CW on the Wall

I graduated exactly one month ago. I graduated again, twice more, today. The best part was the "souvenir" I got myself. The CW people were dismantling the walls and I got myself one of the panels of the Rockin' Word Wall because nobody exactly wanted them, which I think is a shame. Those panels are the trademark of the class and it has my hand print and handwriting on it.

I got what they referred to as the first panel. Julio calls it his panel because of the border of masking tape he overwrote on. It doesn't matter much because it's no longer at the back of the classroom; it's on the wall beside the door of my bedroom. Now I could wake up each morning with proof that freedom of speech does exist, through hilarious and inoffensive words written by the people I'd love to see again.

I was pining for that thing. I stare at that specific panel everyday, before class, reading what the people write on it because it's the closest one to where I'm seated. I don't know if it's just me but everything they write on it is witty. The best thing scribbled on that oversized piece of yellow paper, in my opinion, would have to be this:

"What power would HELL have if those here imprisoned would not be able to dream of HEAVEN?"
-Morpheus to Lucifer, "Sandman, Preludes & Nocturnes"

I don't know who scribbled that, probably the older people. I don't think I've ever read graphic novels but the truth in that statement is amazing. There's also this other thing written in blue ink. The "War Is ____" epidemic is all over the Rockin' Word Wall.

WAR is WOMEN.

And then under it, in a darker shade of blue, was an arrow and an adjective....

misogynystic

I just find it all hilarious. Everybody was just unconstrained and it was beyond great I got a concrete reminder of their openness. It's all done and over now but I'll stop brooding over that. I learned a lot from the CW people and I'm just happy at the thought of their existence. Now I have to look elsewhere for learning. I welcome myself to the rest of my life. How exciting.

I'm well aware this doesn't concern anybody but I think this is a good thing. I haven't posted in my WordPress blog in a while and it'll be easier for me to just put everything on ICM instead of switching constantly to other blog platforms. Cheers for a real plethoric future.

And cheers for the rest of the summer, my non-CW summer.

Tyr's Day

Today is the last day of my understated Summer Enrichment Programs. I didn't record much about my three-week exposure to alliterations, metaphors, ensembles, Robert Frost, and the like. I know I'll probably regret that because these days of my summer, despite being Gehenna-like in some occasions, would be the most significant.

That is why I'm posting this now, so these memories wouldn't be lured into oblivion.

I would miss all the CW people, like 1.) Riva, the most amazing poet I've ever spent time with, 2.) Fausto, who blends in with the curtains, 3.) Bea, who's got a "Phineas and Ferb" addiction like I do, 4.) John and his Peter Pan-like way of movement, 5.) Simone, whose eyes are keen enough to realize we were reenacting ghouls during the Dogman scene, 6.) LJ/Dogman, who I abhorred but adored during his days as Dogman, 7.) Edbert, who doesn't care enough about his sister to figure out where she could be, and 8.) Everybody else.

This CW crowd, I want to stay with them. I prefer the people there than the majority of the people in my school. The CW people have a sense of direction in life, and it has nothing to do with ill intentions against the people who did barely anything against them. No, seriously, I feel like some people from my school attack other people just because they think they could.

I'm not making stupid allusions. All I'm trying to state here is that I want to stay away from the MRP's that line the hallways of my school and avoid whatever indirect threats they're capable of. But that would be unlikely. I just wish, though, that after High School, I'll be able to get the sense of belonging like I get in my CW classes. I want to meet more people who could see what I see, and not people who'll force me into bending my ken.

I've still got four hours to consider myself a part of the CW class anyways. That's not enough but at least it's there, happening. After that, I'll probably drown myself in currents of Twitter updates and blog posts scattered in the Blogosphere. Or I could philosophize deeper and find reasons to hate myself. Blah. It's almost nine o'clock. I have a TV show to watch. BFN.

Before the Moon Devours Me

[This is a long, tedious post. I swear to God there's no need for anybody to read this. I advise you not to be the exception. I don't even want to read it myself.]

I've lost sense. I'm just here to record what I'm thinking about because tomorrow's the day when I'll confirm my capabilities of reinventing myself through reciting stuff. I still think it's a big deal because, as I've mentioned before, I'm not the type who talks her way through everything.

I don't talk my way through anything, really. I don't even know how I managed to get through so much with so many unspoken words. They all think I'm the quiet one, and that's true in a lot of ways, but I really believe it's all dictated by familiarity. I'm never comfortable with them. I never figured out why I act like that. It's been that way since I entered the school I'm in now.

