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And at some point you just say "fuck it".

I spend my weekdays surrounded by students from all over the world. Walking down the street I get so wishful, everyone looks like an adventure. But I'm *this* close to resigning myself to a life that contains no German boy with roses on his cheeks and a mouth like a plum. It's a bigger loss than you would think.

Reminder: shake off the habits you have before they have you.

But sometimes in the face of it all I draw blanks. Looking out my window it's row upon row of trees that look sort of grey cause I've got a pocket full of doctor's notes that say when and how I should be medicated.

Non-recreationally: This for that in the morning. That for this at night. In the middle of the day here's a little something to make me remember that I'm a big, bright, shining star. A bi-weekly session where I spill my guts and pretend that I could possibly make another person understand what's going on in my head. At any moment. Even the simplest times. The internal monologue is

Very. Fucking. Loud.

How do you translate the screaming in your head to a layperson?

Still she is sweet, with a soft pretty face and just enough emotion for my soul to appreciate the co-pay.

Reminder: decide what you want, then decide you don't want anything else more.

I want to warn her, ask her if she'd rather be mini golfing instead? I know I would.

Instead though. I talk. She listens. Nodding and empathy. Amazing amounts of it. I shake it all off when time is up and pay the tab on my way out.

I wish I could tip her.

It's all about appearances.

Reminder: tip like a baller and your cup will runneth over.

I'm paying the piper now. My perfect match is lost, I tricked it off.

I've got myself, little Remi and about 3 months worth of back to back bootleg movies and television shows.

I'll be alright. It stings a bit, though.

Times like this separate the women from the girls, ya?

Bradstreet. I truly swoon.