Just saw the latest X-Men movie, ate some Mexican food, and drank a few beers at the local brew pub. Stuck in the birthday loop of reflection and mental flogging, listening to "Railroad Man" by the Eels, trying not to beat myself up too much. At least not so much that there are visible bruises. Hard to explain, those.

I sort of feel like I've lost my tether. And I'm being self-destructive just for the fun of it. On the other hand, I've lost 13 pounds since I've started working out, so yay for not dieting, drinking like a fish, and working out when I feel like it. My diet is better than your diet. Only with my diet you're bound to let a few brain cells take one for the team. Survival of the fittest, only the strongest brain cells survive my rigorous training program.

Last night I danced at a small town festival, by myself, and I had a good time. People may have stared and questioned my sobriety, which was one of the few times they needn't bother, but I decided not to care that a small town was judging me shaking my hips. I wanted to shake my hips and so I did. Life's too short to sit on the bleachers and bounce in my seat. When I tried to get some of the zombies to dance with me, they either laughed or tried, so uncomfortably, and then sat down in disgust. It was a matter of principle after that. I was going to dance, badly and proud, and they all were going to watch. They were going to see someone who wasn't afraid to shake their moneymaker and then they could go back to their meth labs and alley fights and fuck you small town USA. I danced.

I choose to rebel against the oddest things.