You don't have to be Latino to speak Spanish.

Last night I overcame my more-prudent judgment and decided to roadtrip it up to Dallas (1.5 hours each way) to see a concert. The band was one I knew and have followed for a while. I don't consider myself one of their hardcore fans--let's face it, Reik isn't Shakira.

That's a photo of Reik, btw.

For some reason, I believed the ticket when it said the concert would start at 8:00 and go through midnight. It was an unfortunate belief on my part. I got through the ticket gate by about 8:20 (after a serious parking debauchle) and waited...and waited...no live music happened until about 11:00. Then there were TWO opening acts: the first, "Auranova" was a band out of LA...I didn't think they were so good. Although they played well and had an acceptable score, something the vocals or the lyrics (or potentially a mismatch betwen the tone of both?) didn't work for me. The second opening act was much better. They're from Torreon, Mexico and there name was "Zeri." It wouldn't surprise me if they end up doing well. I've already subscribed to their Youtube channel. Anyway, both acts were a little more hard rock/heavy metal than the upbeat, pop-rock style that Reik usually sings. Although, Reik is also known for many a sweet, ballad-like love song too. Finally, Reik started playing about midnight.

I found that I knew (a little) more of their songs than I thought  I did--due in part because I frequently confuse their songs with that of another group, Camila. I did get the four songs that I really wanted to hear them sing, which was a win. On top of that, they NAILED every song (although it appeared at times that the lead singer may have been lip synching). This is a very talented group. And I'm glad I went; the experience was enjoyable for the most part.

Multiple times throughout the night, though, the band, DJ, or MC-type person would say things like: "Donde esta mi gente de la Raza!" or "Donde estan los latinos?" The group here was probably more than 90% Mexican, chicano, or had strong ties to Mexico (whereas at the Shakira concerts I've attended, even though Mexicans are the majority, there are still sizable showings from South and Central American communities, like Colombia, Ecuador, etc. as well as caucasians). So, every time the question got asked, there was huge response...but not from me. I just kind of wrinkled my face and felt left out in a significant way from the party that was happening around me.

It doesn't help that I'm 6'3", VERY white and was at least eight inches taller than everyone around me. Out of the 300-400 people who were there, there were probably less than a dozen honkies. I think I saw five (but two of them may have been hispanic chicks who dyed their hair blonde). I stood out.

While similar phenomena happened at the JLO/Enrique concert and when I saw Shakira years ago, it wasn't quite to that extent. I would love to enjoy Latin pop without feeling like an outsider--especially when I know the words to the songs as well as or better than the people around me.

Oh well, I can't change my race. I didn't let it get me down because I really did enjoy the concert. Still, a part of me wonders...if we're intending to be a post-racial society, why do we still rely on notions of race/heritage to connect with others? I understand that many people who are part of the same race still share important, common, and relatable experiences within that people-group; but I also think that generalization is less true now than it ever has been. Maybe I'm just impatient...or maybe one's sense of "belonging" is intrinsically tied to the ability to exclude others from a particular group? Mmmm...humans are interesting.

Has being different ever slightly dampened your enthusiams about a particular event?

There was a place in my living room where the popcorn texture had peeled away, exposing the sheet rock. To remedy the ceiling, my parents procured a popcorn-patch kit. After cleaning up the area around the part needing a fixin', the instructions said to insert the spray nozzle into the funnel atop the can and then to apply the produce to the ceiling. After having painted and prepped the area, I discovered that I had no such nozzle.

I may have potentially found a roommate...who wants to see the unit tomorrow. So, there's a rather strong incentive to get all the little things around the house done before the prospect arrives. I needed a fast solution...apparently for me the fastest solution I imagined involved some mild criminal activity.

After getting cleaned up from the paint, I dressed myself like the big boy I am and headed for the hardware store. I wandered the aisles of the Lowe's looking for/at various things: air filters, a strawberry planter/pot, vent covers, ceiling fans, etc. (I may have seen one of my professors with his family--I however quickly diverted course so as not to be seen...because I'm awkward). There were no promising candidates in any of those categories.

I eventually made my way to the paint section where the popcorn ceiling patch stuff was. I found the brand of the stuff that I had bought earlier. I removed the cap...and sure enough, the little nozzle fell out. Why my can didn't have that nozzle, I don't know. Then, I had a decision: I could either buy a new can for $10 in order to get the nozzle that cost probably 25 cents...or I could just TAKE it. I picked the nozzle up from the ground and inspected it carefully. My examination of the nozzle was the external manifestation of the inner tumults of my brain in contemplation of  the decision I was about to make: I looked over each crevice and curve carefully, looking for a clear indication of what course was best.