My mom promised me, though, that within three years, we're moving on to a different kind of life. Even if there's incongruity between her personality and everyone else's personality in this house, I believe her because she's my mom and due to some biological laws, she's supposed to be one of the good guys in my life.

That's far from now but sometimes the thought of a better future entertains you enough to help you forget about the present. I'm not actually calumniating my present life, because I'm fine with everything, but there really are times when you think you want to be more but you can't. And it gets considerably worse when you know people who can be that person you want to be without exerting any sort of effort.

It's not that easy to add another paragraph for explanation because I don't want to know what's going to happen if people actually read what I actually think, but suffice it to say, I'm a hopeful and broody kid who hopes she'd be able to march through Moon's Day without blacking out in the middle of everything.

I managed to record my voice and transfer it to my iPod in case I'll need something to calm me down. And speaking of those calm-me-down things, thinking about the people you love while you're nervous or in some sort of state like that helps. When I practice by myself, I think about my friends and I feel it, that thing that can be called happiness. A majority of those friends don't even know that I've leaped into Gehenna, and they probably never will, but the thought of them existing while I do those things makes me feel lighter.

It's unexplainable. I just miss them. While I was sitting in the pews a few hours ago, I thought about school and how I actually want to get back there now. I miss having my corner, and I miss having people around in my corner. I miss the homework-doing people, the Boys Like Girls people, the Minute Maid people, the Eastwood backstabbers people, my Science group people, the softball people who taught me that stealing bases was actually a legal thing, the she-male people, the non-confirmed people, the re-gifting people, the pantyhose people, the line-cutting cafeteria people (I still can't forgive them for line-cutting the day I had fever), the singing people, the dancing people, the stealing-things people (WTH did I phrase the last few groups like that...), the guitar-ing people, and even the I-don't-talk-to-people-like-you people...

I lost myself again. All I'm stating is that I'm still a nervous sort of person who would still evaporate and still leave a mist of chagrin but I have friends and they might not know this, but they just help me through this nervous state of mind by their mere existence.

I just have to imagine them there, scattered on the orchestra of the theater and I'll be okay. I hope this wasn't too shabby for a post but I couldn't help acknowledging this. It's way past my bedtime now and I still have to wake up early for practice. Good night and thank you, if you've reached this point of tonight's underwhelming post. I owe you a lot, too. :)

It Started With the Great Perhaps

I saw this on John Green's blog. There's nothing too striking about this video but I thought I'd post it here because I felt something weird come up inside of me as the video ended. It's almost as though I was back to my sixth grade self, sitting on my parents' bed and reading Looking For Alaska. I sort of felt like crying all over again. This was the first book that got me into whatever it is that I want now and in terms of significance, I think this is the first on my list.

Oh God, it's growing. Seriously, the more I think about it, the larger it gets. This may be weird for people who don't think like I do (i.e. probably the entirety of the human population... with the exception of a few odd kids), but I could live like this. I could live feeling this ineffably awesome thing, the type of feeling you get after reading what may be the most awesome book ever (or, in my case, the memory of reading what may be the most awesome book ever).

I probably just got carried away. Looking For Alaska's not really my favorite book. I don't know what my favorite book is anymore. I thought it was Paper Towns, because Margo's character and her philosophy equate to something big, and Q is just awesome. I thought it was The Catcher in the Rye because the narration of everything was just so nonconformist and real. I even thought it could be The Perks of Being a Wallflower, because Charlie's the best male fiction character I've read about.

There's also Georgia Nicholson and Jessica Darling, Nick & Norah and Kavalier & Clay. I might abhor Chris Crutcher and Christopher Paolini but I couldn't deny owning the stuff they make for money. Wendelin Van Draanen, Cecily von Ziegesar, Jen Calonita, E. Lockhart, Sarah Dessen, Lisi Harrison, Carolyn Mackler, Melissa De la Cruz, etc... I generally hate female authors, with the exemption of Megan McCafferty. Have I ever mentioned that?

I probably haven't, but at least now you know. Female authors could be downright predictable with their protagonists and the plots. I haven't read a book written in first-person with a male protagonist by a female author. Harry Potter was written in third-person.

Laurie Halse-Anderson is of a different category. In the same way, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian and King Dork are in a different category. Hey, and all the Dan Brown and Nicholas Sparks novels... I think it'll take too much time to cover them all.

