The ways I want to spend my summer.

Making money.

Finishing an album.

Making friends.

Laying out at the beach.

Playing shows.

Screaming at the top of my lungs. 

We won't stand for hazy eyes anymore

Taking Back Sunday hits me harder than any other day of the week. Especially Thursday.

#180

Deleted my Facebook today. All I did was save the pictures to my hard drive. Now, I don't have a reason to deal with stupid bullshit. This is a good first step towards growing up.

If you want to know what relaxation is like

You should definitely try running during the wee hours of the morning. I've never felt better.

I need this.

I can't stand anything right now. I need sleep medication. I'm probably going to develop a Benadryl addiction soon. I'm so tense, and everything hurts so bad, yet it all feels so distant. I'm alone, and I'm pushing people away. I figure making myself more lonely now will help me appreciate what I have later. Maybe I'm just tricking myself. Maybe loneliness is in my head. Our heads. Whatever. One day, I'm either going to die from this, or live to tell the tale, so to speak. I don't know which one I want more. How fucking lame am I? I think Taylor and I are the only ones left who still use this. And, not that his posts aren't important or heartfelt, but I invest so much more of my time in this. Constantly reloading, constantly checking this stupid blog that's fallen out of the peripheral vision of everyone's attention, just to see if anyone had anything to say about anything I feel. I don't want to ask people to read this because, well, it'd feel forced. How can anyone say I make a difference if I'm not even visible? It's fucking insanity. I'm fucking insane these days. I don't know what I need, but whatever it is, I need it so bad.

Abandon Ship

It's all right, it's okay. We were famous for a day.
It was good, so let's just stop. There's no shame in ending on top.

Digging

Tell me every single emotion that's behind all your metaphors.
Tell me why you post the quotes you do.
Tell me why you're so beautiful, yet so damaged.
Tell me why you love me, yet hurt me so much.
Explain to me what goes on in your head.
Explain why we both lay alone in our beds.
Explain the difference between just friends and together again.
Explain why I never know what's going on anymore.
Show me the eyes that used to seem so bright.
Show me the eyes we both shared after every fight.
Show me the things you do to help you feel okay.
Show me what you do to help you sleep at night.
Help me fix me.
Help me destroy me.
Help me rebuild me.
Help me feel me.

Scribble scribble.

It's Mother's Day. That's cool, I guess. I just want my mom to have a good day. If that means that today is the day, then that's fine.

Anyway, back to my writing.

I don't know why I'm still up at this hour. With the exception of last night, I've stayed up until at least 4am every night for the past week. All I want to do is write music lately. But, I've also gotten back into skating. I really missed jumping around on my old tree. Who knows? Maybe I'll get good. Haha. I will say though, that my bouts of insomnia are pretty cool. I've done a lot of weird stuff this week, but it was interesting at least. At least I wasn't tired for nothing.

Well, off to write. Funny, because I just finished writing here.

I wish I could have appreciated Box Car when they played.

That's probably one of the bands I wish I could see the most. I'd probably cry the entire show, but I just can't help how much their lyrics take me away with them. I can't really take them in. I just have to sort of follow. It's like when you're thirsty, and you have just a little bit of water left in your bottle, and you stick out your tongue just to wait for the last drop.

To me, Cat Like Thief is the instantaneous yet infinitely long moment where you wait for that last drop. I can't ever listen to it just once. I listen to all my favorite songs and just give up every time because I know I'll never write anything half as good as these songs.

My curse is being led to believe that I have all the potential in the world. The truth? I have potential to be mediocre. I just haven't been able to get that far yet.

There's a reason I don't have a Tumblr.

I think they're neat and all, and I'm not hating in the least bit. I just can't seem to be creative enough to post things from all different mediums. I use blogger because I hide behind words. Words are my blanket. I can use words to express myself best. My face, my body language, my anything really don't tell you how I am. If you want to know how I am, ask me. That's the closest thing to the truth you'll get from me.

Dayum.

Why do I have so much in common with you?

I never saw it coming, that's for sure. But, it's nice, and I like it.

Yay, new friend. :]

Back to BTMI

I wonder what it is that makes me tear up whenever I hear this song. I always want to run to this song, but it's hard to run when you can't see. 

I'm starting to see how much I really hate what I've become. Not who, but what. 

I wonder why I feel so alone? I always feel like I have no one. Watching depressing movies about death definitely doesn't help remedy this feeling, let me tell you. Maybe I'll just live life between bouts of drowning and burning.

Abso-fucking-lutely unbelievable.

As if I hadn't already had a bad day, mom comes home and:

"What'd you do today?"
     "Um, I had an essay due, and a midterm, but I was late to class."
"Why were you late?"
     "Well, I tried to print out my essay on your computer, but your computer was trying to update itself for an hour."
"Well, why didn't you use the other one?"
     "It doesn't have Word."
"Why were you late though?"
     "Did you miss me saying it took your computer an hour for me to be able to use?"
"You should have done your essay earlier."
     "Because leaving myself an hour to print out an essay isn't already enough? That was literally out of my control."
"You shouldn't have waited 'til the last minute."
     "I didn't. You're acting like I was supposed to know it would take an hour for your computer to turn on."
"You shouldn't have been late."


Thanks, Mom. You do a great job of managing to make me feel bad for everything.