This tab says create.

So here I am. Creating.

While mercy's eyes may not be blue, nor brown, but they very well may be Hazel.

Jericho.

I miss some people. I miss Rowan... where did he go? I miss knowing where the road goes. If nothing else, when you are hopeless you at least know you are hopeless. To have something dangled before you as if to egg you on...

I remember drawing, and talking. I remember 5am snowstorms, and private malone. I remember ballet in the 313.

I mentioned before getting in touch with my destructive side. I've given up on being nice. It's too hard, and everyone is "nice". It is my position that the world needs more assholes.

I remember... so much all at once. And that's my problem. It should be about what is going on now. Homework and stimulants to make it through the day. I walked around an island and had a brainwave. I don't know what I am doing with my life. My body is starting to fall apart, and I'm mostly okay with that. Mental breakdown is looking better and better all the time, although depression sounds pretty sweet too. I miss having a choice, and I miss being able to talk to someone. Back in the day... there were people. And then there was Brandon, but now, there is no one. Another listens but looks through me. And another is too busy with hunger and poverty.

And the question that was asked once before is now answered. I'm back because there is something to say. But there is no ear to hear.

I tried to put a moritorium on boring and uninteresting. Mixed results. I'm really not any better. At all.

Music is some comfort. Messages that I need to hear, they tell me that it is alright. Alone is okay... but that question torments me to no end. I might not have to be alone. Might. I can't become comfortable and resign myself to what may come if I don't know what it is.

urge to become alcoholic, rising.

-CR

Project due friday, and so is a paper. jazz on friday. Frisbee? Maybe. Another concert thursday. Plenty of stress to go around. First set of pictures from my father came through today... Mount Eribus is beautiful. I miss writing. I certainly don't miss it like I used to though. Come to think of it, I don't write like I used to anymore. Words no longer flow from my hands. Instead they comes out haltingly, as I stumble over awkward consonants and misplaced vowels. My fingers and hands get sore, and tired, and then I don't wanna type anymore. more and more I crave the scratch of a pen on a piece of paper.

Something changed here though. This used to be a place to complain, vent, be interesting or boring. I remember, I created it because I felt that I had so much to say, but no one was listening. Funny that now I come back to it, at least for a moment. Does this mean I have something to say or does it instead mean that there is no one listening?

The girl that made me happy for a moment is long gone. I hardly think about her at all anymore. When I do, it is definately bone-crushing, but... notice how definately really doesn't fit in that previous, uhm, clause? Yeah. That's how crude I've become in my writing. As I was saying: the bone crushing only happens about once every week or so now. So that's good. In the meantime, I have again embraced hatred as a way to counteract any positive feelings I might have had for that malangering whore. Get it?

My operative word is Jericho. I don't know that you need to know why. But the word resonates with me. As does the story. Something that I feel a connection to right now.

I am falling behind in my classes, again. Being overrun by papers, reading assignments and exams. And rehearsal. So much rehearsal. They all run together, things get lost. Never prepared to class and forever late, I really want to quit.

I get angry an awful lot now, and find myself behaving in destructive ways. Either by formally demolishing something, or allowing my malevolence to soak into my speech. One rather spectacular example of this now has me no longer on speaking terms with one who was once my closest ally.

And it's times like these that i truely wish that i was an alcoholic. Hiding in bottles for the goddamn win.

oh, right. fuck off. or something.

-CR