Wednesday, April 30, 2003

Four Reasons Not To Fall in Love

I met someone. She's pretty, funny, cute, insightful, and somehow paradoxically both immature and adult at the same time. I like her, and I believe she likes me. ("Like," whatever the fuck that means.)

The only problem -- and part of the "problem" is that I can't tell if this situation is a problem -- is that she's just sixteen. Four years younger.

Four years is one fifth of my life. I almost feel that there is some imaginary barrier between us. She's still in the "high school" portion of her life, not that her being in high school is bad. But I would feel just as uncomfortable being with someone four years my senior because she would most likely be in the "career" portion of her life while I'm still in the "college" portion of mine.

Am I just making this up?

Probably; I always look for reasons not to fall in love.

Tuesday, April 29, 2003

A Reminder

Today I was reminded of how much I like the smell of fresh woodchips. Thanks university grounds crew!

Personality Disorder Test

Schizotypal:Very High

-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! --

I am most likely:

Schizotypal Many believe that schizotypal personality disorder represents mild schizophrenia. The disorder is characterized by odd forms of thinking and perceiving, and individuals with this disorder often seek isolation from others. They sometimes believe to have extra sensory ability or that unrelated events relate to them in some important way. They generally engage in eccentric behavior and have difficulty concentrating for long periods of time. Their speech is often over elaborate and difficult to follow.

Avoidant Avoidant personality disorder is characterized by extreme social anxiety. People with this disorder often feel inadequate, avoid social situations, and seek out jobs with little contact with others. They are fearful of being rejected and worry about embarassing themselves in front of others. They exaggerate the potential difficulties of new situations to rationalize avoiding them. Often, they will create fantasy worlds to substitute for the real one. Unlike schizoid personality disorder, avoidant people yearn for social relations yet feel they are unable to obtain them. They are frequently depressed and have low self-confidence.

Sunday, April 27, 2003


I should grow some sometime.

You can eye and smile at a girl across the room at a party as much you want, but unless you go over and talk to her, nothing is going to happen.

Thursday, April 24, 2003

And Then Comes the Lonliness

I hate myself for feeling this way, but it's not like I didn't hate myself sometimes anyway. I should be happy for my best friend, but instead I'm jealous. Not that I want was he has, but I want the same opportunities. And I don't know why I don't have them.

He's not better than me, so why do these things always happen to him and not me? I guess he's just lucky, but what makes him so special?

I should just be glad for him. I shouldn't be jealous. I should just be content with what I have and not compare myself to him. . . . Shouldn't I?

Ten of Diamonds

Now it's just getting old.

Tuesday, April 22, 2003

Two of Spades

While walking back from work with one of my roommates, Sammy, we found a Two of Spades and another Eight of Diamonds.

Easter Break Not Long Enough

Finals coming. Behind in classes. Papers due. And oral reports. No sleep. Head hurting.

Little posting for now.

Tuesday, April 15, 2003

Cry for Help

The next time I hear someone say, "Attempting suicide is just a cry for help," I will punch them in the face. Suicide is not "just" anything.

Yes, attempting suicide is a cry for help. So, why don't you fucking listen, instead of labeling someone as emotionally weak, unstable, or attention hungry. Suicide isn't just a game people play to see how many people they can get to cry for them; suicidal people actually do want to kill themselves.

I know that's hard for your self-important, pompous mind to comprehend, but please, in the future, don't belittle someone that finds life just a little too difficult to handle sometimes. In fact, since you're so knowledgable about everything, why don't you use even a miniscule part of your time and vast knowledge to help this person. No, don't even try to help them, you'll probably do more harm than good. Just sit there and listen to them for a while. Don't say anything; don't talk about yourself or how you could help them, just listen. It could save their life.

Monday, April 14, 2003

Bottle of Vicodin

Last night an acquantance of mine -- whom I was quickly becoming friends -- attempted suicide. I don't know all the details, because her good friends don't want to spread rumors and stories, but apparantly a friend found her (or she found a friend) before it was too late. She was taken to the hospital and she's doing fine now, medically at least.

