Brooding is something I like to do. (Brooding, not breeding.)

Not because I like the act of doing it, but rather I like feeling sorry for myself. It’s easy to feel sorry for yourself, really—maybe because deep down inside you know that you’re the only one who will truly pity you. It’s much easier than making anyone else feel sorry for you, anyway.

It makes me feel masochistic and at the same time really powerful because at that moment I am reminded that I am the one with the most control over my life.

I like to dig up things from the past, the not-so-dead things buried in the cemetery of my mind. Every night I just need to remember to bring along my shovel. It’s a pretty calming practice, really; it doesn’t nearly require as much huffing and puffing as actual digging. And the next morning, you wake up feeling brand new.

I like brooding (not breeding), really. About school, about family, about anything.