The ever-so-twisted un-fun stories.

I've quite recently come to the conclusion that I really do not like weird, twisted plots... in movies or books or whatever else people like Tim Burton come up with. I've in the past professed to enjoy twisted things like that, but I only noticed tonight how truly strange they make me feel. Why would I put myself through such an uncomfy feeling just for some entertainment?

Sorry, world... but I didn't like Coraline. If you're going to throw any veggies, throw tomatoes. They're soft and taste the best.

Twenty-one.

So. I've been an adult for approximately three days. At this point, I'm fairly certain that said age does not apply to my state of mind. At all. My parents were getting married at the age of twenty-one. There aren't even twenty-one boys in my life right now. I'm terrified that the common factor is finally peeking around the corner: moi.

I cannot blame anyone but myself for my current situation in life, right? Consequently, I blame myself. No shocker there. But you know, it's really not heroic to stand back, evaluate your life, and come to the conclusion that you suck. However true, such thoughts aren't very beneficial to one's health in any way. Nonetheless, that's the state I've been in for a while. I keep wondering what the heck is wrong with me.

Then. The Love of my life reminds me that, well... I don't suck. I'm still not worthy, but every once in a while it's comforting to remember that there is no one else for me but Jesus Himself. I wish I could see past the big picture... I wish I were able to pick out the little bitty things that should daily make me fall more in love with Him. I wish.

I thought that the glorious age of twenty-one would instantly make me more mature. Sadly, I'm mentally, emotionally, and physically the same person I was three days ago. Selfish and searching and lost without Him.