When I heard about it, I just froze in place. I wanted to cry. I don't know why I didn't. Maybe I was too surprised. Maybe I'm just a jackass. But I genuinely felt -- feel -- so . . . something.

I feel so empathetic, something. I just want to give her a hug, hold her hand, and tell her "I know."

Sunday, April 13, 2003

Saturday, April 12, 2003


I wan't to keep this blog as anonymous as possible. So I've adopted a pseudonym and haven't revealing my location. (I'm like a secret agent.) I've also taken to, when talking about my friends, shortening names to the first two letters followed by two dashes (such as Ry-- and Ju--). I think that is stupid, but I don't know what else to do.

Should I just write whole names? Should I abbreviate with initials? Should I make up nicknames for everyone? Or should I just refrain from using any sort of name and just call people Roommate 1, Roommate 2, Friend A, Acquaintance C, etc?

The McBastard in Me

I pissed off one of my roommates, Ry--, this week, so he hasn't been talking to me. He's mad because I yelled at him. I don't know if I should feel bad about it, though. He likes to joke around all the fucking time and while I like to have a good time, there are moments when I just don't want him following me around and trying to be funny. And I guess a year and seven months was my limit of how much I could take living with him and not say anything about it, because on Wednesday I just snapped (but it probably didn't help that I was drunk). I yelled at him and told him to quit following me around and I didn't think he was funny and to just leave me the fuck alone every once in a while and . . . [drunken rambling].

When he tried to make a joke out of it by standing behind me, I punched him. Or rather, I would have had he not moved out of the way and had the room not been slowly spinning and tilting. I yelled at him some more and he finally got the point and just walked off. We haven't said more than two words to eachother since.

But I don't really feel bad. (That's the McBastard in me.) I mean, I guess I should have had the decency to tell him sober and in a more tactful way. But for the past several months I've been tactful, or, at the very least, not rude. I've asked him why he follows me around, and I've shut up whenever he pisses me off with a joke that he takes just a little too far. But Ry-- doesn't know when to stop and doesn't take hints very well, so maybe telling him in a very explicity way was the only way it would get through to him.

Anyway, I did it; it's over. I can't take it back now. But to tell the truth, I kind of miss his jokes sometimes.

Friday, April 11, 2003


I got my hair cut last night. I already miss the shaggyness. Yeah, it wasn't very attractive, and it coupled with the scraggly facial hair made me look like a bum. Yeah, my hair stuck out at funny angles from under my hat. Yeah, it was always kinda matted because I never combed it. Yeah sure, it basically looked like shit. But me and being clean-cut just don't seem to match. So here's to another couple months of waiting for my hair grow out.

Wednesday, April 09, 2003

The Horror

Did he live his life again in every detail of desire, temptation, and surrender during that supreme moment of complete knowledge? He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision -- he cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath:

'The horror! The horror!'

I blew the candle out and left the cabin.

-- Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad

Monday, April 07, 2003

Would I Be My Friend?

I asked a friend recently If you met yourself, would you want to be friends with you? Thinking about all of the qualities that I look for in a friend --a close friend, not just a casual acquaintance -- I don't know if I would be My friend. I know I can be annoying sometimes; my sometimes offensive and tactless sense of humor often gets out of control. I very seldomly have a positive outlook on things, and no matter the argument, I always play Devil's Advocate, even if I know the side I'm arguing for is wrong.

But I guess I'm a pretty tolerant friend, so I might look past these short-comings and see the positive aspects about being friends with Me: I'm loyal -- sometimes to a fault -- sticking up for my close friends no matter what. And despite the mean things I say sometimes, I'm not a malicious person; the last thing I ever want to do is hurt my friend.

So, maybe I would be My friend after all. But even so, it wouldn't be a very smooth friendship; I would most likely be mad at Myself most of the time for all the stupid things I say and do. But if you can't be mad at your friends, who can you be mad at?

Friday, April 04, 2003

Hello, My Name Is Josh

I am now Josh. My name is not, nor has it ever been, "Josh", but I've decided that it will be much easier if I just start going by it.

