Entry 000107; 02.19.02

I had a whole load of moody whiny crap on my mind today that I was going to write about. But fuck it. I'm sure none of it hasn't been in any other entries. The point is made. Dead now.

The only thing bugging me at this current time is an impending Psych paper due on Friday. My last experience with a psych paper was...well disastrous. Had I not taken psych senior year and done that Damned Paper, I would probably be attempting to major in some form of psych-AI bullshit. