April 19th. Specks thoughting the horizon.

Regrets: I missed Paint It Black. That was terrible of me. I wish, of course, that I had someone, anyone, to go to shows like that with. Maybe the fault is my own for not asking anyone. Maybe not. But McDonald's and an OT win do not make up for a mistake like that.

Vlada is returning to Vlada. By which I mean: I can never seem to reconnect properly with her. Maybe it's something, maybe it's nothing. I have to try harder.

I'm being really bad at this tax shit. Bureaucracy is one of those things that scares me way too much to deal with. At least I can listen to The Loved Ones here and there and try to forget how tight my stomach is wound.

I'm not eating well. There's a bit of pudge, I think sticking out where my stomach used to be. I'm not fat, not by a long shot. Not even, I think, by "The Devil Wears Prada" standards. But still. I don't like it. Maybe Shirine is onto something with her "repressed anorexia" business. But: I'm afraid, deep down, of my father's post-teens weight gain, and it'll just be chickens—or, in this case, chicken wings—coming back to roost.

My loneliness doesn't help my awkwardness. The less I talk to other people the further I feel from normal when I do. And it always matters too much to me. I can't count how many times I construct conversations to improve the ones I messed up at. Maybe I'm just being overly perfectionistic.

I can't write Windswept for the life of me. God. I wonder how I always see myself as a writer. All I'm good at is coming up with cute little snatches of dialogue that I never remember long enough to type or write down. That and self-critical, soul-search blog posts.

(Oh, and the Habs suck giant monkey cock. But I guess I maybe should have seen that one coming. The number one part of being a serious nut about a sports team is you have to have a really ingrained sense of pessimism. So I'm good to go, right.)

There have been some positives, I guess.

I've been able to keep the apartment as a whole, and my room in particular, pretty damn clean.

The subletting business is going less badly than I expected it to. The superintendent's wife is bailing me out bigtime.

I got to see Brick, which is fantastic, and is now one of my favourite all-time movies.

(At this point the list hits a snag. I can't think of any other positives.)

No, I was right. That was all there were. Unless you count "still not starving despite complete and utter laziness due to the pity-in-the-form-of-money support from parents." Because I don't.

Well. That's all the pessimism-as-catharsis I can manage for tonight. Cheers.