During my senior year in high school, my science class was jointly-taught by two teachers (one of whom had known me and my name for four years). The two started calling me "Josh" out of the blue. The one that knew me knew that "Josh" was not my name and corrected herself every time she called me by that name. But she still repeatedly did it.

And around the same time, a lady at work (where I had been working for over a year) started calling me "Josh." She didn't do it often, but she did it more than once. It was really weird.

Where I work now, my superviser called me "Josh" once about a month ago. I probably wouldn't have noticed it had I not been called by that name so many time before.

Today I received a handwritten note from one of my professors addressed to "Josh." I was more than a bit confused until I realized that I was "Josh." I am Josh.

New Favorite Song

My new favorite song (this week) is Short Stories with Tragic Endings by From Autumn to Ashes. At nine minutes, it is a rather lengthy song, but it is almost like two songs blended together, the perfect combination of hard-core and emo. I highly recommend downloading it.
Here you stand seething with guilt.
Silence only justifies this act of cowardice.
The look stapled on your face cries out for forgiveness, the one thing that I cannot give you.
{Did you ever see that one person
and the way they do these things
and it hurts so much it's like choking . . . choking?}

I can give you freedom from your guilt,
with a flick of my wrist onto yours.
I can give you peace of mind with a forced smile.

I can give you death with the look upon my face.

This is your freedom in a life of fallacy,
with no last kiss & no regrets;
you don't deserve good bye.
This is your freedom in a life of fallacy,
with no last kiss & no good bye.

Here you stand seething with guilt.
Silence only justifies this act of cowardice.
With a short story, the one you add to daily, you are the tragic loss.
No story book ending for this fairy tale of you.
Just the one composed with blood taken from your pen that you hold in your lifeless hand.
Cry for you. Shed tears. Mourn. Wish the end.

{Did you ever look, did you ever see that one person,
and the subtle way that they do these things and it hurts so much?
So much it's like choking down the embers of a great blaze.
It's that moment when your eyes seem to spread aspersions
and to scream confessions at the insipid sky parting clouds.
You let this one person come down on the most perfect moment.
And it breaks my heart to know the only reason you are here now is a reminder of what I'll never have.
I'll never have . . . I'll never . . .
Standing so close knowing that it kills me to breathe you in.
Standing so close knowing that it kills me to breathe you in.
But this table for one has become bearable.
I now take comfort in this, and for this, I cherish you.
Did you ever look, did you ever see that one person
and the subtle way that they do these things and it hurts so much?
So much it's like choking down the embers of a great blaze.
It's that moment when your eyes seem to spread aspersions and to scream confessions at the insipid sky parting clouds.
And you let this one person come down.. come down. I cherish you.. I cherish you.
Just say that you would do the same for me.
just say you would do the same.
just say you would do the same for me.
For as much as I love Autumn,
I'm giving myself to Ashes.}
Lyrics courtesy of

Thursday, April 03, 2003

Last Summer's Poetry

While perusing my library of personal poetry, I came across this shoddily written, untitled poem that I wrote over the summer. Despite how badly it was composed, I really like it. I'm not sure what I was feeling at the time I wrote it, but it captures what I've been feeling for the past week.
Saturday, July 6, 2002

Every day that I wake up without someone next to me
I wish that I could fall back into sleep
Because I'm only a man in this boy's dreams

Every waking moment, surrounded but alone
I rarely believe I'm good enough for anyone
Eyes slowly drifting until my consciousness is gone

Was she ever here at all?
Or was she only in my dreams?
Intangible or so she seems

I hope to wake up with the thought of her in my mind
The thought of her in my arms makes me smile

Tuesday, April 01, 2003


I was invisible last night. I could see other people, they just couldn't see me. Even when I would scream and shout for attention, they would glance in my general direction for a few moments with a confused look on their faces, and then return to being interested in the things they could see.

I always thought that it would be really cool to be invisible; I could do wacky things and nobody would know it was me. I could get away with anything! But actually, being invisible is just really lonely.

I hate it when I'm invisible.

Circa Now