At some point I let go of my dramatic, immature disposition, the one I had so I could deal with things that bothered me, changed it for a feigned realistic mentality, and here we are, back at square one. Perhaps it is a natural predisposition of mine, to feel as if the world is ending because of things I won’t reveal in a blog entry for the whole 40 people who follow me to see, things that aren’t even bad to begin with. But here I am, worrying, and killing time in the most glamorously teenaged way I could think of, except that I am almost 21 years old, and my times of angst should’ve passed me by a long time ago. But that’s not the way things work, actually.

I’ve tried being a focused person, determined to reach my made-up important goals and dream about one day contributing to society in a noble way, but that just doesn’t appeal to me as much as listening to cool tunes in my room, surrounded by plushies and pretty decorations, on top of my own world, and bitter in many contradictory ways. Some will venture to say “You think that you’re much more important than you actually are, you’re not that deep” But who cares, I am bored out of my mind and home alone, let me have my useless afternoon, stupid internal voice. I am ranting because nothing appeals to me, I get bored of almost everything that isn’t sparkly and colorful, and I dread having to one day wake up and realize I’ve fallen into the same routine everyone else is struggling with. I’ve hopped from mental land to mental land, changing its aesthetics and ethos to fit my new personal beliefs, to adapt itself alongside my new personal phases, and here we are, glittering kingdom of escapism, another creation of mine to avoid lonely, dull days.

And here we are in reality, sunny, but lonely, day coming to its end, a winter afternoon spent distracting myself, playing up on my cool appeal and ignoring strange signs that tell me perhaps the way in which I deal with things is wrong, hurtful even. This part of my personality is unlikeable, and I am completely aware, but there’s a certain charming quality to blogging about it, this serves no purpose, it brings me no personal growth, it makes me waste time, time I could spend being productive, it makes me someone with no life, but it comforts me. It brings me comfort by serving as a reminder that at some point I used to be the same; stupid, desperate, whiny, annoying, self indulgent. But at some point I got over it, had some incredible moments living in the now, and here I am, momentarily going through it all again.

That’s just the way things work for me, I have a best friend in the form of a computer and hundreds of friends in the form of pretty objects, and I am fine. I am incredibly fine, actually, because my rant is coming to its end, and I allowed myself to be stupid and whiny in the comfort of my own bed, disturbing no one but my keyboard with the stupidity of my philosophy. I am well, incredibly so, the world is my snow globe and I am incredibly important, the most important person to ever exist, and my feelings are all valid and everyone will bow down to me because the Earth stops spinning whenever I feel unwell, that’s just how things are, actually. I am a princess in my own right, incredibly cringey, occasionally unlikable, with a questionable character, internally sweet, annoying on the internet, daydream lover. Sparkly Queen of All That Exists™, that’s just who I am on a saturday afternoon at 5:58 p.m., and now I am incredibly well, feeling jolly and great. Have a jelly day as well, imaginary friend!!!