I should make a tribute to all the books I've read one of these days. That's all I could think of myself. That's just what sets me apart from the others. And if I had none of these, I wouldn't be sitting in front of a monitor typing. I wouldn't blog and I wouldn't write my own fiction. I probably haven't read as much as other people have read, but that's beside the point. All I'm saying is that these books constructed whoever I am right now, whoever AM the [Insert Underused Noun Here]. I'm not kidding. If it weren't for these books, I'd be like them.

I strayed too much. I was only supposed to write about Looking For Alaska but I barely did. Stressing on these things only make me want to go to a bookstore. I haven't been in those places in a long while. Shakespeare's got me grounded and I hate Romeo & Juliet. For what reasons? I might need to start another post for that.

Again, good night.

Freya's Day

[Just like the last post, this one has nothing to do with anything related to Freya except for the etymology of this day's name. I'm learning a lot of trivia these days. AND by the way, this is one messy post.]

Things are going along just fine. Despite the unprecedented ceiling fan incident, nobody was struck by the unidentified white thing (we're ninjas) and the rehearsals went from what-the-hell-are-we-doing to awesome. Apparently, I wasn't as nervous as I thought. I could actually deliver my lines and pretend I'm dismembering a deer at the same time. It takes a lot of guts from a person like me but as I've stated, things are going along just fine.

And as John said in one of the rehearsal days, "We're all fools." There's really no reason for any of us to overthink our roles or whatever else could demoralize us. We're all fighting the same battle in there and the least we could do is follow the choreography inspired by asthma and the Spartans.

What the hell am I saying. Maybe I'll go straight to the point without minding the congruence of all this. I want to make a paragraph led by my dominant mood for this day.

Life doesn't inherently suck. It could be pointless most days, if you dig deep into the concept of living because we're all going to die anyway, but it really doesn't suck while you're in it. Unless you make it suck. I learned that while rehearsing with the CW people. There are just those little things in life that keep you alive. If memory serves, I termed those as "momentary pleasures."

This post is cluttered, I know, but I'm just happy. I'll get back to my old self as soon as I remember I've got stuff to worry about. Good night, anyway. I hope Freya's Day was good to everybody. It was to me.

Odin's Day

[This post has nothing to do with Odin, other than the fact that the English name of this day, a Wednesday, was derived from his name. That's what I've been learning, anyway.]

I could be a very nervous sort of person. Put a person like me in the middle of a stage with a monologue and two poems to present, and I will evaporate under the stage lights and leave behind a mist of chagrin.

Talking too much was never my forte. If that hadn't been the case, I wouldn't have a two-digit post quota here on my quasi-public blog. But today, on the eleventh day of a fifteen-day summer course, I was doomed to take things up a lot of notches and present to a public of God-knows-how-many a monologue in the perspective of a government official and two poems about animal extinction, which I didn't even write, for Monday's session.

Theater shouldn't even be part of the agenda. Or if it had been, I should have been told. I'm a coward in that field and I just don't do those things. I'm no good when lighted up and criticized, like a witch in the Middle Ages. The ship is out of the docks, though, and I'm on board. That's just a bad metaphor to this situation I've gotten myself into and couldn't get myself out of. But I figured, this is an already-paid-for misery. Whether we like it or not, as Simone said, we have to do it.

On a slightly brighter note, I've found a lot plethora of reasons to change the view of my window (i.e. acknowledge the existence of less perverse topics). I don't want to enumerate. That would spoil everything. But I'm :) these days, despite the upcoming three-part drama on Moon's Day and all sorts of miscommunication with all sorts of people for the next two months.

This is the summer and I'm not going to waste the summer wishing I was possessed by somebody else's soul. I know my haphazard phrases contradict each other but whatever. I learned not to look back at what you're afraid to see. In the same way, I'm not going to edit or reread what I just typed. I'm losing sense again. I'll stop now. Good night.

And by the way, I haven't forgotten... Tomorrow is the epic day of the Purple Devil. I'll ostentatiously wear purple tomorrow, just to commemorate this. Micah, wherever you are... I remembered the >:) thing.

Deep-Seated Talk

This is the closest I've come to an actual blog post. There's so many things to cover from what's been going lately but I chose this. Try to notice the subtle difference between this post and the rest of my blog.

I was sitting on the alleged emo bench with a friend of a friend of a friend, who was a year younger than me. We were taking the same summer course and her companions weren't there yet, so I figured it would do good for the both of us to have the space next to her filled by an actual human being, which was me.

