I am getting tired of myself. I am lazy, and don't even try to make excuses for myself. I think that part is a good thing, but that only shows that I am a virtuous... person that refuses to curse, yet completely deserves the title balancing on the tip of his tongue.

No good format of communication is open between myself and my foreign friends, have no access to "xanga" or anything else that I could commonly use at one time, and never have time to even journal anymore. I can't even write in a journal?!?! That would be a fatherly deletion from my life -- my father trashed my notebook, and would do so again if I started on another one.

...But I'm cheating. I have a notebook that is unidentifiable, especially with the contents, which are half-minded (at best) poems or fragments; I can hardly make sense of them, so no one else could.

I'm also trying to draw again, but I am highly critical of myself on such things, and immediately destroy the creations if they do not appear as I want them in my mind. I have created a few before that I've liked, but have given them as quickly as I created them.

Of course, I'm not expecting that anyone will read this. I just need a sliver of hope and possibility, not to mention a visual proof that my mind is not completely in chaos. The problem is that I'm expecting an explosion, when I'll more than likely just get a dripping faucet.



Good day.