Basketcase
I don't know what my problem is lately. I've been worrying over such trifles and getting myself twisted in knots over nothing and listening to entirely too much Death Cab (even I know there IS such a thing). I suppose most of it is the 20-something disease--finally knowing what you want but not quite being able to have it yet. My internship's finished, so there's no hope in convincing the relentlessly achievement-oriented part of my brain that I'm making any headway. And of course it never does any good to spend my lunch hours on LiveJournal rather than searching out new and exciting ways of putting my brainiac tendencies to lucrative use. Half of me wants it to be next year this time, when I'm tripping over bums on the sidewalks of NYC and having my wallet stolen and apartment hunting for places with relatively low cockroach populations. (Ever the optimist, I know.) But the other half is scared as fuck to even consider what it'll be like to leave this place. Changes are never essentially bad - I figure anything that moves you along has got good at the heart of it. I just think about them too much. Worry that it'll all be for the worst and I'll end up flat on my wide-eyed face. But I guess if you go through life with a worst-case scenario attitude, maybe the good stuff just ceases to impress you. Or worse, just doesn't crop up at all.