Money, Money, Money

For the past few months, I've noticed that I've been spending a bit of money. I've had a few splurges, a few overdraft fees - but mostly, I buy things on sale or groceries.

But, when I go shopping or I go to purchase something, feelings of guilt come into play. Guilt of capitalism? Guilt of selfishness?

I wonder if it's materialism creeping into my soul or that it's mania.

I do have too many clothes and too many shoes. I just bought three pairs of shoes online, a dress and a tank top from Target, and keycovers from Hot Topic (after overdraft fees were covered and money was deposited into my account).

I have a mental list of things that I need(/want) to get. Tattoos, Hanson tix, a few CDs, etc.

I know that I don't go hog wild or "shoot my wad" as my mother would say. But, I do know that I'm being a bit excessive.

and I'm supposed to be a thrifty college student on a budget (yet, I suckly on mommy and daddy's teat)...

REM isn't rockin' my world

It's official. I cannot stand my dreams anymore. Too vivid, too awkward, too realistically repetitive.

Not only is my sleep being interrupted anyway, now I have these wonderful getaways to look forward to. Great.

What happened to Super Sleeper, huh? My superpower of being able to sleep anywhere are anytime? Guh! Lame.

The real kicker is that these dreams are very vivid, very visceral. The also repeat themselves, and by that, I mean that the message is played over and over again (OCD at it's best?). So, really, I think that the dream has happened a few times, and that I'm dreaming the dream OR that I keep thinking about some thing or some specific incident. It's annoying to say the least.

Is insomnia at my doorstep?

Baby steps, Jordan, baby steps.

So, I've created the said blog. Hooray.

I'm not sure if this is the obligatory "things to come post" or not. It very well could be? I don't know.

I've decided that it's important to start writing more. Blogging. Jotting. Whatever, medium or length it takes - it needs to be written down. My LJ wasn't so much of a journal, it was more of public display of what's in my head - so much for a diary, huh? This thinking pad is more of, and from, the exhibitionist in me, in everyone - I think.

So, here goes. Let's hope for the best?