I don't care.
It happened seemingly over night. I just stopped caring. About certain things. Certain situations. Certain relationships. I stopped fretting. Stopped over-thinking. Stopped trying so gosh-darn hard. It wasn't a conscious choice, which made it truly awesome. I got distracted by the rest of life, I guess. Time ran short for all the things previously filling my day and head, so natural selection ousted that caring part. Not about everything. Of course not. But about things I should've been smart enough to let go of a long time ago.
I would love to be more specific. But the trouble with a public blog is that the public can read it, and the public includes people I'd like to write about that probably would not take kindly to being written about, and although I've stopped caring about some things, I rather like having only a handful of people that hate me. More specifics inevitably means more people to hate me.
So I'll keep this short, shall I? (Too late.) Not caring, as callous and selfish as it sounds, is the best. Well, to be honest, it is callous and selfish to an extent, but that does not negate it's best-ness.