Sometimes, I'm so awkward it hurts. Existing around other people is painful, mostly because existing around other people often incites interaction with said other people, which is often, itself, painful.

I believe I can move on. Every day, I think of the dumb things I said and the dumb way I said them, but every day I move on. I try to convince myself that it's OK, and I move on.

Realistically, there's much that really wasn't OK. I see it now, in retrospect. However, perhaps very importantly, I notice that I can't tell at the time. When you do something bad, it feels world-ending -- at least it is so for me. Then, as time passes, it might prove to be truly devastating, or it might fade into the never-ending meaningless tapestry of cringe that we all weave as we live. Critically, one cannot tell which is which. That's some comfort, I think.

Many things are like that, I've come to realize. That's actually good, I think. More and more, experience validates my selfish way of life.

The drawback of this is that I can't quite tell if it's some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy; Living selfishly makes it so that things feel out of your control, and then things don't matter because you don't care. Maybe?

I don't know, but... Well, I don't care. I'm living selfishly, after all.

I wore my dark corduroy pants, this time. Long time no wear for those ones. I also wore some nice shoes.