tell me what you think...

no really, i want to know.

do you not like the clothes i wear? or the hours that i spend talking about things that are completely irrelevant to your existence? or when i inspire you with my vision of what YOU should be, as i slip out the backdoor by 8, as you slip into your 3rd continuous late night.

are my mannerisms annoying you? surely, you can put that in words. i have no physical deformities that may embarass you, so why can't we look into each other's eyes and talk?

it cannot be that you think that i haven't attained the level of 'cool' that you think you are at. you're kidding me. don't you think that's terribly shallow? and in direct contradiction with your definition of 'cool'.

and there you go, cringing at my clear rationalisations of your trivial opinions. does it trouble you that i am right? or does it kill you that you are not?

the options are few, in this multiple-choice analysis of myself.

but tell me what you think... you know me so well.