perfect kisses lead to one night stands...

Before anyone says anything...its a song lyric. I did not kiss anyone or in any way, shape or form cheat on Adam. That being said, everyone should go listen to The Apathy Eulogy right now.

Last night I had a really intense discussion. Actually, two. One with Adam and one with Mike (different Mike, this one lives in Maryland...like half hour from school).

With Adam, he and I started getting into Elizabeth Wurtzel-- wrote Prozac Nation, Bitch & More, Now, Again--and how she's my generation's Sylvia Plath & Anne Sexton. That thought kind of bums me out actually... I hate comparing great writers to each other. It just seems to trivial. Wurtzel is brilliant though. If I was to writing confessional memoir, that's how I would write it. I also really appreciate her use of voice. Wurtzel is self-depricating but at the same time so beautifuly tragic.

But then Adam made the mistake of comparing me to Wurtzel and started making suggestions on my writing. Like topical suggestions, not just editorial. I cannot stand that. I mean, he is not my editor. He is not even a WRITER in my eyes. He wants to be some mass-produced drugstore novelist a la Stephen King. I'm sorry but I really don't consider that talent. I love Adam to death, but it is not his place to compare me to great writers then try to completly alter my pieces.

I don't know. Maybe I'm just bad at this whole relationship thing. Adam tries, he really does. And I think I'm happy with him...but at the same time, it really kills me that he hadn't even heard of Waiting for Godot or know what existential meant. I don't know. Whatever. I really do love him though. Like the kind of love that makes my heart go all flippy even when he just texts me. Haha. I am such a dork.

Thank goodness Mike called me right after though. I am completly aware that I get elitist sometimes and he's not afraid to call me out on it. Actually, he didn't even call me out on it, no. He BITCHED me out. Which, let's be honist, I needed. But then, we started analyzing Les Jeux sont faits by Sartre. Now, is it just me or would you be a little confused about this? I mean, yeah...I should hope that everyone has read or at least knows of Sartre but to call me a pompus snob then inquire about my views on the classic paradoxical moral victory that are very much present in his work seems a bit...off to me.

And now I just feel so drained. But I love that feeling, you know? It's almost like here at home I'm in this vapid space where no creative or intelligent minds dare wander.

And now...I feel like a really bad person. Because, albet all of the crap my family has put and still puts me through, they're not stupid. It's just that I feel so trapped here. When I'm home, I am a completly different person and it really sucks because I want everyone up here to see that I'm not the little narcisistc bitch they became accoustomed to dealing with.

Whatever.