A heart of stone, no smoking gun.
Hello everyone, I hope you're all having a terrifyingly great day and weekend and the grey skies aren't bringing you down and the stars are shining just for you, oh what a thing to do, they're all yellow too. Um, my train of thought has already driven off the tracks and crashed so don't get your hopes up for this post, fyi, yo. I'm not sure I could ever use fyi in an actual conversation, or even use it seriously to be honest, I'd feel like less of a man. That's the sign of unbridled masculinity, using acronyms in everyday conversation. I'm not sure why I'm writing this and it probably won't become any clearer as I write further and I mean, I've written like 150 posts and they all start like this and one would start thinking, "Nick really should just quit while he's ahead," but am I really ahead? I know it's a deep question and it could even be rhetorical, who am I to say? Still, I just completely lost the point I was trying to make so I'll press on even farther into my nonsensical ranting. I don't have a Myspace, that's probably why everyone else's posts are hip and full of love and why I'm out of the loop. I know for a fact that Tim Anderson thinks less of me because I don't participate in the Myspace comment exchange and show off my new layout and that makes me sad because, fuck it. I've learned that if you don't have an answer to something you simply just say 'fuck it' and that's allowed and widely accepted. What a great language English is! I often feel like I'm not even fluent in English and can't say anything of importance of interest and that I should just stop talking. Silence is golden after all. I did write a letter to the man in France so I can go there this summer, grace a Meg since I had to write it in French. Martin's French friend Clementine wrote me an e-mail a few weeks back and I still haven't answered it because my French is so terrible and writing French to an actual French person is utterly frightening. Oh Clementine, I'm so sorry darling. Mme Eareckson gave me a French 2 book to study because I'm clearly too good for French 1. That's surely not the case but I think the idea behind it is that if I think I'm good at French than maybe I'll actually become good at it sooner or later. My mom just brought in a Cracking the New SAT book, someone kill me. I often can't help but think it would just be easier to kill myself before June so I don't have to take it. I wish I could just get into college with my encyclopedic knowledge of the Beatles and my stunning good looks. Wait, nevermind, for a second there I convinced myself that I look like Ashton Kutcher. Damn you cruel world, is a face that's not repulsive too much to ask for?!?! If only I had a magic carpet that would obey my every wish and I could fly over Arabian palaces and seduce princesses on balconies and sweep them over to go neck with me on the pyramids. Seriously though, it must've taken the Egyptians forever to build those things, Donald Trump has nothing on that. One day I'll buy one of the pyramids and than I'll attach hundreds, thousands of kites to it and it'll fly away and land on the moon and there will be a pyramid, my pyramid, on the moon and I will be the first person to own estate on the moon and I'll rent it out to happy couples to honeymoon at. A honeymoon on the moon, with your honey, get it? I wonder who came up with the idea of the honeymoon. If only the Sir Walter Raleigh would've used his powers for creating something like the honeymoon instead of cigarettes. I wish my skin contained whatever it is that fireflies have to make them glow so brilliantly and I could just illuminate whenever I felt like it. I'm sure I could go to the middle east than and everyone worship me but eventually I'd get shot by some nay-sayer. I'm not feeling good about Arts Fest considering that only one of my bands I feel good about while the other four are not ready but yet no one can ever practice. I just want to rock people and I hope nothing gets in the way of that dream. I've felt like a crappy person lately and I don't like it. I'm just trying so hard to be a nice person though and be smart and caring. I'm trying so hard to learn French and understand math and drive safely and not stress out so much and not think of her constantly and be happy and not count the days until I'm done with school. I cannot tell a lie, I am failing but I am trying. It's all just so onerous. I think I become in charge of the ASB next week, I don't know what to do but it's not really concerning me. I just want to sit by the stream at Idler's Rest and not think. I wish I was a castaway on a desert island and my only companion was this French girl Clementine who I've never met. She'd teach me French and we'd converse and fall madly in love and she'd wear an outfit made only of coconuts and do an exotic hula dance that French people naturally have in their blood but rarely get to unleash. That would be awesome and we wouldn't worry about terrorism or the price of gas. I don't worry about the price of gas now though, I have no idea how much a gallon is right now. The only thing I honestly know the price of is the country fried steak breakfast at Denny's because it's $5.99, what a steal! I went there last night with Andrew and Ian and it was such a wonderful time. We came up with new, incredibly dirty lingo which is just purely genius. The movie Natural Born Killers is probably the craziest and most bizarre thing I've ever seen. I'm halfway through Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer and it's amazing. Mr Tim Berge said it was and he doesn't lie. Some parts really break my heart though am I'm on the verge of sobbing and rocking back and forth in the fetal position. Still, amazing book. I haven't been able to sleep very well recently, it's distressing. Why is it that there are two serving in a bottle of water? Why don't they just make the serving bigger and have a bottle be a serving, it's just water. I'm thinking maybe I should start drinking pop again, I was so young and carefree when I drank it last. I have a feeling that Cherry Coke will not take away my problems though. Chocolate will though, that's all I know in life. I just wish I could say the right things and play a face-melting guitar solo, that's all I want. I'll just stop, sorry. I hope you all have a good weekend. I love you all. Goodbye.