Dreams Can Be Deceiving, Like Faces Are

I Also Just Accept That I Might Never Want To Write A Song Again.

It Pisses Me Off To Think We're Conditioned To Push Away Bad Feelings And Think Anything That's Uncomfortable Is To Be Avoided. When Things Are Really Bad Nowadays, I Recognize The Value In It Because It's Me Filling My Quota- It's Going To Make My Joy More Intense Later.

I Spend A Lot Of Time Trying To Not Do Anything Bad To Anyone, But You Can't Live Your Life And Not Hurt People.

I Had Really Bad Obsessive-compulsive Disorder. At Its Worst, I Was Compelled To Leave My House At Three O'clock In The Morning And Go Out In The Alley Because I Just Knew That The Paper-towel Roll I Threw In The Recycling Bin Was Uncomfortable, Like It Was Lying The Wrong Way, And I Would Be Down In The Garbage.

When I Was A Kid--10, 11, 12, 13--the Thing I Wanted Most In The World Was A Best Friend. I Wanted To Be Important To People; To Have People That Understood Me. I Wanted To Just Be Close To Somebody. And Back Then, A Thought Would Go Through My Head Almost Constantly: "there's Never Gonna Be A Room Someplace Where There's A Group Of People Sitting Around, Having Fun, Hanging Out, Where One Of Them Goes, 'you Know What Would Be Great? We Should Call Fiona. Yeah, That Would Be Good.' That'll Never Happen. There's Nothing Interesting About Me." I Just Felt Like I Was A Sad Little Boring Thing.