Before I realized what had happened, I tucked the nozzle into pocket--safely next to a quarter, where the image of George Washington--who cannot tell a lie--rolled his eyes. "Shove it, George," I murmured inaudibly. As I had no more items to procure, I made my way to the checkout. As I approached the exit, another customer with his son was also approaching the exit. Before any of us got to the threshold of the crisp outside air, the alarm went off. That's when my heart started racing.

Fearing that "they were on to me," I shot a judgmental grimace to the man pushing the shopping card. "Clearly," the look said, "this guy is trying to leave with something he didn't pay for." I employ a similar technique when I break detectable "wind" in the presence of others. The man looked confused and a little put out--an employee soon waived him through, saying "Go ahead, no worries." If that employee had only known what sneakiness had passed in the store on her watch!

I know I didn't really get away with anything. If I had taken the can to the store, saying, "My ceiling patch didn't come with the nozzle," they would have done the same thing I did--that is, take one from another can that was already there. Plus, I'm sure I was caught on camera (although, I did get a little nervous and frantically did a perimeter check). If anyone ever attempts to prosecute, I'm sure I'll confess in a torrent of tears, shame, and embarrassment.

The delinquent adventure aside, I did successfully repair the ceiling. It's drying as we speak. I failed to follow the directions about draping the area to limit over spray, so I had a significant mess to clean up afterward. However, what was formerly a blight on my ceiling is not nearly as noticeable. Now, if the potential roommate refuses, it's because of an actual deficiency with the room (or me...cause I'm crazy).

Have you ever shoplifted? Do you think I'm destined for a life of crime?

Before I begin, I should say that I do love my grandmother dearly (except when she's destroying me at Words with Friends, but that's not directly implicated here). She's very thoughtful and concerned about her family--no matter how weird we are. However, at Thanksgiving, there are a few dishes that she makes that we don't really need (along with several that are CRUCIAL, like cornbread dressing). The offenders are jello "salad" and sweet potatoes.

At this point, the jello salad is too foregone. To the best of my understanding (I haven't eaten it in years!), it's a combination of cool whip and squished jello...maybe with some other stuff? fruit maybe? I seem to recall it being garnished with orange slices one year. I do enjoy seeing this on the Thanksgiving spread...even if it's only a source of quiet, knowing chuckles within the family.

The sweet potatoes, on the other hand, present are a more-interesting subject. The typical sweet potato preparation is out-of-the-can sweet potatoes, placed in a casserole dish with some butter and tiny marshmallows on top. It's pretty basic as far as sweet potatoes. It also seems to fail to live up to Thanksgiving standards. What makes it interesting is that today, during toilet time, I had a thought: what if the sweet potatoes could be transformed before turkey time? What if there were a way to make the sweet potatoes into something befitting a Thanksgiving feast?

Confession time: this Thursday, I'm seriously thinking about commandeering the sweet potatoes and fixing them before Granny becomes the wiser. I really yam. (Get it?)

Here's the plan: when Granny arrives, doubtlessly with a trunk full of food, I sneakily portend to help her bring in the food. I quietly locate the sweet potato dish and dart off with it. Then, my brothers actually help her bring in the rest of the food so she doesn't notice I'm gone. Then...I'll get cooking. The plan is to effect a souffle from the sorry excuse for a Thanksgiving side dish.

Step 1: remove the marshmallows. Marshmallows are properly served with s'mores, bond fires, and feelings of sadness or inadequacies. Unless the turkey fry goes wrong, all these should be far removed from the Thanksgiving meal.

Step 2: mash the sweet potatoes. In the same bowl/dish that she brought, I'll take to the sweet potato hunks with a steadfast, destructive diligence. There will be cream and egg yolks on standby. Only once they have reached the right consistency (right on the verge of runny), can I proceed to the next step.

Step 3: add the pre-prepared meringue mixture. The meringue is what provides the "lift" for the souffle. I can have the egg whites beaten with a little bit of salt, and then add either pumpkin pie spice or sage and bacon. This is the tricky part...if the meringue sits out too long it will deflate--and once you add a protein source, you can't whip it back up. Timing is key.

Step 4: pop into the oven. It needs to bake at about 400 for twenty-five minutes or so. Hopefully, at this point everything else is out of the oven. (We fry or smoke turkeys, so no problem on the winged foul front.)

