I hate goodbyes.

I’ve had friends leave several times in the past, some really good friends, and each time it happened, I’d just spiral into what I think now to have been just very shallow depression, but depression, nonetheless. I’d take to my journal, or to whoever was unlucky enough to tell me they’d listen, until the feeling was gone.

I read stories about people leaving (whether willfully or not), about being left behind, and they tug at my heartstrings. Recently, one of my closest friends left for good. Working abroad, living abroad. I’m happy for him, happy to see him succeed and reach his dreams, but it tore me apart.

I hate the feeling of being left behind. They’re moving on to what I can only assume to be better lives, and I’m… just here. Stuck in their past. They continue growing there, I continue growing here, and we just continue growing apart. It came to a point where I told myself that one day, I’d be the one to do the leaving. I’d be the one to say goodbye and make them feel miserable.

It’s a terribly thought, based on a very terrible feeling, but somehow, I don’t think that resolve’s completely gone. How many hiatuses have I gone through on this blog? Three? Four? I get so much pleasure from taking time off from something as routine as Tumblr partially because I’m doing the leaving. I get to leave people behind, and it makes the sick little teenager in me happy. I play the work card because it’s true, and it’s convenient, but I have this theory in my head that if I didn’t have that underlying need to leave and make people feel miserable, I’d probably keep blogging despite my work schedule.

This makes me seem like a very terrible, unlikeable person, but besides this (and a couple other things), I’m a really nice boy. Ask my friends :)

Have any of you ever had that weird, too-hard-for-words-to-explain feeling that, in your small circle of friends, you were the one who loved most the idea or that one identity you and your friends share by being in a solid group of friends? So much so that you do everything you can think of to reaffirm that connection you all share by being so annoying as to have countless photos with them, or to mention all their names in albums, photo captions, Twitter updates, etc. to let people know that you guys are, indeed, friends, as if it weren’t obvious from the get-go.

Out for a drink. Having an amazing night. @friend1 @friend2 @friend3 @friend4

Thanks for an awesome, drunken night. I love you guys! @friend1 @friend2 @friend3… @friend999

Ever had any of those kinds of friends in your circle?

Well, I’m that guy in all of my circles of friends. The broken record who just won’t shut up about how awesome the night was with his friends (and then goes on to name them every goddamned time he can), or that overbearing one who just won’t stop taking photos with all his friends (they have to be complete in every photo because how will people know he’s got friends if they’re not in it?), or even the borderline delusional one who has to come up with new, otherwise unimportant ways of solidifying their identity as a group of friends by, for example, giving them a name.

Okay, maybe the last one’s a bit extreme, and I’ve only ever really done that twice in the past, but that kinda gives you an idea as to how clingy I used to be.

Or still am.

Hopefully not :D

The last time I posted anything in the Random Facts section was ten whole months ago, on March 4. So, since I’m still racking my brain for a decent 366 (and since it’s already 12:34 in the morning, thus giving me Sleep as an excuse to delay said post until tomorrow), I figured I’d share a little sumthin’ sumthin’ about myself.

In order to fall asleep, I need all five of my pillows to be in an exact position around me, my huge comforter of a blanket covering the entirety of my pillows and me.

I need to have one of the soft, thinner pillows under my head, a soft, fat pillow against my back, a fluffier, fat pillow for my legs to hug, a long body pillow for my arms to hug, and a small micro-bead pillow for my hands to hold while hugging my body pillow. It’s a really weird arrangement, but if even just one of those pillows is missing from the fray, I’m gonna have the hardest time falling asleep.

One time, my brother took one of them and fell asleep hugging it, rendering it MIA when I was about to go to sleep. I ended up fidgeting around my bed all night, trying so hard to get a right sleeping position. That was a really bad night.

FACT #007

Whenever I’m on a diet, I tend to get very creative with the food I eat.

Going on a diet for me usually means abstaining from certain types of carbs: rice, bread and pasta. Given that all I really allow myself to eat is meat and a combination of everything else not carb, I try my best to make this whole dietting shebang as fun as I can by mixing everything I can get my hands on, with utter disregard of how bad it may possibly taste.

Besides the glass of OJ I’m already cheating with so early in the morning, for breakfast, I made myself corned beef with oregano, basil, peppercorn and cayenne, with a deep layer of ketchup under, and a layer of mashed pork and beans on top. I’m aching to know if this is edible at all.

Since I haven’t done one of these in the longest time, I figured that maybe I should do one to shake up my dead dashboard. Plus, you guys get a small dose of useless information about yours truly. Win-win situation, right? Right?

I secretly enjoy the uncalled-for pressure of having to make up for all the countless hours of procrastination.

I usually, probably unintentionally, end up wasting too much precious time on watching downloaded shows, scrolling endlessly through Tumblr and Twitter, and on some rare occasions, chatting with friends online, despite having major requirements due the next day. Before I know it, it’s ten-thirty in the evening and I’m sleepy as fuck. I end up going to bed and just waking up early, just a few good hours before everything is due, to get everything done. I get it done on time, filled with more panic than you can ever imagine, and end up getting good grades. It’s a poisonous, never-ending pattern.

I like living on the edge. Oh yes, I do.

Not having an opinion about everything scares the living lights out of me.

Our philosophy professor pointed out yesterday how he, despite not actually understanding completely what his friends or family were going through at a given point in time, would offer his opinions and unsolicited advice. He needed to have a say about anything and everything, lest he be branded stupid. It wasn’t even told in-line with the topic; it was told as an aside, while filling in some awkward silence.

Without much brouhaha, he was able to concretize this unexplainable side of me that’s been becoming mildly frustrating these past few months. I have to have something to say, especially when friends or family feel strongly about it. But it’s not being branded as stupid; it’s being branded as someone who doesn’t give a fuck that drives me crazy.

I definitely have to do something about this.

Whenever I kill a huge population of ants, I always try to give their massacre a cool name. I mean, it’s the least I could do.

Kitchen Sink Massacre, Leftover Apple Streusel Massacre, Bedroom Wall Massacre, Last Night’s Beers Massacre, among others.

Yes, I’m very creative.

While waiting for all the normal TV series to resume, I’ve been downloading and spending all my waking hours watching Community, Degrassi and Pretty Little Liars.

College drama, high school drama, girl drama. Yeah, dramas.

And then, when I get bored of watching all that, I pretend to work on thesis.

I usually lay a guilt trip on myself after having insanely awesome good times the night before.

I guess this has its ups and downs.

Downs would be, besides my being a total party pooper, that I don’t really get to enjoy the happy, post-party feeling for a longer time. I wake up, buzzed or not, and decide that BAM! fun’s over, time to get back to work.

That being said, an obvious up would be that magis boost that comes with it. I end up getting more work done because I feel like I have to make up for having a good time. IDK It’s hard to explain.

But really, to sum it all up, partying leads to getting more things done ;)

I play back important conversations in my head after having them with people I care about.

Did I say the right thing? Did I reply in the right way? Is that what he/she wanted to hear from me? Is that what I should have said? Should I have worded my lines better? Will anything bad or good come of anything I said?

I try steering clear of these heavy conversations whenever I can because sometimes, I end up thinking about him/her, and the conversation we had, the entire day.