If you had viewed the site before - I apologize. Everything that was said, everything, was said before I could even comprehend writing in general. This was brought to my attention by someone from Narmir, and I now fully understand why he laughed. I laughed too. This site was reason enough for god to not have given us hands.

And I have come back, going through all this shit in my angelfire account - random rants, unfinished writings, files to games I never got around to creating, many pictures. And it was those damn pictures that made me feel like putting this disgrace out of it's misery.

I come back to write this with a better grip as to what exactly writing is. It's been a year or so, I haven't counted, and needless to say I am smarter, stronger, skin thicker, more creative, older, wiser, etc, etc, blah blah blah blah blah

Many things have changed for me over this time. I did indeed grow. I'm a little bit more artistic lately; I've been working on my drawings, writing more, begun playing bass. I wish to get into photography, and maybe be a video artist of some sort. I want to be a more well-rounded person.

I've begun to drink more often, and smoking bowl after bowl with my small circle of distant friends seems to be my only source of entertainment, now. And if I'm with them, and if I'm either stoned or tanked, I don't have to think of Alex. Ah yes, I did not mention her. She is new. Was new. Along with being older, smarter, funnier comes the price of rejection. And it has taken it's toll - bloodshot eyes going over pointless ramblings at 1 am. I have to go to school in seven hours. Maybe I won't sleep tonight.

Sleepless nights, pot, computers, and drawing seem to be all I am familiar with right now. Thats what she did to me I guess. I've been able to half-ass everything I do in school. I've gotten away with it for a month or so. I have an already late american history paper due tomorrow (was originally due last week) that I have yet to start on. As well as a research paper we've had seven weeks to work on, I've done nothing with that.

What exactly do I tell them? "I couldn't finish that story last night Mr. Mortinson, I was too busy stewing in the hole I dug for myself filled with self-pity and apathetic despair"? Not five minutes later I'd be hopped up on whatever medication they gave me, and the school counseler would be busy telling my parents I'm fucking nuts.

I've been making a comic, which will soon be scanned and hosted at Eyeshock. I'm sure there will be enough depression and whiny bitching along with said comic. I'll see you there.

A Boring Story