens when, inevitably, one of the thousand awful things I have come up with (or haven't even managed to come up with yet) actually happens. Let's not even go there (Aaand I just did it again).
Anyway (I have been writing and rewriting this for the past two hours - extremely helpful, but after a seven hour bike ride plus sunburn and an early start tomorrow, I am exhausted. That and I am starting to think I'm sharing maybe a little too much...? It's hard to tell, what with the paranoia), the point is that this happens when I let myself think too much, so I have been doing everything in my power not to think, which means I have to constantly be working on something, completely engrossed in whatever else I can find to do, or not fully conscious. This is much, much better than the alternative, but it backfires when I end up not taking care of myself, physically or emotionally. Basically, I'm exhausted in every sense, and the way I do this to myself is stupid, and now I'm just whining, but at least I spent the last two hours focused on writing and maybe I understand a little better now so I'm just a little closer to making it stop.
I do have fun things to post about. Just no pictures right this second. Santa Cruz tomorrow! :)