justnick's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Meanwhile, back at the ranch... BGM: "London Calling" - The Clash I was thinkning last night, it just hasn't been working for me. I stress about the schoolwork I've forgotten about and the classes I haven't gone to, but that still doesn't make me want to go to them. It's because every once and a while, I'll go to all my classes, I'll do all my homework, I'll genuinely have everything I need to do finished, yet I won't feel any better. It's just been so long since I've felt genuinely fulfilled and content that I'm starting to wonder if it's an illusion. I forget what that feeling was like. London is drowning, and I live by the river; right? I still think about you every day, you know. I still try to write songs about you, but as they used to be lame-ass balads all the time, now I can't get anything down. It's like I'm feeding off inspiration that doesn't want to inspire me if I do write anything good. Makes me feel like I'm raping music. (you know, like Blink 182 did) I think about you, and I just know, you are fucking perfect for me. You are everything I've ever wanted in a girl, and more. And it's just another one of life's teases. It didn't last long, I know, but for those two days, I could feel something coming back. Like when your blood starts to circulate after spending two hours in the freezing cold. I remember, I would spend all day at school wishing the day would end so I could rush home and check if you were on MSN. I would stay up way too late talking to you, and not want to go to sleep. And now what do I do with myself? Nothing. I go to school and sleep. It's monotonous and meaningless. I miss having some kind of drive, something to make me want to get up, to run home, and to stay up late. Now I just wish I could sleep my life away sometimes. I know it was just two days, but I saw so much more in it. I thought you were a fire for a wanderer who's been out in the cold and dark for way too long. Turns out I just lit my last match. This entry is just as meaningless as the rest of it, I know. Metaphors that serve no purpose other than for me to psycho-analyze myself and for you to read them and get mad at me for being a neurotic, passive agressive, possessive, dramatic beer fiend. But you know what the kicker is? I'm supposed to be in class right now. Excelsior. 9:16 a.m. - 2003-02-24 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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