SOoo... i feel like i haven't really talked to anyone in weeks. even though, technically, i have. yeah. and it doesn't help that besides an email from a cool cat that i know... my inbox is filled with forwards from my teacher - currently there are 7 of them and at least 5 that i haven't had a chance to read before them. yeah. where's the love?

i don't know what i'm talking about. i'm just stalling myself. procrastination station central you-betcha! huzzah!


...and two bits!

oh. yeah. and i guess i have to go and alter my stupid links now because so many sites are just not in existance anymore. say good bye to FemMenace and Margot's site. and everything else i'm about to delete.

So I'm working on this story right. Using Microsoft Word. And I get to this scene where this guy hallucinates that he's being chopped up by this ax. So I decided to use the word "dismembered" and all of a sudden there is a little green squiggly line underneath the word- not the sentence but the word. I know it's not about spelling because if I misspelled it the line would have been red. So what? What could be wrong with the single word, "dismembered"?

the answer:

"passive voice (consider revising)"

I never would have imagined that dismember- in any sense of the word- could ever be thought of as anything passive. seriously.

i rode my longboard around 2 blocks in my neighborhood today. i made waffles and sat on my ass for a few hours. somehow despite the desperate need to be productive i found myself doing nothing all day today. somehow i felt like something was about to happen and i was just going to wait for it. well... it hasn't happened yet.

Here's a blurb of something i've been working on. if you want more you'll have to email me for it. i don't just give this shit away to just anybody! enjoy or something.

"Once upon a time, in a forest on the edge of a farming town called Marshville, there was a woman who looked and lived like a tree. Her name was Nessa Telperiën. She was very tall and very thin. Her long hair blew in upward directions looking like branches, the color of fire, golden and red. Her torso looked twisted. Her skin was shades of white and gray, like ashes, except for her lips that had a slight hue of pink. Her eyes were a cold blue, so cold that if a man were to look into them they would feel a chill in his heart. She wore a long dress the color of mud that clung on her shoulders, and fell in stiff wrinkles to the ground hiding her feet to look like the formation of roots. They said that she came to be by miracle but no one really knows the truth.

'They said that if you listen to the wind at night you can hear her crying out in the forest. Some people believed that she was a spirit, or a ghost who had been banished, doomed to forever walk the earth in misery. Others believe her to be Mother Nature herself. But there are some who think that Nessa Telperiën was once a little girl who lived somewhere in Marshville and had gone mad. Those who believed her to be a spirit, long ago erected a small shrine to her on the forest edge near the lake where they would leave offerings to try to appease her, afraid that she would harm their fields and destroy their crops. Over the years, the shrine grew and a small statue of a tired and very sad looking woman stood behind a small stone table. But as time went by Nessa Telperiën was forgotten. Years past and the myth of her story was lost until one night, a man named Marcus O’Riley went for a walk with his son, Casey. They walked from their farm and came upon a crumpled statue at the forests edge."

**oh and i registered for classes today. yeah it's all pretty much worked out but there's still a bunch of bullshit to deal with yet. anyway. sorry and stuff. i won't erase them but i wouldn't read them either. (the posts! gosh darn it! the posts!)

So tomorrow is the first day of registration for school for next semester. Granted I am not allowed to register, actually, until the 10th, but the fact that I still don't know if I will be registering makes this big lump appear in my throat and I know I smoke too much but... So I tell myself that it's fine. It's fine right. If I don't go back to school it will be fine. I'll work. I'll make money or something. Live in my parent's house and rot away uneducated.

I'm supposed to go to Carbondale this coming weekend but part of me really doesn't want to. It sucks ass seeing all these people graduate. Everyone I know is going to graduate college before me- if they haven't already. I feel like I've been hiding in the corner somewhere not paying attention and picking my nose for too long and now I'm miles behind everyone I know. When did shit get like this? And now with all this bullshit... I'm never going to finish school. I'm never going to earn my own life.

what the fuck am I supposed to do? Even if I graduate? Ever? I don't want to work for Barnes and Noble for the rest of my life. I don't want to live in the suburbs under my parents roof for 10 more years. I feel like every thing is hopeless. It's like I wonder everyday, why do I even get out of bed. There is nothing in this world left for me. I have nothing to contribute. Nothing to create. Nothing new. Nothing. I have run out of things to say to everyone I know. I have run out of answers. I have run out of energy. The only thing that I can't seem to run out of is this hole that I've dug around myself.

tonight my mom told me that my aunts brother-in-law Mike (who is a really cool guy) got in a serious motorcycle accident today and is now in a comma. I feel guilty thinking about what I thought of when she first told me, like I wasn't having respect for the seriousness of the situation, as if I didn't really care about the fact that he could have died and who knows how he will end up. But the truth is, the moment she told me the first thing that came to mind was, god I wish it were me. I wish I could just shut down. It would make everything go away. Give me nightmares but let me sleep. Nothing my mind would create would be as bad as I feel right now.

after my last post I got an email from this kid who told me that I should keep posting on this blog. Well I hope you're satisfied. I've bared my torn soul yet again to people who never call or never knew I existed and I'm about 3 seconds away from deleting this post completely but being that this could be my last semester in school and I'm studying self censorship- in respect for what I've learned and my class I'll post this garbage and know that no one will really get it. People call me dramatic and overly emotional but that is only because they're not listening. They don't grasp what I'm really trying to say. No one ever has. No one. And so I sit in my hole, unheard, misunderstood and without hope.

after years of feeling so defeated I have to stop and wonder if this could really be normal? Is this type of feeling normal, common? Or is this some kind of torturous thing that has only been plaguing me for the majority of my life. (at this point in writing I decided to stop and sincerely contemplate whether or not I should be considered legally insane and or a danger to myself.) but the thing is, besides confidence and self esteem the only other thing that I lack is courage. So there's no sense in even really thinking about offing myself because I know I'll never do it. I won't say that I haven't come close to trying but my telekinesis hasn't really worked out the way I would like. Lately I feel like I'm too depressed to even really think about killing myself. It takes too much effort for something I know is worthless. Like everything else.

so I keep writing because I feel like I'm not done yet but I don't know what else to say. It all boils down to what I said earlier about how no one gets it. There is and always has been a part of me that has this hunger- this desire- this need to have people get me, though I have no idea why. That part of me battles with the other part of me that doesn't care if people get me and I'm not saying that I hear voices... Yet... But it leaves me feeling horribly torn between wanting to live and wanting to close myself off. Maybe I'm bipolar, but I would think that bipolar would be a more distinct half and half life thing. Like happy one day on the verge of suicide the next but with me it's not exactly that clean cut. My moods run together like watercolor paints throughout every day, every hour. It just doesn't seem to end. I wish it would.

screw it. If you haven't gotten it by now, I'm tired of trying to explain it to you. I've been listening to wilco's how to fight loneliness on repeat throughout this entire blog posting and I need to go outside and smoke another cigarette, killing myself in the only way I can, very very slowly. This is the end. I'm a firm believer in never saying never so I'll won't say that I'll never post again because I probably will but don't hold your breath kids. I'm out.