Step 5 (if necessary): create a diversion. If your family goes at Thanksgiving like mine, all the dishes get grouped according to their type: turkey and ham go together; all the vegetables go together, then salads, and other delectables, and desserts. So, it will be easy to see if there is a dish missing from the grub clusters. The diversion will need to be something that makes it look like there's been a last-minute change to the self-service traffic pattern. This won't be difficult because my family frequently does it wrong (cutlery, napkins, and drinks go at the end of the line so your hands aren't encumbered in the food-heaping process...why does no one understand this?!). In the confusion, a misplaced casserole is believable.

Step 6: remove from oven immediately before the meal starts. Hopefully, the souffle will take and the puff will impress everyone. Thus, Thanksgiving will be saved.

Step 7: Make up some B.S. excuse about why it happened when she figures it out. Grannies have a tendency to be sensitive. Plus, there's some reason she thinks she must make it (like my uncle really like sweet potatoes this way, which I'm not sure is even true). TOUGH BEANS! Like the butterball we're about to consume: that ain't gonna fly. I have several possibilities: "I thought it would be fun to try something new this year;" "This is something my sister, who can't be with us, would have liked to have eaten--it's in her honor." But, my favorite is:

"This is symbolic of our family traditions: each generation contributes its own touch to what we do. This contributes to the richness and dynamism of our ever-growing family. Thank you, Granny, for everything you do for us, and for helping us become the people we are. I'm thankful for you." Secretly, I just want sweet potato souffle for Thanksgiving...

What do you think? Is this appropriate? Regardless of whether it's proper, do you think I can pull it off? Do you have any tips/tricks from your own Thanksgiving subterfuge (or should I say "turkey furtivities"? No, you're right, I shouldn't...)

For those of you who might benefit, a brief explanation is not out of order. The hashtag arose with the advent of the Twitteroo. It's a simple way for a user to identify the nature of the tweet so that others looking for tweets of a particular nature can easily find them. For example, if I post about how the temperature is perfect, I might follow the tweet with the hashtag "# weather." The # was a significant part of programmer language and was tapped to solve a problem about how to associate certain, related tweety-peets.

So, when I use them on my status updates or in a text message, you should know that its use is deliberate. That is, I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING. I think this moderate inappropriateness is quirky and comical. It's even funnier because I'm not a part of the Twittersphere. Plus, a hashtag can establish a context that is otherwise difficult to create via written media. For example, compare the change in meaning in the following two examples:

1. "It's hard to juggle and talk at the same time."
2. "It's hard to juggle and talk at the same time." #deafpeopleproblems

I should not have to explain the added value that a hashtag can create to the Internet-savvy: it's like facial expression or voice inflection for the IntArWebZ. But, sometimes people just don't get it...

Today, while texting one of my hermanitos, he referred to my use of the hashtag at the end of a message as "weird." I thought the objectionable hashtag served a rather useful communicative function. It recognized that my particular shortcoming in this endeavor was natural for me given my history of general awkwardness. We were talking about some expression and he had turned it into a double-entendre, but I didn't know if he misunderstood the phrase or was making a joke...so I elaborated. Then, after a little more discourse, I realized that I had misunderstood and ended the string with #TypicalTrey. That's when I got the "weird" comment. Then he had the AUDACITY to say "I'm just trying to help you out..."

It's like he thinks I don't think about what I'm doing. This was upsetting.--more than upsetting. It was an outrage, as the picture indicates. BOOO! I was mad for a while. Then I got over it...mostly.

Do you ever use hasthags outside of Twitter? What does it add to your message?

I took this from @Aloysius_son, who credits @ancient_scribe. I dared to answer...and you can too!