I didn't know much about her, since we were hardly acquainted, but what came out of her mouth got me stupefied. She said she knew something (a lot of somethings, apparently) about the social hierarchy in my batch, which I didn't think would exist beyond the confines of my imagination, and that she wanted to know further about the people in it, to which I grumbled in response.

How am I supposed to respond without maligning anyone, myself included, anyway? I don't remember telling her anything significant because seriously, I didn't know the right way of expounding, if there had been things to say at all. And besides, she's younger than me. I just let it float in the air and misled her into a conversation about this teacher who looked like Sheldon Cooper.

Yet, of course, that wouldn't kill her interest in other people's lives. It wouldn't stop her mild accusations of some people being irresponsibly popular and most people being social climbers. I don't know why she was talking about what she was talking about but I think that kid's got an astounding intellectual depth I could learn from. I'll sit with her on the emo bench when Monday comes around. We could have our own class titled Things You Wouldn't Expect Someone Like Me to Know 101.

Why am I even typing these here? I was ideally going to post about my twisted euphoria because the week was over. I guess I digressed before I even started. There's always time and I'm not going anywhere. I decided on letting myself post stuff as myself. It can be pessimistic, as someone has mentioned, but that's my voice so that's what I'll have to use.

You've probably learned to deal with it, anyway.

Out with the AT's

It's Easter Monday. Everybody should have some sort of rebirth by this time. I'm up early because I'm about to pursue that so-called second chance. I mean, our baptismal vows were renewed yesterday. I might as well live by it now.

So forget about the Atom Twin Theory, and probably everything else that relates to it. My Blogger web log would be on hiatus until the twenty-eighth. Or until something on the verge of miraculous comes up.

But I doubt that.

Doing these things is comparable to swimming. The deeper you get, the more treacherous things become. And it's riskier that way. So I'll stay on the surface and stay away from this blog completely. I think I've put in enough things in here to prove I'm a meanie on the inside. I don't talk much, anyway.

By the time I get back to Blogger, I promise myself to write differently, in the style department. That was my aim when summer began. I knew I was going to pursue these programs. Everything else was somewhat in my peripheral vision. I might hate the environment and the people in it, but if things are going to go upwards and improve, then I'll take it.

God only knows how I'll go about that. I'll take things one thorn at a time. I'll probably be walking all over the place alone for a while but I'll find myself a stranger. I might find someone to share my weirdness with. You'll never really know when things like that happen.

I have no "parting words" but you won't need one, not exactly. This isn't much of a big deal, anyway. This is just one-thirds of what I obsess myself with online. So. Have a nice day.

A Plethora of What?

Okay.

I didn't think anybody would acknowledge the title change from Priorly to Already. I always thought people just do cursory reading or whatever when they're going through things they wouldn't expect to change, like this blog.

Maybe that was just an early Easter egg, in the way only bored Atom Twins like me could define. I don't feel like reasoning out the change, anyway. It hardly matters. But if you want to read something that might resemble an explanation as to why the change happened, then read on.

Monikers are for identification but I don't hurl out my so-called emotions in here. It made sense to change the time expression from Priorly to Already, but that still doesn't make it accurate. I don't think I ever did hurl out a plethora of emotions anywhere online. I'm more or less guarded where ever I go. It's safe that way. You never know what ruckus disclosure could cause.

That's it. That's the explanation in sixty-eight words. I'm learning to be concise now. It's a mature thing to do. It's no fun but at least I'm not draining the time you could use to, I don't know, do stuff.

Looking For Distinction

I've been lurking. I've been lurking bad. I have, somewhat aimlessly and shamelessly, ended up on the Multiply sites of people (mostly those that I haven't heard of or seen until the time I clicked on their so-called head shots, which all looked significantly forgettable to me) and concluded that maybe I'm not growing up exactly the way they are growing up.

You'd probably like to know how they grow up. Or you might not. I really don't consider what the public thinks about anymore because on my not-ultimately-necessary count, there are only two people who read this blog and they know who they are so allow me to just get on with saying that when I post seriously, I'm in a state of soliloquy, wherein nobody exists but me and my wrestling thoughts. Please take note of that sentence.

