The Cure for Boredom amongst people is Blogging.

Whew.

I'm tired of parties. But this only happens when I'm at one.
I'm starting to worry about my life more. Future goals, college, love, etc.
I have no ambition, and no motivation to drive me.
All I speak is pure drivel these days.

I like blogging. It's a slate I can pour all my thoughts upon.
And simultaneously be truly obnoxious.
I care. About you, myself, my friends, my family. Sort of.
Just not enough. Not nearly enough. Only adequately enough to keep going.
And going.

I remember days where I used to just hang out and enjoy my life. Not simply tolerate it, but actually feel like I belonged where I was. Thinking about those days brings out a nostalgia I never knew I had. Sitting around the John Deere curb with my skater friends, talking shit about pretty sunsets, life, and still saying we loved the shit, the shit tastes so good.

We used to walk around at night, sometimes after other school's football games (ours was nothing to speak of) meeting new people, being hilarious, and existing as people who believed that our lives would become nothing, but we had what we had, which was enough to sustain us. It's not our lives as a whole that make an era, those moments are what make us. Not golden years, since there are no such things. No, golden moments. Moments we won't forget, and will look back upon, saying: "Don't fucking remind me of those times. Those were the good days." Because as a whole, these teenage years are stress, bad decision making, drama, holding out for a better time that won't happen.

No, it's those golden moments that make our lives worth it.

It's like that old, shining, nostalgic Americana period that never existed anywhere but we know happened. It happens in those moments where you're lying on your friend's roof looking at passing cars. It happens walking through lit-up empty football fields in the middle of the night. It happens when you have no where to stay, and you ask some girls if you can crash on their floor, and they let you. (Thanks, Megan and Laura.) It happens when you first realize that happiness does occur, and it is occurring to you.

I never realized spring is so heart warming, and that all these things I remember actually were worth remembering.

Don't fucking remind me of those times. Those were the good days.

It still feels like winter to me.

"A cold open is the technique of jumping directly into a story at the beginning or opening of the show, before the opening credits are shown."

And then I realized that's what my entire life is. Just constantly jumping back and forth between stories, with no clue what is going on or any idea about what's happening. But I suppose that's what makes it all the more exciting, albeit equally frustrating.

So I lied. I said I would post three times a week, when I haven't even touched this for a little more than half a month. I guess making promises make me betray them through procrastination. I hate my personality.

Good news for those of you (who? no-one, in all actuality) who read this and despise me. I've had all my personal possessions taken away from me (apart from my cigarettes and lighter) and I am being forced to live like a monk for awhile.
Who knows, I might actually work out or get things done now that I have no outer distractions.

I was on the bus earlier. A blind person got on the bus with a seeing eye dog, and when she sat down, someone had the deformed brain cells to say to her: "That's a beautiful dog you have there." I hate people sometimes. They make me irate.

Irate is by and by a good word...

I realized I have an intense dislike for hope. As a ridiculously sized double edged sword, it really does crush you if it doesn't come through. But if you remove hope and lack expectations, you won't ever feel the happiness of that rare occurrence where your expectations are fulfilled.

Uh, yeah.

Where are my fucking glasses?

Anyway, I was totally and utterly destroyed a couple of nights ago (emotionally, like the whiny little bitch boy I am) after going out and having my heart crushed. (Wah wah, hear me cry.) So afterwards, I went to drown myself in my other friends' comfort and their alcohol (read: shit beer) while trying to recover from my traumatizing experiences that I so regularly indulge in. I surprisingly succeeded.

It's funny, watching a small intoxicated Vietnamese friend of mine trying to drunkenly walk in my friend's girlfriend's (although technically she's also my friend, so the pretext was not required) heels.

I need to take things as they come. Moderation. Not to look the gift horse in the mouth, but not to ignore the fact there IS a goddamn horse.

I'm not good with moderation.

Two things dawned upon me.

1. The word friend is incredibly cheap.

2. Ugh. I still like her. Almost love her. Even though there's no chance of me being happy with her.

But you know, in the end, after all your excuses have been cast away, it's all about the girl. That's all there is to it.

I need to smoke.

Because SMOKING, DRINKING, and SNORTING COCAINE makes you cool.

Right?