1. What do you consider your first spiritual experience to be? I remember when I was 6 or 7 that I had a choice not to react in anger and that doing so would make God happy. It was simplistic but true.
2. What is the most religious thing you’ve ever worn in public? In high school, a lot of kids from area churches wore t-shirts that said "Follow me" on the front and "I know the way" on the back. I kept the shirt for a while...then I got hot glue on it and it was ruined...
3. What is the kindest act you’ve ever done for someone? A couple weeks ago I gave a guy just out of prison a couple bucks for a bus ride, a shirt because he said he needed one, and a prepared "hobo bag" that I often have lying around. I don't know if that's the kindest, but it's within my recent memory.
4. What is your favorite story from the Gospel or a religious movie? EASTER ZOMBIES! Matthew 27:51-53. I love that part. I don't get it. I don't know why. But, I'm glad it's there.
5. Have you ever prayed with someone from a different religion? Yes, in a public setting, not one-on-one.
6. Have you ever prayed in a public place? Quite frequently.
7. Have you ever participated in a religious service other than your own? Quite often.
8. Have you ever gone outside your spiritual comfort zone in order to move closer to God? Not nearly as often as I should.
9. Are you in a good relationship with God right now? Nope. I'm being rather defiant. I don't want to trust people. "I trust people to do things that are way more important than anything you need them to do," He says. "I know, but you like people more than I do," I say. "Yeah--so dump out the fear and let me fill you with affection," He says. "No, thanks." I say, "I'm still partial to the fear right now. Maybe later."...It's an ongoing dialogue...one that would make the book of Job look like John 11:35! (It's a little Bible humor for you!)
10. What do think God’s wish is for you? To know, grow, and glow in His glory.
11. Whose desires come first in your life: yours or God's? Probably neither...it's probably me being afraid of...everything.
12. Do you struggle with selfishness? What helps you overcome this? Yes, but I'm often too lazy to fight it.
13. Do you struggle with false or empty relationships that distract you from your relationship with God? What relationships help you stay close to God? I don't really do relationships. It's a problem, I know.
14. When you pray, what is your image of God? What do you think of? Image: at the risk of sounding heretical, sometimes He's grandfatherly, but not in a specific form. He's more a presence...and a giant ear.
15. What is on your “spiritual bucket list?” To "adopt" a missionary and help him/her out however I can.

My computer made random noises at the beginning of Constitutional Law today. It was the WORST. Everyone gave me stink eye.

I quickly closed up my laptop and put it away. Unfortunately, it kept beeping despite being closed. Luckily, though, it stopped before the professor got too far into the lecture. So...crisis somewhat averted! I had to take notes by hand, though. I think the entire point of today and yesterday's classes were to recognize that the provisions of the Constitution have to change over time. Maybe. (As you know, I have very strong ideas about the use and interpretation of language.)

That class is kind of awkward for me. For one thing, it's filled with people that I've been trying to avoid. I say "filled," there are like 3. The good news is that there are about 100 people--a fourth of the entire school!--in that class, so I can kind of disappear, which is nice. For another thing, despite my best efforts, I'm still me...which is just a tempest of awkward anytime I go anywhere. For a third thing, this professor and I once wore the same sweater to school on the same day. I'm still recovering from that one...I like to think that I don't dress like a man in his 70s. But, I'm often wrong on many, many things.

Anyway, I earlier proclaimed "I Like How it Feels" as today's anthem. It's been a good fit so far. Alas, now I must read the Tax Code. I am (unintentionally) taking three tax-heavy classes. The good part about it is that Title 26 of the United States Code is delightfully convoluted--just like me. I think the Tax Code and I should get along just fine this quarter. I've promised myself to be more diligent with homework this quarter, and I have a good promise about this resolution. "This time, it's forever; it gets better. And I-I..." well, you know the rest.

Earlier in a pulse I stated that I should stop cleaning up the dead cockroaches from around my apartment. My intent was to keep the living little buggers from making visits. In my mind, it made sense that they would run away if they saw their comrades dead and smashed into the tile in the kitchen...or up against the wall in the living room. However, it appears that this only makes them angry...

Lately, I have been playing host to a series of these. Periplaneta americana, or, the American cockroach.  The ones I find are typically three-to-four inches long. They seem to stand taller than other roaches--sometimes when I catch a glimpse of them from the side (because they're climbing up my cabinets at my eye level), I initially mistake them for grasshoppers. But, these move way, WAY faster.

This morning, as I was getting ready for church, I saw one of these "Americans" climbing near the top of the wall where it meets the ceiling. I dashed back into my room to grab a shoe to bring a hurt on this cockroach like it had never seen in its life. I got a wallop on it. Then, obviously startled, activated its wings and started in a fluttering-foundering descent TOWARD ME! I definitely overreacted...there may have been a girly scream, but I will confess to nothing. When it got to my hip level, I lost sight of it. I thought I saw it go down the stairs. But, I rarely use my hallway lights for electricity-savings so I couldn't see very well. I went back to my room, brushing my self off to 1. reassure me that I was okay; 2. undo my wrinkles; and 3. Check to make sure that roachy-kins didn't alight on my person...he got pretty close.

