I was just flipping through my pen-and-paper journal and I noticed that the great majority of my posts end with me wondering if there's something really seriously wrong with me (musing about my cockblocking instincts [aside to marion: it was a poor choice of words when I said it isn't malicious - of course it's malicious. I meant that it isn't personal. I just think sex is kind of squicky and it's not like I necessarily have anything against the person we were talking about and the 20 year old sister of the other person we were talking about, I don't want anyone to have any part of it, is that so wrong?]: is it really just hilarious bitchiness or a sign of insanity in my membrane?).
Okay, so, navigating away from that horrifyingly specific look into the clearly damaged void that is my psyche...
Back to the journal: isn't that a mental disease? Like isn't the constant searching for mental diseases itself, a mental disease? God, I should just shut my trap and look it up but I'm too lazy. That's a disease too, I bet; being so lazy as to prohibit even googling "obsessing over own self's alleged craziness normal or abnormal". I bet I'd feel better if I were properly medicated.
Fuck it. I'd rather be nuts and funny than sane and boring.
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