There, that should more than compensate.

Surprise, I'm not "totally self-sufficient and confident" as I told myself in eigth grade. In fact, I find myself wracked with an entirely new set of doubts almost weekly. It only gets more confusing as I start learning more and being confronted with new problems. It only gets worse, but it's good. That's the strange thing, I think I'm a little in love with the pain that life brings.

There is no guidance anywhere. It seems like nothing is applicable. Everyone's busy climbing their own ladder. Everything means something different to every person. It's all one giant, ineffable web that makes me feel like vomiting whenever I think about it too hard. And I've seen maybe one inch of one strand while the rest of it spans out forever, and ever, and ever.

I know I couldn't say any of this in person. We're all too embarassed by the fact that we're not just composed of jokes and flowers and rock music. It's been so long since I could look someone in the eye.

Everything I write is completely contrived and cliche'd, I feel like I have no voice and nothing to say. Every idea I have turns into the same "I am very afraid of big-bad world so hold me" story. I'm starting to doubt that expressing myself is really a priority in my life. Constantly feeling like I should be gathering my experiences into some product that I can sell; what is that?

My insides are sore and happy and crying. There is no reason. Just the feeling. You know.

[hypocrisy] Eighties day. AAAAHAHAHA!! IRONY! SO IRONIC! [/hypocrisy]

Humility. Me oh my, humility.

So first the 48-hour movie bombs spectacularly and rubs my own pretentiousness into my eyes until they bleed. That was good.

So then I find out I got rejected for Journalism. I'm in too bad a mood to actually feel superior to anything so I won't go into just how bad the writing in that newspaper is, but needless to say I could run circles around them. Oh well, oh well. I guess I had somehow hoped never to have to confront the fact that I'm horrible at expressing myself in any kind of creative medium.

So I was sitting in front of Vons with Mikey and the whole situation gradually revealed itself to me. I have become one of those young, angsty, aimless suburban white male do-no-rights that we've all been taught to believe are the scourge of the earth. I have no aim, no focus; I am no longer excited by nearly anything; I'm jaded and cynical; I wear black clothes and sit around watching movies all day. Fuck. FUCK. Oh well, so is the way of things.

I know this weblog has been rather dreary, and I apologize to you, dear reader(s), and promise that as soon as I get a sense of humor and a goal, I'll start posting pictures of people in funny clothes again.