Feeling shitty twice over

I am watching one of those asian beetles slowly die, and it is honestly one of the most heartbreaking things I've ever seen. It's one of those trainwreck scenarios where it's horrible, and you can't really do anything about it, but you just can't look away.

I'm one of those females of the "ridiculous" classification, and I recognize this, even if I don't condone it. I often do things that I know will hurt me, emotionally, in the long run simply because I can't let go, or my curiosity gets the better of me. Sometimes this is enabled by subconscious dreams and then aggrevated by some boy's uncanny bad timing, but it is mostly my own fault.

There is nothing I want more out of life than to be Happy. "Be Happy" is my Number One Priority, after all. This isn't to say that I am currently unhappy with my life situation, I am happy, very much so, in pretty much all departments including the romantic division. I am just crippled by one stupid, ricidulous, and incomprehensibly fruitless burden.

I keep telling myself it's a phase, or that I was so lacking excitement in my life that I built this up to something way out of proportion, but a part of me, most of me, disagrees. It feels real, undeniably and painfully real. I can't pretend that I don't feel physically sick over this when I fail to adequately distract myself, and I can't deny that all I am doing with my absolutely incredible life right now is just that: distracting myself. I am thouroughly disgusted with the fact that I am spoiling all of my opportunities for happiness, my internship, my friends, this Alex thing, radio, speech team, with this one completely irrelevant and pointless trouble.

I'm not sure if I've iterated enough how stupid this "problem" is. It's so stupid, that it's not even actually a problem. It's me being irrational and dwelling on something that doesn't even exist. I stated in the immediately preceeding entry that when something petty is bothering you, it sucks ten times harder because then you feel guilty and stupid for even worrying about this situation. In essence: I feel really shitty about feeling shitty over something that isn't real. God, I love being me.

To keep you up to date, my beetle is flipped over on it's back, probably in the last throes of whatever poison it walked across, and because I am too grossed out by bugs, I can't even find the gumption to flip it over to let it die with dignity.

Curious George,
Catherine