On repeat.

Got stabbed in the back by psychology, again. Nobody should care how and why anymore. Not even I do. It’s become something of a constant. Mere exposure effect and I’m hooked on failure. Yada yada. I said I don’t care, which is part true, but I’m not entirely over it. Not over the fact that psychology wasn’t my thing. Or that I’m not psychology’s thing. I am about as shocked as my dear big brother, who can’t see why a nutcase like his sister fails on nutcase-science. Turns out it takes more, but I'm not the mustarded hotdog that accepts the simplest of truths.

Instead of worrying too much about the necessity of trying to be more than a nutcase, I daydream. I dream of my very preppy croquet tournament I will hold in the Ekonomikum park. I’m drinking copious amounts of red wine and I’m wearing a slipover and a golf cap. And a pair of those oh so trendy chinos. I walk around with a superior and amused-looking face, with my croquet club thrown casually over my shoulder. You're all there with me. I don’t win the game but I am perfectly happy. Of that I dream. Intensely.

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My songs today:

Peter Bjorn and John - Nothing To Worry About

New York Dolls - Dance Like A Monkey

LCD Soundsystem - Losing My Edge