I like this guy and its kinda weird because I like him because I know we wont ever go out or do anything. We wont even have that conversation about me liking him. Hes also leaving at the end of thia school year for marine core. So nothing can happen anyway.
Which brings me to the this; why like him? Hes leaving, I should be sad right? I’m not. I’m partly hoping he’ll leave soon. I don’t think I got problems or issues but I’ve no idea why I like him and I’m almost sure a therapist could tell me why.
I should go back to therapy. Then again, she doesn’t like me. She says my sarcasm shows that I don’t want help, if I even need it. >_
My phone bill fucked up so my phone is off >_
I will write about the following, leave one in my ask box.
Dear person I hate,
Dear person I like,
Dear ex boyfriend,
Dear ex girlfriend,
Dear ex bestfriend,
Dear future me,
Dear past me,
Dear person I’m jealous of,
Dear person I had a crush on,
Dear [insert URL here],
My journal is ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE ROOM! 0_0 THE HUMANITY!!! So I’m on here instead. What to say? What do I want to say?
I’m finding the reality of my life being a complete and utterly boring display of nothingness almost SLIGHTLY depressing. But just slightly.
Then again, I should be glad. No drama or any mess. Just constant silence and thinking. I want to indulge myself in some kind of sick debauchery where every sick little thought I’ve ever had can roam free and spawn into a new obsession.
Or I’m just generally sick. Take your pick.
What’s new? Nothing. Nothing at all. Boring, I think. But I can’t really be sure. One can only be bored if they are boring, which makes me believe I’m never bored I’m just not entertained. I should find something to entertain myself with.
My writing is withering to nothing and while I write small little things in class, a pointless poem here and there, excerpts from random plot points that are running through my mind and so on, nothing serious. I finished Kyra but that book ended with it leading into a second book and I’ve grown tired of vampires. Ivy is finished, 300pgs of lesbian depression. That’s Done.
I need new ideas, which I have. I simply don’t have the energy to write or even the desire anymore. Without writing, what else do I have?
Maybe I don’t need to write anymore because writing was an outlet. I no longer need one because I’ve become a sane and well rounded person.
Or I’m fucking with myself, who knows?
What else? What else?
When this GED stuff begins I know everything in my life now will be left behind and I will be starting something new. I know that, and maybe I’m preparing myself for that unknowingly.
Why is that kind of comforting?