Melancholy's a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there

I'm very sleepy, so in effect I suppose I am writing this akin to how I'd be writing if I were drunk.

I was in french class today, wondering how to turn all this around, when I was struck by the brilliant proposition: Considering how I tend to (shamelessly) vomit out my self-diagnosed depressing stories and emotional conundrums on this space, I am creating a vicious cycle of negativity for myself, whereby sad feelings propagates expression of sad feelings, which further triggers sad feelings, etc.

Why, thank you Captain Obvious. I would not have thought of that.

Anyway, brief monologues of sarcasm directed towards one's self aside, I thought that I should do a 180 degree flip. Rather than the usual self-bashing sentiments, I thought I'd canvass my willpower to avoid spilling that hot mess out and instead substitute it with:

a) Any memory where I was properly happy OR,

b) Anything I've ever done that makes me feel good OR,

c) Something that I like about myself.

It may all seem narcissistic, not to to mention supremely self-indulgent. But screw that. I need drastic measures. And we all already know I'm self-indulgent.

So. No more contemplating about social fuck-ups, stupidity, body hang-ups, and sentimental longing.

At least, not on the blog.

Ok. Boleh. Boleh.