But I'll try to just type my backward stream of consciousness, for my purpose's sake. I'm hoping to have an awesome time pretending I'm a lot more aware than the critics of everyday life would say I am, even if the whole post would need a serious case of clarification because of how my way of expressing becomes (in)significantly more obscure when I expand my sentences. It's my nature. These posts are the opposite of laconic, but they probably are just as rude. Right?

So. Most people who only know the "me" from the school hallways and not beyond it would assume that I don't think much about the rest of the world but, as a matter of fact, I do overthink and I overthink about things better off not thought of at all, like how some people would find the need to vehemently cling on to each other for any sort of identity.

That's how they grew up, together. And what bothers me in an incredibly large scale is that they think not as individuals, but as a large group, which only makes them cultivate their supremacy without much reluctance. I'm not referring to the people in my school (maybe slightly...) but I could totally see these cases happening before me. And if the potential vultures go overboard, it's not so hard to imagine myself stumped every day until the last day of high school, which is still far, far away.

But what the hell, that's not going to happen. It's just me and my maniacal thoughts again. I was able to warn you about this being my unrestrained stream of conscience. No, actually, I didn't go all-out as I didn't mention the names better off mentioning and I didn't acknowledge the hierarchy that's establishing itself as the people grow older and closer to the legal drinking age but God, maybe this isn't me typing. I'm half-asleep and half-knocked out but I wouldn't put my head down. I have to be expressive, right?

I try not to conform to this whatever most people thrust themselves into (I have nothing against any of them, by the way) and it's all because of my decision to play safe in life, which actually means I'm not playing at all. It's getting gradually harder to understand, I know. It's getting gradually harder to think, as well but my point is this: Why play the game they laid out for you to suck at when you can have your own, with a fully altered set of rules?

One must learn to compensate with life because compensation saves. That's easy to learn when you realize you don't fit in well with a majority of people. And since I've already typed stupid adverb-awkward phrases, I might as well give you some stupid advice you'll probably never need. You'll get farther following the path of your purpose than following suit.

Most of the time, I really don't know why I type what I type. Good night.

Middle-of-Wednesday Thoughts

It's only a few minutes past eleven in the morning and for a reason I haven't made sense of yet, I'm unusually happy. They say these kinds of things are directed by the alignment of stars and planets, or even meditation. But who are they, anyway? A sad bunch of astronomers? A troop of hermits?

Maybe it just happens.

Happiness isn't the type of thing you dissect. It's just something that possesses you. Unlike malady or spite, it's mostly ineffable. You just have it there, somewhere in the depths of your soul, and you won't make a blog post consisting of a thousand words about how awesome it feels like.

I don't even know what I'm typing anymore. I just feel so attached to this blog lately. I don't even think much about crowding it with my aimless thoughts. I just post.

Some Things are Better Yellow

I wrote too much for the previous entry. I don't want to delete it but it looks somewhat awkward posted in the open like that. I just miss writing long entries and I figured the only way I could do those again without faking too much is to write about why I should be brooding. Happiness is concise while sadness is not. That's why some artists and some poets commit suicide.

That was a tad too negative. I take things too seriously, I know. Dad says it's because I read too much. I disagree. It's a sickening condition called introversion and the longer you're afflicted with it, the more crooked and corrupted you become. See how I've become so negative? I've been that way since I've started blogging.

Anyway, I'm sharing this bizarre picture with you, which I found while surfing Tumblr. I figured, though, as I debated on whether I should put the link here or not, that the more I post, the less sense I make. I wish it had been easier to post things of quality.

CLICK THIS, I swear it wouldn't scare you.

It's St. Jimmy, Don't Wear It Out

[This might be my most personal post as of late. I might regret putting it here instead of my more personal blogs but I'll leave it here for a couple of days, or maybe until the time Google shuts down (you'll never know), and just see how my being disclosed turns out. It would be easier to remember the date too, if ever I had to recall this day.]

One of my friends called me up around an hour ago and relayed news that may be, in one way or another, life-changing for me in a not-so-awesome way. I don't know how to go about with putting what she said over here but I'll try anyway, as much as this emotionally subdued blog would let me.

No, I'm changing my mind. Maybe if I don't publish that stupid news in this godforsaken blog, it wouldn't happen. I'll leave that paragraph there for future's sake so I'll have something to link back to if ever I find the incentives to write about the future tragedy of me losing one of the (very) few people I don't find the need to be an Atom Twin to.

