Aloutte, Gentille Alouette.

I don't know quite what to say tonight. I feel like typing something, and the back of my mind is nagging me to spill something, but I'm not quite sure what.

I went to my cousin's baby shower today. I love my mom's side of my family. I don't like alcohol that much, but I did like the amount of booze I saw, it made me giggle for some inexplicable reason. I was given a very strong giant banana daiquiri right at the start.
My family, I think, is just generally awesome.

I also found out that my mom loves my friends, and thinks that we are...well, fun. She was surprised at the fact that we can amuse ourselves so thorougly without having to go to great lengths, and that we aren't a showy bunch.
I felt the urge to tell her about my tattoo today, but then realized I was probably on crack for thinking that and kept my mouth shut.
That revelation could be disastrous.

I let my mind mill about with thoughts about a whole bunch of things revolving around one mutual topic, and I don't quite know how to deal with it. Like, it's not something horrible, just, well, enlightening and saddening and hope-inspiring all at the same time.

I think, that I just really want to cry. Crying is such an emotional and psychological release, I know this.
But I just don't have the energy to cry.
Which is kind of depressing.

I used to be one of those kinds of people where you could just tell me anything, and I always just listened, I never spoke. I never let anyone know of my problems. I was the shoulder to lean on, and I didn't expect nor need nor even really want one in return.
That's changed though. I'm still that shoulder, very firmly so. But I really really really want one in return. And I do get it. But I feel guilty about it, which is where the crying used to come in.
I suppose it still does.
The problem with me is, once I get that shoulder, I can have a difficult time knowing when to stop.
I don't know how I feel about this.

well, except from the wanting to cry. I have to get back into that mode where I just keep everything to myself. I can be very good at it. And I've had my fun where I spill the beans. So I think I may just, I don't know, be selective, and tell only certain things to certain people. And I know these certain people would keep it to themselves, even where I can't.

I think this is why I used to keep a diary.
I think I still have one with a few empty pages kicking around somewhere.