#confessions

I just picked up my laptop to shake out the crumbs from the keyboard. I eat everything and anything in front of my computer while probably googling your name and hometown.

I also just googled "laptop" to see if it was one word or two words. Guess it's one.

An ex of mine hated my cat sweatshirt and granny glasses. I pretended like it wasn't a big deal, but inside I knew that that was a sign that it wasn't meant to be.

I act like being a cashier is sooo silly and trivial, but it's actually a lot of work, especially for an introverted gal like me. I need to stop downplaying my achievements (and yes, making it through a shift is an achievement for me) and start giving myself some credit.

Speaking of credits, I took, like, 200 credits in college, whatever that means. And by "200," I probably mean "350." I really overdid it, didn't I. ("Overdid" - one or two words?)

"Meghan... Yeah... She's a lot more awkward in person and kind of boring." This is what I imagine everyone who meets me in non-Internet life says/thinks about me. Oh! But guess what! Ninety-nine percent of the time people never think about anyone but themselves. We are the 99%.

I've got some things to say about Lady Gaga. Ask me sometime. In non-Internet life. Yeah, sure. Like we're ever gonna hang out in the real world.

The Real World. In the back of my mind I always imagined that I'd end up being on that show. BUT GUESS WHAT? Now I'm too old to even try out. What the fuckity fucko. It's, like, when did I suddenly become elderly?

What Dreams May Come is a dumbass movie. ("Dumbass" is definitely one word. I'm not some dumb ass.)

Writers are dumbasses.

There is so much I want to write/type/tweet about him (and him), but I won't. He (they) would just love the attention. OH SNAP.

Okay. Okay. Time to eat breakfast and look for a Xanax underneath the couch cushions.