So, it needs to be posted here for posterity that on the same day as the previous entry... He fuck'n BLOCKED MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE *headbangs* Oh well, whatever. I'm gonna play at hotwire and show off my awesome voice and he'll be sorry he's missing out. Also, I'm going to just not talk to him. See how he fucking likes it. But my point here is that I'm really depressed and anxious about completely unrelated things. Everyone around seems to be sad and having problems. Messner's my happiest friend ATM. Which is cool, but he's the one I wish would comiserate. Oh well. I really just want to fuck. I know that sounds horrible. But for the last long while, I've been thinking how wonderful it would be to just fuck forever. It's even slightly better than sleeping forever. "Well I could sleep forever... but it's of her I'd dream... If I could sleep forever, I could forget about everything..." Yeah, well, I don't care what I dream about. I'd just like to stay in that world for a long time, and not have to face the concerns of this one. There are much more exciting concerns in my dream-life, murderers chasing me with guns and conspiracies and angels and demons and quick thinking and kids driving cars and witches and sorcerers and giants. The roads are curved in a different direction, and I have a bike to ride. The wind blows soft and warm, and the elementary school playground is always open (and back to its old self, before all this OMG PLASTIC bullcrap came into effect). So, to sleep and dream, or to fuck, forever, would definitely be better than the reality. I think it would be better than most people's realities. But definitely better than mine. I miss Faith's diary. It was Silentears. I remember now. I wish I could have when she and I were coming up with it. She was my first real comment, I do believe, and I really admired her words from the very start. I love that. The people I met on this site really made me feel alive in my darkest of days. I love them; they're like old friends to me now, even though I've never really met any of them. I miss everything that used to be. Another reason to dream. My dreams don't register change so much. That's why the elementary school playgrounds are old. This site is still at diaries.suchisthis.com. Allpoetry is still good. Xforums still exists, functions, and is my home and family online. In my dreams, I am innocent. I am good. I am a freedom fighter. I'm always the protagonist, or the representation of myself, whomever I'm watching and siding with. I never have to question my own morals, or decisions. Because in 15 minutes the whole world has turned around and my life is a different thing entirely. I'm listening to the Smashing Pumpkins. Maybe that's why...??? Ah, Happy Noodle Boy... I hate this congestion. I want to drop out of school. Out of life. Out of existence. I guess that indicates I'm contemplating suicide. I guess, subconsciously, I might be. But it hasn't really hit me just yet. I hope it doesn't hit me like a bus. I hope it hits me slowly and I can get help. I'm going to make a list of all my blogs and passwords just in case. I'm going to request that if I ever do something retarded and kill myself, that Morgan or someone (maybe someone who cares more than Morgan, or has a longer attention span, or something) go through and compile it all and write something based on it. That's what I always planned to do, after all. I remember when I first switched my writings over to digital format. It was in Notepad, before my discovery of blogs. It was the end of the 90's, nearly the turn of the century. My writings had been found and destroyed by the grandmother enough times, and she'd told me enough times to never put anything on paper, that I was ready to find an alternative. It's so wonderful going back and looking through old things. I really need to get the hard drive recovered to my first computer. There was so much rich material on that. I really, truly could write a book. I really want to, I almost need it. I hate my creative writing class. It's too based on creativity, and there's not enough writing. And it's too strictly guidelined to really be creative, anyhow. I'm sure I'd enjoy it if I had Mr. Kelly. He knew how to cater to students' needs. He was an amazing teacher, and while I'm sad he retired right before I got a chance to have him, I'm glad he's got a chance to live out the rest of his life in relaxation. It's cool. I hope the new generations of teachers can learn to be as good, in time. I want to teach, someday. Not necessarily as a school teacher... but I want to teach someone some important lesson of life. I want to mentor, to help people. Someone, anyone, everyone. I'm kind of bummed right now, about all the bad things people have said to me, and all the bad things I've said to people, and the improprietary ways I've acted and the downright rude actions that have been committed against me. My throat is getting dry. This is never a good sign. While I love the night time, I hate nights lately. Almost as much as mornings, when I have to wake up with the effects of the evening's air. If I lived in Hawaii, I would breathe easier. It's just a more suitable climate for me. Odd, because my heritage is all northern European. But, well, I really think I'd do better if I lived in Hawaii. "Goodnight to every little hour that you sleep tight, may it hold you through the winter of a long night, and keep you from the loneliness of yourself... goodnight, my love, to every hour in every day, goodnight always to all that's pure that's in your heart..." I'm tired, and yes, I realize I'm rambling on and on and on and running on with subjects and sentences and thoughts and ideas. My brain screams out to write, to get it out, and I haven't, it's still in there, still plaguing me, and I'm still not sure what it is. There is a monster inside of me. And all I can think to do is sleep to avoid its torments. Somebody help me slay the beast. Somebody, please. Save me.