Everyone has issues. Everyone has issues and problems they encounter. Everyone has obstacles they overcome and everyone has stumbling blocks they trip over.

I've got problems. I've got ADD. I'm obsessive compulsive. I'm a control freak. I have a shitty memory. I fail to take many things too seriously. I laugh at everything. I believe in an ideal world that ought to exist but doesn't. I believe in the goodness of humanity. I trust people too easily. I'm too emotionally vulnerable. I'm too cautious when it comes to trusting people. I get jealous in a heartbeat. I am possessive. I can ever control my emotions. I cry at anything, whether I'm sad or angry. I take everything too lightly. I have a natural lagtime of 2 weeks. I read too much into everything. I take many people for granted. I assume there is an inherent goodness in the universe. I am impatient. I try not to judge but I do. I fell into my zone of contention.

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I'd quite forgotten how strangely reassuringly good it feels to be angsty and cynical. It is very vey cathartic. Explains why George and Martha of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? are so fuckingly dysfunctional and cut-throat and wonderfully enthralling.

Being to hunky-dorily happy leads one into a lull. That spark of cynicism and angst really does spice things up, doesn't it? Except of course the repercussions aren't always good.

Whatever, fuck that shit. I'm over it.