She refuses to speak &I'm drifting asleep at the wheel.
Ah, so I happened to get my hands on what happens to be an amazing second album from Motion City. And this, currently, has been the only source of happiness as of late. School is coming to a close (proven in the fact that I, yes, I, managed to leave my backpack AT SCHOOL for a lack of homework of any sort). Good, I suppose, but I'm finding that no homework only signifies boredom, since there seems to be no possible hangings in the future, at all. Based on the previous reactions of shows, I simply cannot keep toting my usual crowd to the approaching HIPV show, in addition to the 90376039746 more shows that shall be popping up over the summer. For something to quell unbearable boredom, sure, but nonetheless. I'm simply denying the realization of the fact that my entire mental rolodex of ideas for essentially everything these days -- including such desperate excursions -- is exhausted. Ah well, maybe that Coldplay concert will break up the monotany of summer! I can only hope.
So summer's almost here, eh? Teachers are marking time and I, along with everybody else, am struggling to put out one last spurt of effort, and, without a bang, it'll all be over and there will be nothing left. One will be unwilling to call me, and with just reason, I suppose. He's quite content with his usual selection of acquaintances. One will be otherwise occupied, the last will be who knows where -- & I can't imagine either of us with sufficient drive to pick up the phone.
Then, you know what? Happy self-fulfilling prophecy, you were right all along. Hope your November or September or whatever month is filled with excitement, since I should have believed you when you predicted that you wouldn't be spending it with me. Everyone will fade, & the only reason to throw myself around my house all summer will be for a fresh start in the fall.
So I do apologize that I have nothing better to say. I am forced to complicate and exaggerate whatever miniscule issues I have for the sake of writing them down. But I simply do not have any such worry elsewhere besides the constant plague of maintaining friends -- an area in which I seem to be strongly lacking in ability. And this, I realize, I will regret ever publicly posting, but one must understand that, though I did a whole fucking lot of it in the last paragraph, I truly hate vague, nameless mentions of myself in people's journals (as in Lindsey's). And now I'm helpless and stupid and guilt-ridden because I hate to acknowledge the fact that any of it is true, it being so obviously and nosily posted. But I can't ignore it, as he (and there I go again) is the only one that's remained constant for the two years I've known him. I cannot list the number of "friends" that have drifted away since his arrival, and now I sense it happening again. It must not be him I lose in the madness, with all of the unkind things I've said in the company of others, because the times I've spent with him have been some of the happiest and most memorable of my life. &I had better start acting freaking grateful for the fact that he will not so easily pass me off as a "loozer" or whatever she called me, and doesn't just leave me in the dust as any other reasonable person may do. Pshh.
Hip-hip hooray for social suicide as the ever insightful alcoholic Justin Pierre might say, and the despicable vague "he's" and "she's" to make an entry a sizzling pile of shit. Good for me, in all my extraneous self-centeredness.
Best I leave now to prevent further damage, as if that is even possible. & FROM NOW ON, I RESOLVE MY NEXT ENTRY TO BE JOYFUL. Maybe, I'll say, after my Hidden in Plain View show, alone, in a little more than a week. Provided there are no fat idiots with loose legs flapping across the pit into my fragile thighs, I may just be able to have a lovely time.<3
Man, I could write a better entry high. At least that would be interesting to read.
So summer's almost here, eh? Teachers are marking time and I, along with everybody else, am struggling to put out one last spurt of effort, and, without a bang, it'll all be over and there will be nothing left. One will be unwilling to call me, and with just reason, I suppose. He's quite content with his usual selection of acquaintances. One will be otherwise occupied, the last will be who knows where -- & I can't imagine either of us with sufficient drive to pick up the phone.
Then, you know what? Happy self-fulfilling prophecy, you were right all along. Hope your November or September or whatever month is filled with excitement, since I should have believed you when you predicted that you wouldn't be spending it with me. Everyone will fade, & the only reason to throw myself around my house all summer will be for a fresh start in the fall.
So I do apologize that I have nothing better to say. I am forced to complicate and exaggerate whatever miniscule issues I have for the sake of writing them down. But I simply do not have any such worry elsewhere besides the constant plague of maintaining friends -- an area in which I seem to be strongly lacking in ability. And this, I realize, I will regret ever publicly posting, but one must understand that, though I did a whole fucking lot of it in the last paragraph, I truly hate vague, nameless mentions of myself in people's journals (as in Lindsey's). And now I'm helpless and stupid and guilt-ridden because I hate to acknowledge the fact that any of it is true, it being so obviously and nosily posted. But I can't ignore it, as he (and there I go again) is the only one that's remained constant for the two years I've known him. I cannot list the number of "friends" that have drifted away since his arrival, and now I sense it happening again. It must not be him I lose in the madness, with all of the unkind things I've said in the company of others, because the times I've spent with him have been some of the happiest and most memorable of my life. &I had better start acting freaking grateful for the fact that he will not so easily pass me off as a "loozer" or whatever she called me, and doesn't just leave me in the dust as any other reasonable person may do. Pshh.
Hip-hip hooray for social suicide as the ever insightful alcoholic Justin Pierre might say, and the despicable vague "he's" and "she's" to make an entry a sizzling pile of shit. Good for me, in all my extraneous self-centeredness.
Best I leave now to prevent further damage, as if that is even possible. & FROM NOW ON, I RESOLVE MY NEXT ENTRY TO BE JOYFUL. Maybe, I'll say, after my Hidden in Plain View show, alone, in a little more than a week. Provided there are no fat idiots with loose legs flapping across the pit into my fragile thighs, I may just be able to have a lovely time.<3
Man, I could write a better entry high. At least that would be interesting to read.