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It’s those little things that fuck me up the most.

I didn’t go see Kevin Devine and Chin Up Chin Up tonight. I thought it might have made me worse. Yesterdays good mood completely evaporated by the time I got to the office.

I (eventually) finished Jpod today, and although I didn’t like it very much, and it felt contrived and wrong and like it was written to be broadcast by the people behind chuck at NBC, I was still sad that it was over, fictional friends are always harder to let go than real life ones. And it’s not just that these characters are percet, for I am a big fan of character flaws, in you know, characters. In real life people they tend to leave a bad taste in my mouth. Not least of all mine.
Why don’t the people i work with exhibit any fun geeky couplandesque qualities. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to live in Microserfs. Then I could partake in the breakfast cereals decadence conversation, and it would be the 90s. And everything would feel slightly less hopeless, and not so old.
I am getting better at being okay with realising I really can only rely on myself. People schmeople.
Today has been confusing.

Fucking solar eclipse in Virgo.

I don’t like not being in control of other peoples perception of me. I’m re-reading pretty in punk to try and make some sense of this. I think I need a punk rock therapist. I really don’t think that you can figure me out, without at least a slight pop-cultural frame of reference. It can’t all be as basic and Freudian as first assumed eh?

It’s 10 days tomorrow, til I turn 30. I’ve mostly stopped freaking about it, I don’t think I’ll stop beating myself up about the things I feel I should’ve done though. Fixing me is hard work.

But for now, I guess I’ll just sit here and listen to Jim Yoshii and think it all out.

By Kim

Books and bands and movies and TV and booze, mostly.

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