six weeks into my senior year and i'm still asking myself the same questions. like, "what the fuck?"

almost eighteen years into my life and i've grown up to be a 5-foot-6 fuckface. one hundred and nineteen pounds of varying amounts of optimism, pessimism, and carefully distilled bullshit. sometimes i feel like a loser. sometimes i feel like a king. i try to make the most of out things, all of the time.

i picked up the guitar three summers ago because i thought it would get me girls. how wrong was i.

*my mom just walked into the room and read the last line. and for some reason, i feel deeply embarassed and ashamed of myself.*

this diatribe is always the same. i write it, you read it, and we both feel disgusted.

tomorrow i will go to school. my teachers will proceed to be mad at me for some reason or another. teachers don't know if i try hard to get into trouble of if it's some sort of psychological condition where i'm totally fucked in the head. to tell you the truth, i don't know the reason myself. i will sit in my classes and walk in the straight corridors that actually lead in circles.

maybe i should lighten up. maybe i should just eat.

*my dad is spouting his banal unquotables, like he always does. i just want to shoot myself in the face.*

i feel happy when girls want to talk to me. but girls don't want to do that anymore. GOOD GRACIOUS WHAT IS UP WITH GOD'S PLAN NOWADAYS?

this pity party is getting gay anyway. time to make like a ball and BOUNCE.

south end.