I’m never going to be in a real relationship until I can find someone as intelligent as I am. (Yes, I know this sounds arrogant, but it’s true.)

Discuss.

So, I really need to blog more. About interesting things.

I will do that. Just… not right now.

Maybe tomorrow.

I think I’m incapable of really caring about somebody else. I do, really. I’ve met an astonishingly small number of people who’ve really interested me. People are boring and stupid. And it drives me crazy.

The reason why I’m unhappy here is not because I dislike IIT. Actually, I find most of my classes to be enlightening and even fun. I think the reason I’m unhappy here is because I hate 99% of people under the age of 24.

I’m extraordinarily judgmental, and it’s an effort just to be polite to some people.

I hate small-talk. I hate surface relationships.

I like silence. I think that’s because I’m surrounded by conversation all of the time and it’s distracting. Most things are distracting. Words are like gifts; they should be chosen carefully.

I’m a perfectionist, but strangely enough I like organicity in music and art. I find that straight lines often oversimplify. They never tell the whole story, only the part that the teller wishes to notice.

When I learn things, I have to learn it correctly and I have to learn it entirely. This means I put off teaching myself things a lot. I would rather not learn something than to learn it incorrectly.

I procrastinate on a lot of things because I’m afraid of not being ready. I’m afraid of not being able to do things perfectly.

I want the universe to be perfect. I want to destroy everything that’s not perfect and create perfect things in their place.

I’m scared of not being able to do everything I want to do before I die. And for that reason, I’m afraid to start. Because it makes more sense to figure out how to live forever instead.

The music of Nico Muhly makes me cry.

I try to read sometimes, but I have no motivation for it. It seems so inefficient. I want to be able to hook my brain up to a machine that will upload the book’s contents instead.

Books also have so much dead space. Filler. I wish people would say what they meant. As efficiently as possible.

Nobody seems to think that I’m a weird person, and I find that ridiculous. I think I’m crazy. I’ve imagined committing suicide multiple times. I imagine stabbing things sometimes. I’m not a violent person, but I get frustrated at the smallest of things.

I’m more of a perfectionist when it comes to sound more than with any other sense. I need silence. I notice the pipes humming, wind blowing through the vents, people talking in the other room. People humming to themselves. People tapping their pens or pencils. There is too much noise. So much noise.

I like listening to silence. Because silence is never really silence. There is always something going on, but the noise is never threatening. Silent noises are like the noises of a quiet mind.

When my roommate is in my room, I feel distracted. Even if he’s not doing anything. Even if he’s staring at his computer with headphones on. I feel a little bit trapped, as if I can’t really let my guard down.

I sleep best when the temperature is really cold and I have a comforter. I curl up into a ball and hold it in close.

I have a horrible memory. I forget people’s names at parties two minutes after I’m told them.

My dreams always make sense. They switch often, from one scenario to another, but each individual dream is always logical. I often have to make some decision and weigh the choices carefully and the consequence of the decision I make sometimes surprises me. I rarely remember individual dreams though. I only remember a dream when it is important enough for me to tell myself to remember it right before I wake up.

I am sarcastic sometimes, but I never change my inflection to show I’m being sarcastic. I don’t know why I do this. Maybe it’s because I hate the sound of a sarcastic voice. Maybe I’m simply being socially manipulative. I do that sometimes. I don’t like to; I know it hurts people on occasion.

I don’t like for people to depend on me for anything, because I’m very selfish. I don’t do things for other people unless I get something out of it. But, at the same time, I don’t want for people to get hurt because of my selfishness.

I don’t hate myself. I don’t hate myself because I know I couldn’t change myself if I tried. Because I have tried. For example, when I came out to my dad and he told me to try to have sex with a girl and see how I liked it, I tried imagining Liv Tyler naked. I thought her breasts were beautiful. In my imagination, they were shiny and round. But I couldn’t get myself to be sexually attracted to this image. Only vaguely interested in the shininess.

My life dream is to be a Mad Scientist. I want to have an underground laboratory and I want to be completely isolated from human contact. I want to write a novel and a symphony down there. I want to listen to the music I write and stare at the drawings I draw and create things for myself. I want to create things to make me happier. I want to be alone with my mind.