despite my best efforts, that little project failed but HEY motherfuckers I'm back

hi everybody; my massive audience that I know is just itching to read these words i so lusciously type. not. 
anyways, it's been a fucking weird summer since three months ago when i attempted to ~YOLO~ and commit to a blogging / living / doing things project. now it's the end of August and i'm caught in a web of circular thought about ... death. it's not even intelligent. i understand that. but i can't stop thinking about how, inevitably and surely, i will be thrust into non-existence and my brain and all of its weird and quirky contents will rot away along with all my hopes and dreams and everything i worked to build. super cheery, isn't it? anyways, i save the rest of that for my psychiatrist (love you, Dr. Friedman!). so... summer. it's almost over. but i'm happy about this. i mean... it's been fun. i've started regularly swing dancing with my best gal-pal and it's been great, minus the gritty/horny/desperate man-dom being flung towards the too-nice me. what else? i took high school calculus (relax, i'm only 19, please reserve your judgement), a prerequisite for the Psychology program at U of T and got an 80 despite my fears that i wouldn't. i've seen some good concerts, movies, live comedy. and lastly but not leastly, i've met a dude who's just as weird and random and broken and creative and brilliant as myself. okay. that last part was a little pompous and i know it. but alas, it is true. i don't know if it's right or wrong. i don't know if i'm too good for him or he's too good for me or if us being in "different life stages" (gasp!) is an actual impediment. maybe he has a perfect little (actually it's enormous) family and i have a fucked up little (actually tiny) family. maybe he's half as emotionally developed as me despite being 3 calendar years ahead of me. maybe we met on a stupid, sleazy, slightly taboo sex-app called Tinder, that we ourselves like to make fun of. maybe he told me he loved me at the worst, most cringe-worthy time, and while completely inebriated. maybe he transforms into a sloppy not-adorable baby puppy dog with an affinity for inappropriate PDA when he's had a little too much. maybe he sleeps in to the mid-afternoon in my bed. when i've gone to work hours ago. maybe. but ... um. well. i think i may love him? yeah. i think that i do. fuck it.