Anyone else enjoy the end of the world? What a doozy. 6:00 pm. EST came and went without a cloud in the sky. In fact, weather here was even better today than it has been all week.
No, I haven't slept.
No, this week has not been good. But I suppose the last couple days have been better. I even won yesterday's tennis match, all physical damage aside.
I can't stop thinking.
God fucking damn it why can't I stop thinking.
I need to think of better things.
I've been reading Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray recently. I'm considering going back and finishing The Ultimate Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy because I put it down last summer and haven't gotten past the beginning of Book Three. Douglas Adams is like an idol to me. A literary genius.
Haven't touched Lovecraft in a while. Don't think I ever will again. Maybe I should finish Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.
I'm analysing House of Leaves for my IB Extended Essay. It's not due until next spring, so I've got plenty of time. Studying the Iranian Revolution for my History Internal Assessment. No Exit and The Metamorphosis for my English IA, as I mentioned before.
...What else have I done.
Is that all, really? Just weather and books? Maybe being a genius isn't as exciting as I thought. Maybe I'm not even a genius. My gears just move in overdrive.
I haven't done anything particularly creative with my time lately. No drawing. No writing, other than this blog and a few Facebook/Twitter posts of no real consequence. I don't even have internet access let alone texting on my phone, so there's no point in having a Twitter.
I've recently rediscovered the joys of German rock. Make fun of me if you will, but Tokio Hotel's old albums aren't that bad. Rammstein has an odd calming effect on me as well.
I find a lot of relaxation in copying phrases, lyrics, poems, anything inspiring or interesting, into notebooks. I guess I've been doing that a lot. But it hasn't much significance. I just find it soothing.
I don't understand. My mother used to love seeing all the amazing things I could create (so she said; I see them only as scribbles now). What do I have now? What do I do now? Sit in my room all day reading, shy away from the sun, the outside, only going out in the rain.
No matter what I do, whatever it is, I can never apply myself to it. I never give it my all. Every part of my life is half-assed. I have the potential. So why the fuck don't I use it? What good am I?
Going on a trip to New York City with a bunch of people from school on Wednesday. That might give me something to blog about for once. Enough with my angsty bitching, now, and fair thee well.