Journal Snippets

I don't write real literature as much as I mindlessly complain about the existing state of affairs, specifically the one of the Bastardias or whoever most people complain about now, but I'm quite proud of what I have been dedicating cheap black ink to. If Charlie had felt infinite with The Smiths, I feel infinite with my journals. My writings are all I really have. People always leave, like Peyton says. Some fly to Canada, some are forced to transfer due to expenses, some move to science high schools, some feel too harassed to remain, some would do all it takes to evade the swimming pool, some are just gone and some never came to stay.

But the written words of my journal, they stay, as badly-phrased as they are. I don't know why I found the need to mention that, but browsing through the journal I used from June 10, 2008 to December 31, 2008 (Journal Intime #4) changed a little bit of my outlook toward some of the people who were in my life then. That "then" is still very recent, by the way, but it's still distant.

That was it. That was the last hit I'll take from that bitch.
--Me, referring to a friend, September 12, 2008

She left, I stayed. I expected that because eventually, I had to know my habits are either lame or too responsible.
--Me, on a two-hour lunch break, September 26, 2008


Eventually, she found out about him and then teased me. But there's no way in hell we could "be."
--Me, while having an online conversation, October 25, 2008


I'm disoriented. People from the Upper Crust are my friends?
--Me, in disbelief, November 11, 2008


Although she's quasi-suicidal, she's willing to take her time. I tell her to, anyway. I hope she takes it to heart because I don't want to think all my good friends drift away like dust.
--Me, having an emo friend, November 14, 2008


She didn't need to hear any of it but she wanted to. I thank God for her concern. I'm happy. I don't know if I did anything to deserve this but thank God.
--Me, in the middle of the night, December 19, 2008


Chatting isn't supposed to be challenging. I don't know about this, though.
--Me, adding a second sentence to a weird conversation, December 30, 2008

Seven short cheesy parts of my life should be enough. I do miss the times worth writing extensively about and especially, the people involved in those situations. I was with all sorts of good people. They were seriously of different sorts and I often wonder how that could have been possible. It didn't faze me that I might not be seeing a few of them anymore and I wish I'd done something about it when it mattered but June's coming around and it's late. I have to stop being a cheese ball and resume to be the old AM. This is an awful time for pouring these things out anyway. I'm not even going anywhere. How'd I get this personal about me, anyway?

But I admit, when I'm in my late sixties, this would probably be what I will be spending my time on. I'll either read about the past or write about the present and make it pass. I might even post here in this blog, occasionally. I hated how this blog started but I embrace it now. My life's in here as well. Isn't that nice? You're part of my life too? My head. I'm sorry. My head's escaping normalcy. It might be a little sad for you, normal people, but I will always be an introverted, dweeby diarist and I'm happy the way things are.

This is some extra content for someone who might read.

Then it's the Purple Devil fest.
--Me, in the middle of the night, January 23, 2009