Writing, playing music, exercising and my near-constant state of closet-elitism.
Writing: All the sick things that go through my head when I come home at the end of the day I empty out onto a poor, helpless document that is shaping up to be one of the best stories I've written.
Playing music: I play the bass. Write a little bit of my own music on the side, though I've no band or anybody else around who can play a guitar or drums worth a fuck so it's just my own thing for now.
Exercise: Take out all my locked up rage on the pedals and it's made me one of the fastest cyclists in the area. Not that it's anything to be proud of when you consider my competition is old people and children.
Elitism: I won't deny that when I go places, I'm almost always thinking "You are so fucking stupid," when I look at some people. Of course, I can't tell that to them. I can't tell them their taste in music is horrible, that I hate the way they follow trends, that they're too old for plastic surgery and it makes them look like a freak.
So many things; let us count the ways...