"Damn," I thought, "missed him." I was dejected. Roaches just make me so angry! I feel like they travel in marauding hoards just to irritate nice people like me...telling each other about their travels and plotting and scheming in their secret chemical language...laying poop trails to tell the others where the food is...copulating and laying eggs by the thousands just to leave their young to fend for themselves. Cockroaches have no redeeming attributes.

After I had a moment to compose myself, I tossed the shoe aside and recollected my things so I could get to church on time. One step out of my bedroom door I felt a tingle over my collar. The intricacies and speed of my next actions could only have been appreciated in slow motion.

I simultaneously retrieved my shoe, batted the cockroach away from my face, and located its landing point on the ground. The chase ensued! The first blow I struck was dead on, but accomplished little other than to make the exo-skelated fiend jump in the middle of his route. The next one, then two, then four strikes each landed a death blow. At that point, though, the violence became more about revenge for me than actually expelling an intruder. The ordeal unnerved me. I can still imagine the prickly sensation of each tiny-pointed foot scurrying from nape to throat....shudder...Only while the roach lie crumpled on the floor did I begin to contemplate the consequences of my actions.

Maybe the dead roach in the kitchen was its lover. Maybe the dead nymph in the dining room was its child. I can see how it would be pushed to revenge. But, this cockroach got neither respect nor sympathy from me. When it comes to arthropods, honey badger and I take the same stance.

So, to all of the pesky pests out there who want to exact pestilence against me: you will meed the blow of my petulant shoe! None who wrongs shall escape my wrath!

Despite a promising beginning, my Friday night in Austin turned out be a bust.

With my last exam for the quarter over yesterday, I was looking for a fun way to commemorate the occasion. Since there's not that much to do in Waco, I decided to see what was happening in either Dallas or Austin--these are much larger cities with vibrant nightlife. In poking around the InTaRWebZ, I saw that there was a flamenco show at a bar in downtown Austin. Since I saw the flamenco show in Sevilla, I've found flamenco mesmerizing (I love the way that the steps become as much a part of the music and sound of flamenco as the guitar). I thought (1) that the show would be fun; (2) it would be a nice way to end the quarter; and (3) I'd like to see how this show compared with the "Espectaculo" that I saw in Spain.

The show started at 8:00, so I left my home a little after six. I didn't quite arrive on time, but there was no problem because the show was a little late getting started. I paid the cover, found a cozy corner and prepared myself for what was certainly going to be an auditory and visual delight. It was. I really did enjoy the flamenco. I'll post a more in-depth blog about how it compared to the one in Sevilla later.

This is the bar where I saw the flamenco show.

After the show, I went to check on my car to make sure that I hadn't gotten a parking ticket (I took a spot and didn't pay the meter! I'm living on the edge!) I hadn't. So, I decided to make the four-block walk to Sixth Street to see what was happening. This is where the story gets fun!

While walking along, there seemed to be a pretty substantial party happening on the roof of a club. There were cool light effects, and JAMZ with thumping bass. I wanted to be there. BUT! I didn't want to pay a cover. Instead, I walked back an alley and climbed up and over the roof to drop in (The roof was not at a steep pitch...and there was a telephone pole involved...I'm discovering that  I have a tendency to climb things when I'm tipsy. There's your fun Trey fact for the day.). I freaked someone out when I kind of popped over the edge of the roof and dropped into a little seating area. Fortunately, the couple wasn't making out--so no party foul on my end! After a "Shhh" gesture by me and after a short string of mild expletives, everyone seemed to move on from the moment.

The music was nice. But, what do you do when "Danza Kuduro" comes on and you're the only one who knows the words? You look ridiculous is the put your "manos arriba" in keeping with the song. You look just plan dumb when you "dar una vuelta" all by yourself. As I get older, I'm increasingly intolerant of monolingual Americans (which is probably hypocritical since I've been monolingual for a larger part of my life than I've been bi/trilingual...but, COME ON!). On a comical note, there was a random dancer dressed as a storm trooper/futuristic soldier. I didn't know the costume--it wasn't actually a storm trooper because the "armor" was like an army green color. His presence was fun for the peeps there.

Here's the downside: there was no one to dance with. There was one chick there who was a pre-med student at Baylor (where I go to school), but she ditched me for the bar. I was bummed. I know I'm not attractive; but I didn't realize I was positively repulsive. Furthermore, when I tried to send my friends texties about what was happening, they didn't seem to care. I CLIMBED A FREAKING BUILDING TO GO TO A CLUB. Meh...maybe they've just lead more-interesting lives than I have and aren't as impressed with things. After spending an hour or so there, my buzz wore off and I decided just to go home. So I did. The drive seemed longer coming back than going in.

