Despite the fact that I have opened up quite a bit to him, it still has not changed me all that much.

I find myself constantly attempting to push him away. But now I wonder...

For whose own good?

Being in love is one of the most painful and most beautiful things to ever experience.

I am the product of a time when fidelity actually meant something in relationships.

What I find most interesting are the thoughts that drift through the minds of the tired and inebriated. And to be quite honest, it scares me just a little. Because not only does the alcohol inhibit your ability to think. speak, see, walk, feel properly, but it keeps you from feeling altogether happy.

Now, that makes a lot of sense, does it not? Alcohol is a depressant. And the inability to feel content is therefore further kept from you by inebriation. The paradox is, however, in the fact that people dabble in alcoholism to feel the contentedness that comes with inebriation, drunkenness, and sloven ways. And it works. Not that I speak directly from experience--second hand, if you're curious--but plenty of people, family, friends, acquaintances have succumbed to the pressures that come with the buzz of a drink. So people drink to be happy; is that not the truth? Do enlighten me if I am erred to think such things of the social, American (maybe not?) way of life.

However, in the pursuit of this so-called "happiness," people are later forced to face the discontent that plagues their present existence. So what is to be done? Surely one may follow suit of their European counterparts. However, what is to be done with the American mindset of "eat, drink, and be merry?"

People continue to confound me. People, therefore, continue to upset, bother, and unsettle me.

What is left for someone who feels like an outsider to two exclusive groups that cannot be simultaneously joined? Shall he forever feel lost?

P.S. Sobriety check-points are hilarious.

"You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She’s not perfect - you aren’t either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break - her heart. So don’t hurt her, don’t change her, don’t analyze and don’t expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she’s not there."

I just realize that there's absolutely nothing to do once you finish all chores, errands, and extra work that needed to be done.

... Procrastination and rushing really do make life more interesting.

The clock shows 5:36. If she calculated correctly, the sun should be rising in approximately an 54 minutes. Give or take a half hour, she believes. Physically exhausted and fatigued, she planned on shutting her eyes and succumbing to sleep approximately 6 hours ago. However, thoughts being thoughts, hers drifted a particular direction towards a certain young fellow.

The clock shows 5:40. A smile creeps onto her face as she recalls being called his "love." Catching herself in mid-smile, she scowls and digs her head into her pillow.

The clock shows 6:00. Enough with this silliness.

The clock shows 6:13. Her eyes and arms feel heavy. Still, sleep eludes her. She hates herself. She hates him.

The clock shows 6:15. Her eyes close. Her breathing slows. She does not hate him...

I'm sitting here in the studio, supposedly working on the site plan that's been in need of work for the past three days. But to work without motivation, without passion, births a product that is halfheartedly done. And that is something that I will not and cannot tolerate myself to produce. So in hopes of shedding this apathy, I write and write, seeking my muse. How difficult is it really to place some tables, people, and trees onto a site plan that is asking to be drawn onto? When in such a tepid state of mind, I tell you, my friends, that it is excruciatingly difficult.

Hm.

What ever happened to the passion that drove every word from my lips and every expression in my eyes? What happened to the life and fire inside of me?

Rethinking. Reanalyzing. Recuperating. All the "re"s in the dictionary cannot even cover the growing necessity to redo everything.

It surely has been quite a while since I've felt the need to type, type, and type. Do not, in any way, mistake this hiatus as an indicator as to how content I am with my life. To be quite blunt about it, it just shows how much I am beginning to relinquish control of my life. Now I am sure that some of you will say that it is near impossible to control one's life. However, there are cases when "losing control" of one's life actually leads to sheer disaster. So please excuse me for wanting my life to remain on its certain course.

But considering my lack of outflow and retention every possible tear and yell, I have reduced myself to a rock-like state, drained (and being drained) of emotion. The need to draw, paint, sketch, write, read... is gone. With my absorption of my negative energy, my apathy gradually increases. As other people fall apart around me, crying, yelling, kicking, screaming, I remain unfeeling, providing near-hollow words of comfort that are more for my own comfort than they are my friends.

Am I cruel? Perhaps. Am I cold? Maybe. However, it truly is not my desire to be so. What I need, what I want is to become more human. What I need is to care once more.

With an open blog such as this, I run the risk of certain eyes grazing over these very words. But I find this rant to be a necessary form of self-preservation.

I saw him today. Or at least, my mind made me believe that I saw him today. And my heart began to race.

So I tried. I tried it all again, I mean. The acceptance of vulnerability of being alone. And to be honest, I haven't a clue as to where that took me. Surely it was a roller-coaster of sorts. As to how intense it was, I haven't a clue either. This entire situation I find myself in left me, shall we say, empty.

Yes, it is about a boy. A man? A boy? He is whatever he wishes himself to be. However, I find it tragic that he, as bright and as lively as he is, already closed himself off from the uncertainties that the future may hold. This may be my naivete speaking, but is it really all that possible to allow full control of the mind over the heart? If so, is it fair? Is it natural? Whatever your answers may be, because I am in no mood to enter what will be a full-blown debate. A hollow debate that will prove to be, let me tell you.

Whatever sort of nonsense I am making right now... I shall finish on a light note. I am not hurt.

...

And knowing me, my "light note" is known to be relatively "dark and depressing" for others.

So, here I am, empty.

Finding out that someone loves and cares for you more than you ever will for them seems to only result in terrible heartbreak.

I'm aware that I speak incessantly on the topics I hate... so here's another one.

I despise reading back on certain entries that confirm how silly I really am.

I find it hilarious that what I fear the most about going home is running into some not-so-much-my-acquaintances sort of girls from high school. After eavesdropping--I had no choice on that matter--for 5 minutes, I learned the following:

Their goals seem to be to talk about their embarrassingly inebriated moments at last night's party and to point out other girls' imperfections.

Apparently, *Cheryl's boots were "like totally cute" almost to the point where *Britney "sorta wants to, like, kill [her] for them."

Fortunately enough, I find my headphones right after that, and drown out their nasal squawking with some Ella Fitzgerald.

Cheers to the Granada Hills Charter High School Class of '07.

*Names have been changed not for the other parties' privacy, but for my own peace of mind.

Is it okay to be just a little jealous of the people who had an amazing 2008? I can surely say that it was not all that bad, of course... but what to do when I cannot remember the good times?

Oh, what to do?