“When you touch things you touch them as if they’re real.”

I didn’t understand what you meant. I still don’t. But I asked anyways. I wanted you to tell me it meant I stood out among millions. That it meant I was special. I wanted it to somehow mean that I had a sort of shine. that maybe, I was more human than all this wretched cattle. I wanted you to tell me it made everyone see me, that no one else could ever be what I was, that inside of me was a secret answer to some unspoken question, a certain way about me that maybe meant… that meant something, anything. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, was to know that maybe I meant something. But to who? But what? But I guess that doesn’t matter anymore…

I touched things as if they were real, does that mean I was real? Or that to me, the world was.

ew. you suck.

summer's almost over...

i've bought my books, all my supplies, even some new clothes...

as dorky as it sounds, i'm excited to start school. wary cause i'll have ASS loads of work to do... BUT, that's ok. and i know what classes i want to take in the spring. and then i'll take classes in the summer. and if all goes according to plan, maybe i'll get to do a semester in paris. wouldn't that be GREAT?

now, only a handful of things to thunk about.... 1) a job. must get. must do well. nnneeeeeeeddd money. 2) a new place to live. not that i have to. or that i'm going to like NOW, but... it's still there, back o' my mind. o0o and 3) 1 year. eeeks!

now if only i could a) find me some well fitting pants and b) FINALLY finish cleaning my room.

My singer emo kid for mine and Adam's band
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