So, for all that, Austin you could have done better. As I type this, I realize that I brought my issues to Austin, rather than encountering them when I got there. Still...for someone who's ready to live it up on a Friday night, you'd think Austin would be more receptive.

I need to procure a new pair of running/jogging/athletic shoes.

I had to leave my previous pair in Switzerland. For one thing, they had been worn and they were emitting a terrible smell (like cat urine). I think some part of the plastic had been exposed--the smell lingered even after a good washing. For another thing, not packing them freed up a lot of space in my luggage.

However, this left me without a pair of shoes that I can exercise in. As a result, I haven't really exercised. I'm just now feeling the consequences: I've gained a lot of weight. In my defense, I am 6'3", so adding a few pounds isn't as noticeable when its' stretched over that much human. I hope to have a chance to get new shoes this weekend and put the non-exercise and stress-eating phase behind me with my last exams. (Two tomorrow and one on Friday--Wish me luck!)

There's something poetic about getting a new pair of shoes: your shoes literally help you go places. In the case of jogging shoes, there's an even stronger emphasis on the journey over the destination. I suppose, then, that it is well timed that my need for new shoes coincides with an awareness that I need just to keep moving forward...or at least to get away from where I am now.

There have been unending sources of anxiety for me lately: all the demands of school, my programs being in limbo, worrying about getting a job, what I want out of life, family obligations, etc. I've not handled them well. Like most things, I close my eyes and hope that they go away by themselves so I don't have to handle them. I don't like when things get messy or complicated...so I don't deal in those matters.

I've discovered that my motto for life is: "If it's worthy doing, it's worth doing right; if you can't do it right, then why even bother?" Where there is little expectation of handling an issue appropriately or that the outcome will be worth the trouble, there's little incentive to make the attempt. I'd rather just leave it and do something else...

But! Soon, I can run.

I'll put on my shoes and make an escape: across the street, down the sidewalk, maybe even through campus. It won't be fast because my "run" is halfway between a gallop and lumber. Still, I'll be moving. And it won't matter where I go, because just about anywhere will be better than here. Destination: flexible.

Hooray new shoes!

Why is that sometimes we feel the need to tell someone (anyone, no one specifically) something? What is the benefit of someone else knowing? A simple transmission of knowledge doesn't change anything...Why isn't honesty with oneself enough?

That is, if I believe X, or if Y is true about me, and I know it, what good does it do me to tell someone else? It doesn't change anything. The other can't do anything about X or Y. The curious thing is that that understanding is beneficial. It's completely irrational...still, there has to be some reason to it, right? I need to know! (Please note: it took a lot of restraint to use only one exclamation point there. A LOT.)

Cursed humanity!

School has been stressful lately. And normally I find things stressful...not because they have to be, but because I need them to be. I need a certain stress level to make myself do anything; or else, I always need to exert a certain amount of mental energy, and stress is the way it comes out. In any case, the history of my life has been a lot of stress, most of which was self-imposed. However, school lately has been the kind of stressful that I haven't been making for myself. It's completely out of my hands. With this kind of stress, it's illuminated certain other parts of my life...largely  because I've not been in "control" (in a obsessive, tightly wound sense) of my life.

I've lately convinced myself that I have some sort of personality disorder. It wasn't an easy process; I've been trying to divine whether avoidance personality disorder or borderline personality disorder was a better fit for my weirdo behaviors. But, because of the mood swings and impulses that I hate and the fact that I tend to get through group situations, I think it's BPD rather than APD. (Although, from what I can tell, there is some overlap, and the two aren't mutually exclusive.)

And I want someone to know...but I can't make myself say it because I don't understand why it will make me feel better (also, I'm not 100% sure it will). Plus, there's a chance that it's too burdensome for the knowledge holder. The last thing I want is someone to share knowledge with me that creates some sort of responsibility I feel unequipped to handle. So, by the golden rule, I don't really want to risk imposing that burden on someone else.

So, it's probably best for this just to stay with me for the time being. My intention really is to make this a public post, but at a remote point in the future (so that you'd really have to look for it to find it).

Anyway, Xanga, that is all for the evening. Have blessed memories.

EDIT: I finally made this public! (Nov. 16, 2012)