And Now is the Part Where I Do Not Title This, or Untitled

I have music in my head, quite a lot of the time -- Quite constantly, in fact. Such as, right now, I have Mad World in my head, mainly due to the movie, Donnie Darko. All around me are familiar faces / Worn-out places, worn-out faces . . .
Sometimes, I contemplate the idea that I am either too easily distracted, or overly obsessive. I hear music, and I subconscious count the beats, even map the notes out on an imaginary staff. I played violin in middle school, by the way. I only stopped because in 8th grade, the orchestra teacher was an utter prick and destroyed my enjoyment of playing. Fuck you, Mr. Birdsong. Or was it Birdcage? Bird-something, whoever -- Just, fuck you.
Maybe I'm autistic, but I doubt it; or, perhaps, obsessively compulsive. I straighten things out, a lot: it clears my mind, calms my nerves. That's just keeping my hands occupied, I think. My thoughts are rather disjounted, when unfocused -- Schizophrenic? Whose mind isn't sporadic and fuzzy when left to its own devices, though? Everyone else's, perhaps . . . Psychology is a crock, though. Applied philosophy with little scientific backing, that's what I think.
And I find it kind of funny / Find it kind of sad / The dreams in which I'm dying / Are the best I ever had
Things aren't as clear as they used to be. Time has obfucated my life. I used to know where I wanted to go. I still do. I used to finish what I started. I finish plenty of things. There's been a lot of conversation about dating, lately. Something I have zero experience at doing, but I still stand by a lot of my opinions regarding it.
I never did finish that essay/blog on my career choices. I should. You never finished half the essays you started and left half-done. It's true.
Mad World / Mad, mad world
Adios.

Birdwell? Was it Birdwell? I think it might have been, that sounds right, kind of, sort of . . . Or not. I don't know.