Got a taste [mouthful] of my musings this week.
It's been tough trying so consciously to be less conscious. And the worst realization is that it's my own criticism that puts me at fault [plus the fucking sound guy who seems to elevate lecturing me as his moral contribution to the save-the-millennials initiative.]
I'm not perfect, I'm not wrong, I'm not bad, but am I anything really?
Another thing. I've pretty much been living in my own head this summer fantasizing about charismatic interactions with the inside world. So much so that I often am a spewing cluster of lackluster stories, unrounded sentiments, repetitive vocabulary, conversational queue jumps, awkward silences, a volume knob turned slightly too low, and a volume knob turned slightly too high when I do exercise my fantasies in the real world.
Oh God I'm a walking paradox.
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"I'm afraid so. You're entirely bonkers. But I'll tell you a secret. All the best people are."