I Drink my Liquor from the Pond

I hate being depressed because I feel guilty--guilty over the fact that I don't really have a good enough reason to feel this way.

Deja Vu

I thought I kept having little bouts of deja vu until I realised that that's not it; I've actually just been doing the same fucking thing over and over again since I've been back. My life has become so monotonous that it's unbearable. At least give me a fucking rock to push up a hill so I an accept the absurdity of /something/ rather than the absurdity of /nothing/.

I'm bored all the fucking time. My current life is as follows: I wake up around noon; I revamp my resume a tad to suit another job posting and apply; I realise that I'm not even worth the interview from previous applications; I read; I watch the latest episode of whatever I downloaded; I grow increasingly more annoyed at my brothers; I listen to my mother drone on about something (I love her, but she's a little much at times)...It's not even worth me getting of fucking bed. Slitting my wrists might prove to make me feel something other than this compounding bland experience I call summer vacation.

I haven't even heard from Scott since Sunday. He'll probably make more promises to keep me happy, but won't follow up on them like so many times in the fucking past.

It hasn't even been three weeks and I've already hit a rut of depression. My family is slowly chipping away at my happiness. The lack of job is slowly burning my once tasty dish of contentment.

That last sentence is retarded. It sounds like it came from VH1's behind the band (The Simpson's version).

End of Year Re-cap

How do you sum up eight months into a couple of paragraphs? I want to go into detail, describing some of the best moments, but I fear that the words I choose won’t convey the right message—some of the edge and magic of that moment will be lost. Like a copy from a copy from a copy: every time I retell the story it becomes just another barrage of words and sentences with out the intense luster it once had.

There have been so many experiences that I want to write down—not only for making Vanessa happy for completing this somewhat introspective post, but so I have a record of what defined one of the best years of my life. Every month had something of significance attached to it, something I want to remember. Where do I begin? Do I start off with homecoming? Where we cooked and drank? And tell how Vanessa drank some disgusting liquor from a hollowed out sausage? Do I continue with the shows I’ve been to? Like Metric and The Golden Dogs and Death from Above—all of which were amazingly fun! Then there’s Fake Prom, Halloween 2005, the make out party, Bernita’s themed parties, and the list goes on and on. Oh, and the dancing…so much dancing.

In order to complete this introspective-whatever post, I’d have to make special mention to some of the most amazing people I’ve come to know and love up at Queen’s—people who’ve helped me become the person I am today. The nights where a bunch of us would just hang out doing whatever have been so unforgettable—like how we spent our last night in Kingston, with the spaghetti war and honey and syrup in a bottle. Ah, this seems like such a cop-out entry (probably because it is)…

THen there's Scott, who I fall in love with more and more with each passing day. Whether we're dancing together to a band, or snuggling together whilst watching ST:TNG, I feel so (cough cliched cough) complete when we're together. He's unbelievably attractive, intelligent and has the same sense of humour as me--and I'm extremely lucky to be with him.

I think I’ve lost my flair for this thing.