I'm changing my mind again. I might finish this post, after all. This frustrates me. Let me overreact. Dammit. I don't want to be all juvenile and say the world is not fair but this time I think I will. It's just hard to stay optimistic when the year starts and you feel lost around the people who think they know you but really don't. I can't help it; most of them can't see past this quiet, twisted, and introverted facade of mine. Maybe the blame's on me for that one, but still.

I'm free to say it gets worse when you lose the lifeline you've had for five years. The lifeline she gave me shaped my insanity and who I am now. I'd never even have a blog if it weren't for the one she deleted a hundred metaphorical years ago. I wouldn't even be browsing the lighter side of fiction if it weren't for the one she shared with me. I could have been stuck with J.D. Salinger and George Orwell but she introduced me to Lisi Harrison.

And, most importantly, if it weren't for her unpredictable mind-set, I could have followed suit into the zombie-esque march toward the world of conformity. I wouldn't have been able to dig deeper into the concept of Nirvana and I wouldn't have been able to make my own concepts.

I wouldn't be the "me" I am now if I had grown with other people. They say who your friends are dictate the type of person you are. I believe so. Just take some time to sit in a corner to watch everybody and you'd find how accurate that statement is.

But I'll cheer up a little bit. There's more to life than St. Jimmy. I bet you don't know what I just typed but for the sake of clarity, it's a Green Day song. Green Day (and Death Cab for Cutie) songs are like oxygen tanks to some of us.

I believe I've already strayed. Have a good night. :)

Ssergorp-erp

I should discuss this further. (:

This is strict business, yes. I've been thinking about it but I couldn't quite figure out how far I should go to satisfy myself. I've read Pete Hautman's Godless and the protagonist went a great distance to establish his own set of principles, both literally and figuratively.

There's something about Yppah that makes me feel high, though. The thought of being in-charge with a way of life like it is beyond awesome. Emosewa. I detest the first three letters of that word but it would definitely go down in the Yppahn dictionary. Ha-ha. (Or is Ah-ah more appropriate? The more cacophonous it sounds, the more acceptable it becomes.)

I should stop ranting about how it makes me happy and actually push through with its completion. How many days has it been? Fourteen days? That number means I ought to be progressing by now. Maybe by the thirteenth I could formulate ideas for the Pillars of Yppah. Or maybe I could save up for a propaganda shirt that says something like, "I'm Yppah and I know it!"

That's all so far. That's all my maniacally insane mind-set is making me type. But I could come up with crazier ideas as I near mid-summer. I'm hoping so, for the sake of Yppah. It might decrease my mental sanity but whatever. At least I'm practicing my principles, unlike other people who'd rather obsess themselves with the Twitter accounts of badly cultured creatures (i.e. celebrities).

(That's actually what I've been doing for the past hour. I Twitter-stalked people I "met" by sitting in front of the idiot box all day. It's definitely far from productive but it keeps me alive. Ha-ha. Ah-ah.)

Still, I should discuss this further. |:

[Yppahist! I agree.]

Hi?

Today is the fifth of April and tonight is the Hi Evening. I don't know if Micah remembers. I don't even know where she is. I don't know if I should send her a text message regarding this day. It kind of intimidates me that her phone number was in the pocket of my journal, which I brought everywhere. It's not that I didn't want it there; it's just easier if I'd been able to do something with those numbers instead of just looking at them.

Maybe that's trying too hard. My phone's not working, anyway. I'll just post this to commemorate the holiday she declared two months ago and hope that will be okay because it's pretty late in the night and I'll have to wake up early tomorrow.

I'm sure I haven't been communicating much with other people either. I've only been routinely talking to one of my friends because I have to. I think there was some sort of gap when I lost contact with everybody and that was also the time I realized it didn't faze me. I could live like a hermit any day and it wouldn't bother me one bit.

The way I see it, the presence of summer in calendars means you'll have so much time on your hands but general interpersonal activities (e.g. conversations) would become something you'll have to exert significant effort to do, which I haven't been doing as of late. I'm not feeling the need. I've never been very social.

I'd probably be losing contact with around 90% of my friends by the time June comes around but I'm really not feeling the need to go online to buzz whoever is online. I'm happy with myself and these books and these crazy trips. That's the case, so far. I might wake up tomorrow and reverse all of these. Maybe I'm just half-awake and these are half-truths, I don't know.

But I do know that this post is boring me already. I don't want to review what I had just typed. I lack the spirit. I lack the spirit for anything. I don't know what's going on with me. I'm getting used to being a bore. I'll hit the orange button before I continue to rant on about my weirdness.