Ah, sobriety.
Not to mention bitterness. [doh2]

I don't know if I'll blog everything I'm thinking (I'm not Ultra-tired P@, after all, so I *do* have restraints), but I'm sure a good portion of it will get out.

Here's how to make the world better: Clone some kind of monkey/robot/dog/sex slave thing for everysingle person on the planet. This monkey/robot/dog/sex slave thing will give every person undivided attention 100% of the time. Whenever you want someone to notice that you're wonderful, just turn to your mrds. Whenever you think people aren't paying enough attention to you, go to your mrds. Cause here's the thing. It seems that some people (actually, a LOT of people) can't stand NOT being the center of attention. Well, the world just doesn't work that way.
But with mrdses in the world, problem solved. Hurrah!

Another thing - why do people care what other people think? I mean, I'm glad that we do (can you imagine what it would be like if nobody gave a flying f*ck about ANYONE?), but there needs to be some kind of balance, I think. Too often we put so much stock into what other people will think if we do this, or say that. And in the end, their opinions just aren't that important. I mean, so someone thinks you're a fool. BIG DEAL!! Do you have to look good in other's eyes all the time? [sigh]

A good portion of this epidemic of 'other-people-itis', I think, stems from school. In school, you learn that if you give the "right" answers, you get attention (going back to the mrds thing), and people like you. And we all want to be liked. Even by people who we shouldn't want to be liked by. (Hmm. I'm starting to think that drunkP@ made more sense than soberP@)

The bottom line of all this, I guess, is to thine own self be true. While you don't want to delibaretly hurt other people, you shouldn't hurt yourself, just for other's approval.
Or something. [shrug]

Tonight I'm airing The Wizard of Oz. Normally, I'd say "Yay!" (and it is a yay! event) but it's on up against Futuremama and The Bimpsons. So I'm gonna miss at least an hour of it. Sorry, Dorothy.

What else?

I'm hoping that in the next month that I might actually do some writing. You know, of the fiction kind? I mean, while the journal thing is nice, and (hopefully) slightly amusing, doing something else would be a great relief to my mind.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go pay attention to my monkeyrobotdogsex slave.