Doing just what I should be: procrastinating on homework.

Hey all. Been a while, huh? Miss me much? No? Not suprised. That’s to be expected, though. I haven’t written anything funny since this post, so I can understand if you’ve been underwhelmed with me of late. Unfortunately, I don’t have much funny to post right now either.

I know. I’m a terrible blogger.

But hey, I could chew your ear off with how much my life sucks! That might be interesting. Then again, it’d be pointless and self-serving. Sometimes I’d write my woes in this blog in the hopes that somebody would see it, read it, understand me a little more, I dunno. But it makes for crappy reading, makes me look like a whiny emo angst-ridden teenager (not that I’m not, but image is everything!) and is just generally frowned upon. An internets (yes, internets) no-no, you might say.

In other news. I’ve been struggling in school a bit. Having to juggle debate, school, my job, and mental well-being (oh yeah, and a Counter-Strike Source team that I ended up accidental dictator of -_-) has proved to be a bit troublesome. Some crappy things have happened to me this school year that I don’t necessarily want to rant about in public, but suffice to say they’ve bothered me. I do have some hope, however. Operation Exodus might be a go, but I still have to wait for some final words before I can pin too much hope to it. However, I’m used to having hopes dashed… heck, I was supposed to leave Bellingham back in 8th grade, and live with my dad in California, but that never happened. Sometimes I think about what my life would’ve been like, had I chose mental well-being over physical well-being. Ironically, my mental unwell-being has led to physical unwell-being, so maybe it wasn’t a smart choice after all.

Life’s all about bad choices and how you make up for them, I think. There’s far too many good choices that one makes, possibly because all your options suck. Oh well.

I’ve been writing a bit more, which is nice. Even if nobody likes my story, I suppose I should still write it for myself. It gives me something to do, something to focus on, something to potentially be proud of. It lets me express myself through the characters, the plot, the setting. Here I can examine the effects of isolation, here I can examine the effects of labels like “good” and “evil,” here I can examine hollow friends and hollow relationships, here I can spout off my philosophy on things. Here I can make the characters implements through which I allow the reader to see the world through my eyes, and at the end of the book, they can decide what to think of the story themselves. No moral will be shoved down their throat. No hero will stand tall above the rest of the characters, and no villain sink lower. The men are men. The women women. All have the capacity for “good” and “evil.”

I have trouble expressing myself, and in particular, opening up. I can’t tell people how I truly feel, about myself or about them.

And that’s about it, I guess. Back to putting off my work so I can sit here.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *