Compulsive confessing

Thesis completion has come into view, and more than ever, I think about studies that should be done about compulsory confessing, how people “spend time” on MySpace (doing what exactly?), and why people use sites like Yelp.

Here I am taping myself in the restroom at work.

click to play video

If you really look, in general, you will see a lot of chewing gum on the ground.

Once, in high school, my best friend and I stopped at a gas station around 8:30PM for a fill-up. The shop was closed, so we took every nozzle off its holster and laid them on the ground in protest. Then we drove away.

I had a hypnotist friend in college who told me he couldn’t allow me to stop biting my fingernails through trance until we’d found the root cause of my habit. “We can’t take it away from you if we don’t know why you need it.”

I have no idea what I want to happen to my body when I die beyond the cremation stage. I’m also unsure of what should happen directly before that.

One time I sent one of those emails to an ex, the “I wish you the best” crap that should have been reserved for someone who wasn’t an emotionally abusive bro-dude looking for Christian blow jobs. I will always regret wishing him “the best” of something.

Political rallies often make me cry. So do elderly people who eat alone in public, being yelled at, and sometimes, very important rock concerts.

I recently read that a “midday text could be all it takes to get him primed for that night.” Apparently Glamour magazine thinks my cell phone is some kind of man remote control. Andreas does not have a phone while in the States. We share mine. I guess I’ll have to type a message and hand it to him across the couch cushion.

I had an anonymous blog for one month, a year ago. It’s still there, but I don’t write. I miss its daily cleanse. It may be time to start again.

Wait right here.
Right here?
Yes.