The Anxiety Pirate and the Rainbow Doom-Brella

I should have known that buying this would be a mistake

The problem with anxiety is that, even when you've mostly got it under control, sometimes you still have a Bad Day. 

Anxious days turn me into an anxiety pirate.  This is my new favorite term, invented as of yesterday, so named because I spend my time going "argh argh arghity argh" and wishing I could make myself walk the plank (or head-desk, which, while distinctly un-piratelike, is more practical for everyday use.)

Why I hate Coldplay

I hate Coldplay, but it's not really their fault.

If I met Chris or Jonny or Guy or Will, I'd say, "I'm sorry, guys.  I'm sure you're actually pretty awesome.  It's not you, it's me."

This is the problem with break-ups.  In their wake, they leave a memory minefield, but you don't figure it out until it's too late where the mines actually are.  Someone with the same cologne walks by and it's a visceral and immediate trip down memory lane.  The world is suddenly full of sights, sounds, and scents that take you back where you don't want to go.

Chuck out that perfume you wore every day, and forget about using that shampoo or tuning to that radio station.  Can't go to that restaurant anymore.  All the memorybanks must be wiped clean.

Emoetry

Ready for a break from the doom-and-gloom? I sure am!

Finding my college application got me thinking about the past.  And when I start thinking about the past, my next step is to usually search my email.

My email goes back a long ways.  It's practically become an auxiliary memory bank.  When I can't find something, chances are it's in my email.  Old files, old essays, old friends... and old poetry.

But not just any poetry.  Angsty poetry.  Angsty teenage poetry.  Or, as I'd like to dub it from here on out, emoetry.