Of Complexes And Stupid Movies.

I hate when I keep staring at a blank post. There’s always so many things I wanna say but the publish button won’t let me. I’ve been staring into space more than often lately, ever since I’ve had a painful realization shoved up my psychological ass, and I’m discovering the therapeutic pros of TV. I watched ‘Good Will Hunting’ twice for some reason, and despite the fact that I thought the shrink was a self-indulged Irish prick and the ending to be absolutely pointless to everything that was put forward about the dude’s major complex, it was nice. I mean, if the dude’s problem is that he has a defence mechanism that makes him push people away whenever they get close to him so he wouldn’t get hurt because he’s been abandoned so many times in his life and shit, then how, just HOW, is leaving everybody who ever gave a fuck about him in the end to chase a random chick cross country considered progress? Just enlighten me people. He had 3 cronies who’d take a bat to the dean’s head on cue, a college professor who took out his insecurities on to him but ended up giving him an awesome job opportunity because he’s just stupid like that and a middle-aged dude who eventually turned into a father figure. And he leaves. And it’s a happy ending. And I’m a phoenix. Healing would have been to stay behind, man up and take the fucking job. Not wimp out and follow your loins cross-state.

My head. Somebody shoot me. Please. I’ll give you anything. Pleaaaaase. Fuck you.