Life, like the internet, is a series of tubes.

I am not going to say that I am a perfect person.

So, don't think that, please.

But for chrissake, I come home for break, and everyone at home is a fuckin' wreck.

We've got heartbreak hotel in one corner, followed by "I have a shit load of dudes that like me, but none of them are good enough," followed by someone who can't man up and hang out around his ex-girlfriend, thus ruining our group of friends, followed by my psycho parents.

And these moods! For some reason, one of my friends just has this attitude, and she unleashes it on me because she thinks I'm a bitch or something, and damn, it's a killer. Another, no matter how hard I try and please her, I'm nice, I try to help, et cetera, just treats me like a bad guy all the time. I tell myself, "Stacy, you're trying, it's not your fault, just walk away," but it still hurts.

I'll admit, it's getting to me. I came back, all happy and loving, and now, I'm a fuckin' wreck. I'm angry, unhelpful, lazy, et cetera -- and I'm sorry, but I've been diminished to this piece of shit that is my current being.

I wanted to use this blog for universal purposes, not just a personal complaint journal, so, here I go: happiness is arrogance. I was completely selfish to come into a world filled with those who were crying the blues. My "perfect life" was just a reason to spark jealousy, rage, pissing/moaning, and what not, and it was a mistake. I should have been modest with it, laid low, and hid it from everyone. But, God, I just want to have fun on my break, but it's hard to get people to even pretend to be happy around me.

I can't wait until next year, when everyone is out of this shithole of a town, and they've been englightened by the meaning of freedom! For once, Stacy is sayin', "Lighten up!"

Oh, and when I say that I've become a wreck, I believe that to be incredibly true -- but don't worry, I don't need to go into rehab, I'm not Amy Winehouse, and I'll be OK. I'm just "on a mental vacation."

And my plan to find myself has worked out -- I understand what makes me tick, properly, and I've got it covered. Sadly, I am too young, poor, and unable to completely satisfy my complete needs, but this is me:

Hi, I'm Stacy. I'm full of myself and I love it. I'm fairly intelligent, thus not full of too much bliss, but I'm working on it by "letting go" and enjoying the lack of mentally constricting shackles. I like to stay healthy, I appreciate being active and like to exercise everyday, as I did at Drexel. Yes, "health" and looks are important to me, and I don't care what you think -- because, for some reason, people are bothered by this topic in today's society. Since I'm dwelling on this topic, it is obviously important to me. I like hanging out with intelligent people, not just book smart people, but people who know just about everything. If you have no manners/you're a fuckin' dumb ass, I will either tell you this or start being a dick to you to be rid of your presence. Like I said, I'm full of myself, and I have no problems with meeting new people, I'm very social/there are plenty of fish in the sea. My future is set, thanks to co-op/my job/college. I need a form of transportation/I need to fix things with my parents = my main problems, the first easily fixable, the second, a complete monstrosity. We'll all float on/all you need is love/live it up. I'm spent.

But I'd like to finish by saying this -- I really do care about y'all, I want to help you, but it's just impossible -- everyone is "sittin' on an angry chair" à la Alice in Chains, and I have tried, but nothing works. So, instead of making progress, I've been stopped, but that's OK -- but why, I ask, why is it so hard to be happy?

I would first like to say --

this cashew does not taste like a cashew.