Damask Vintage Chair

thoughts that repeatedly alternated as I pretended to work

• Maybe I should adapt my incomplete screenplay into a claymation short, although a short technically cannot be over 13 minutes or something, and I would be inclined to cut the characters down, which I do not wish to do, since the supporting roles play a big part in the resolution of the (supposed to be) film.
• Maybe people start out having a ton of trichomes, and are totally covered in them, then get handled, over and over, until it all just rubs off.
• “And it's not "clever lonely" (like Morrissey) or "interesting lonely" (like Radiohead), it's "lonely, lonely" like the way it feels when you’re being hugged by someone and it somehow makes you sadder.” 
• What if I got arthritis, and it rendered me unable to write or type? And I was forced to the point of madness with all of the thoughts inside my head. What if I had to read them aloud; to dictate them to be converted into text? Would I feel so totally heinous speaking those feelings that I just wouldn't be capable? This is not in reference to the writing posted here, but rather the writing not. But, not doing either sort of writing, would I be compelled, then, to actually come up with something decent or at least slightly productive? 
• I don't like secrecy any longer.
• Do other people get really panic-stricken when they think time to time about how they do not truly know their loved ones? Sometimes I have to tell myself facts, details, or entire stories that people have shared with me, in order to reassure myself that I know things about them at all. At times, I will chose a person and replay in my head as much about them as I can, sometimes even relish in knowing those things a bit.
• Highdeas
• I want to text Lacey something, just not sure what.
• I usually wait until my eyes burn too much to focus on whatever it is I am doing, then will attempt to sleep.
• When is it appropriate in one's life to talk about their childhood? (Memories, and what we think of them now?)
• Do anything to me at this time, just don't jerk me around, I hope my friends know not to.
• "The only girl I ever loved, was born with roses in her eyes"
• I should look up the top ten most helpful degrees to graduate with. I should just chose something random for my life and go with it.
• I still feel badly for not saying that I over analyze everything to the extent of absurdity, and instead choosing to say that I feel a long distance relationship is harder with you.
• I need to text Zandra back, because I thought I did, and I forgot, and I know she is like me and thinks about things.
• I never in a million years would have ever believed that I would be living at this house with my dad, Dylan, and Kathryn, again.
• It's really awful that my mom makes fun of my dad for having aspbergers, even if he might not have it. And I wish she hadn't of told me that he told her that he didn't think that he would live very long.
• Glee has turned into everything I could have ever wished it to be. It isn't less funny at all to me, but just deeper, and sadder, and more real, and relatable, and hopefully in that, less popular.
• I do not want to get into my flea-bed.
• I am too immature to be there for people in real life happenings, and it makes me sad, knowing how I should be.
• I wish there were a way to not think about weird situations from my day later on, continually.
• Whenever I get a cut, or scrape, or anything that I think hurts or stings really badly, I think about getting shot. I think about movies were people get shot, and usually then think about when the other person pours alcohol on the wound to sanitize it. I think about how the people scream, and how it is the worst possible pain, and how that makes my tiny cut bother me as much.
• I would pay actual money from my pocket to have any of my close friends be able to observe even so much as a single day in my life. I think things would make sense from then on.
• Do you ever wonder how many girlfriends your dad has?
• "Oh, Joy, where have you been?"

This is what I remember.