Jack Skellington
Ok, let's pretend this is a private diary since no one reads this and I'm too lazy to actually write with a pencil and paper. (My poor hands cramp ever so badly).
I'm up right now. This may not come off as strange, Dear Diary, since its only 10:25am. However, I am nocturnal. This is the equivalant to the middle of the night for me. I'm usually in bed about an hour ago. Lately I've been realizing that my life is really stagnant. I don't do much of anything. I just work and sit in my room and rot. I can't wait to start college. I'll finally feel like I'm getting things done. Hopefully this raise I'm getting will cover the difference tuition and books will cost me. I really want to do something with myself. I want to make more money and move out. Maybe Sean and I could room together. I'm just tired of living with my mom. At 20, its starting to sound pathetic. Or at the very least neighboring it in the bordering provence of Pitifuland.
My room is messy, and it upsets me. My god damn nuisance of a wonderful cat pissed in the closest while Meggie was over. My room was already messy. You just had to solidify its disgustingness by pissing in a god damn corner. You ass. I sprayed his anus with Oust when I got home from work later. Not really. I love that little rectum eater.
I'm procrastinating finishing my most recent project. All I have left to do is vocals, which, unfortuantely, are the hardest part. I am not the best singer. The bass, guitar, drums, and keyboard tracks are all nearly perfect. I know the vocals will not match up in either performance or sound quality. Its disheartening. I wish I could sing better. My best bet is to go for a simple but slightly goofy sound that makes it easy to eliminate most vocal imperfections that would otherwise be scathingly obvious to even the most untrained ear.
I lost a lot of weight while I was sick and I'm trying damn hard not to get it back. Although I've gained an almost boney appearance. I'm not sure if its technically better or worse than my previously plumpish presence. Now if I could just gain some muscle tone I'd be all set. Good luck on that, doofus. I have about as much motivation to work out as Haplo does to not PISS IN MY CLOSET.
Its always hot in my room. I hate it. I look forward to the days when its cool even with the sun out. I can then leave my window open while I'm sleeping and curl up under my thick comforter and sleep better than I've slept in a year.
I don't sleep much, or well. I think I may have some form of insomnia. I have trouble slowing my mind down when I'm trying to sleep. I often find myself lying in bed completely conscious, my body asleep but my mind racing. This state offers me no true rest. Its terrible because I will lay that way for a couple hours. I consider sleeping a waste of time. I'd rather be bored and awake doing nothing than sleeping in bed.
The average person spends a third of his life sleeping. That's a lot of time you could spend honing your bass skills so that you're fully prepared for the Great Bass War beyond the grave.
Taking no prisoners in that one, lemme tell ya.
I worry sometimes that upon getting to know me people see someone shallow and uninteresting. I often find myself going home feeling like I was boring. I hate that feeling. I think I'm a genuinely interesting person, with strong morals and opinions. How do I feel so unsure about myself so often?
I haven't spoken to my father in over two years.
Isn't it weird how good events can just confuse people? All things considered, I should be very happy around now. But I'm not. I'm confused, worried, and scared. Although I guess it makes sense. You don't meet people this different and amazing all that often. Expressing myself, for once, is becoming hard to do.
Perhaps I will draw a picture to do so. Unfortunately, my scanner seems to melt my computer (wtf? idk) so I will probably never get to share said drawing with you, Dear Diary.
It feels good to write all this. Weird how a Myspace blog or a Xanga entry just wouldn't cut it. Perhaps the solitude of this diary is what appeals to me. Or perhaps change is just seductive.
Thanks, Dear Diary. You've been a champ.
I'm up right now. This may not come off as strange, Dear Diary, since its only 10:25am. However, I am nocturnal. This is the equivalant to the middle of the night for me. I'm usually in bed about an hour ago. Lately I've been realizing that my life is really stagnant. I don't do much of anything. I just work and sit in my room and rot. I can't wait to start college. I'll finally feel like I'm getting things done. Hopefully this raise I'm getting will cover the difference tuition and books will cost me. I really want to do something with myself. I want to make more money and move out. Maybe Sean and I could room together. I'm just tired of living with my mom. At 20, its starting to sound pathetic. Or at the very least neighboring it in the bordering provence of Pitifuland.
My room is messy, and it upsets me. My god damn nuisance of a wonderful cat pissed in the closest while Meggie was over. My room was already messy. You just had to solidify its disgustingness by pissing in a god damn corner. You ass. I sprayed his anus with Oust when I got home from work later. Not really. I love that little rectum eater.
I'm procrastinating finishing my most recent project. All I have left to do is vocals, which, unfortuantely, are the hardest part. I am not the best singer. The bass, guitar, drums, and keyboard tracks are all nearly perfect. I know the vocals will not match up in either performance or sound quality. Its disheartening. I wish I could sing better. My best bet is to go for a simple but slightly goofy sound that makes it easy to eliminate most vocal imperfections that would otherwise be scathingly obvious to even the most untrained ear.
I lost a lot of weight while I was sick and I'm trying damn hard not to get it back. Although I've gained an almost boney appearance. I'm not sure if its technically better or worse than my previously plumpish presence. Now if I could just gain some muscle tone I'd be all set. Good luck on that, doofus. I have about as much motivation to work out as Haplo does to not PISS IN MY CLOSET.
Its always hot in my room. I hate it. I look forward to the days when its cool even with the sun out. I can then leave my window open while I'm sleeping and curl up under my thick comforter and sleep better than I've slept in a year.
I don't sleep much, or well. I think I may have some form of insomnia. I have trouble slowing my mind down when I'm trying to sleep. I often find myself lying in bed completely conscious, my body asleep but my mind racing. This state offers me no true rest. Its terrible because I will lay that way for a couple hours. I consider sleeping a waste of time. I'd rather be bored and awake doing nothing than sleeping in bed.
The average person spends a third of his life sleeping. That's a lot of time you could spend honing your bass skills so that you're fully prepared for the Great Bass War beyond the grave.
Taking no prisoners in that one, lemme tell ya.
I worry sometimes that upon getting to know me people see someone shallow and uninteresting. I often find myself going home feeling like I was boring. I hate that feeling. I think I'm a genuinely interesting person, with strong morals and opinions. How do I feel so unsure about myself so often?
I haven't spoken to my father in over two years.
Isn't it weird how good events can just confuse people? All things considered, I should be very happy around now. But I'm not. I'm confused, worried, and scared. Although I guess it makes sense. You don't meet people this different and amazing all that often. Expressing myself, for once, is becoming hard to do.
Perhaps I will draw a picture to do so. Unfortunately, my scanner seems to melt my computer (wtf? idk) so I will probably never get to share said drawing with you, Dear Diary.
It feels good to write all this. Weird how a Myspace blog or a Xanga entry just wouldn't cut it. Perhaps the solitude of this diary is what appeals to me. Or perhaps change is just seductive.
Thanks, Dear Diary. You've been a champ.