Do you know why I stopped writing in here?

Self-Consciousness.

Oh and plenty of "bottling."

So I guess we'll see where that takes us hahaha.

Man I Love this Show.

Guess who's back?

Tired and still slightly drunk

Lust is real; love is a dream; manipulation is the main proponent of lust and love; we are all fools. Gahhh I hate drinking when I'm not feeling well; it only intensifies my feelings of dissatisfaction. It's not that I don't think love exists, I just think it's a base, drug-like emotion that we give significance to because we like to feel that way. We like to feel special, and to try to shove away this overwhelming loneliness. A loneliness which is undefinable and never wholly leaves. It just allows itself to meander to the back of my mind for a while, and the longer it stays in the back, the more terrible I feel when it comes back to the noticeable front. I can't live like Allen. As much as I try to pretend to be the stolid and indifferent philosopher; I am something different. Something I have rarely come across in others. Something I can define, but never distinguish. Although I am NOT unique, nor original, I feel the most at home when I am. Or at least when I truly accept that I am NOT.



This doesn't make much sense.

I was doing well there for awhile, although I can't say for how long, nor in what specific way I was doing "well." (I'm really starting to hate ambiguity and relativism).

Why am I cute? I have heard that from many different voices, and yet none give me a satisfactory answer of HOW exactly. Maybe that's an unfair question. Maybe I'm just trying to feed my own vanity, or confirm my own biases. Just please tell me what the word cute means. Is it acceptable for a twenty year old male to be cute? Who is defining the word, and are you drunk when you said it? I know myself but sometimes it gains me understanding to pretend that I DO NOT. "No I was not aware that I did that, please tell me more about me. I'm ever so curious to hear." Fucking attention whore? Who knows. I tend to not want to believe that of myself, but there you go, the digression from objectivity. Brilliant. Love you all. Goodnight.

I nearly wept when I saw this.

It was one of the last days in Europe and I was in a perpetual mood of feigned interest. Interest in the scenery; interest in what my dad had to say about Europe and about the evils of capitalism. I was torn between just wanting to leave to go back home where I knew I could at least avoid my family, and wanting to get away from my failed expectations of what I though Europe would bring. I thought I'd see something new in my dad, but I didn't. I thought I'd see something new in my sister, but she will never change. They are so alike it's no wonder they can't stand being around each other. The only reason either of them agreed to come on a trip together (which hadn't been done since I was about twelve) was that that I would be there; to moderate, which I hate more than anything.
I even tried to get out of the trip; when we couldn't find my passport I almost smiled, I suddenly felt that I would get out of having to babysit my sister and father for the next few weeks abroad. My dad almost started crying. He began screaming because of the passport and I told him to stop, that there would be another time to go. After that my step-mom pulled me aside to tell me that the only reason he set up this trip was so that he could see me. I almost felt ashamed for not wanting to go. Then we found it, it had been at my dad's office the whole time. I didn't know what to think. My dad was so happy he really did have tears in his eyes. I felt sick.





Gahhhh. I'll have to finish later.