No, I'm not going to get a Pulitzer for anything I type here. In fact, I sincerely hope nobody wins the Pulitzer for anything they write in their blog. It's possible, but how fucking weird would this world be where someone's won the Pulitzer, or Nobel Peace Price, etc, for something they've scribed as a Facebook note or MySpace blog? A fucking retarded one, that's what kind. Even more retarded than it is now.
"We present the Pulitzer to Michelle McCloud's insightful piece on America's decline as the premier nation in the world, her views on where we go when we are laid to our final resting place, and how shitty it is that her man Bobby totally was checking out that skank Shelly."
Just saying...I hope it never happens, personally.
Back to me. The title of the entry is true. I tend to talk to myself in mirrors when I feel like saying something to someone but want to try it out on my reflection. As far as I know, it's not some grave sign of an impending psychosis. Personal problems. I've got a shit-load, and there's no end in sight. Basically, I feel pretty damn helpless and I've never wanted to get into a huge, reckless brawl more. I doubt there's any scientific evidence suggesting that rearranging the face of a local punk relieves the feeling that you're unwanted, a failure, and the lowest piece of shit on Earth, but I'll put money on it that it helps.
I'll explain more maybe when I actually get readers.
That's it for today. Have a great day folks, if there are any folks out there...
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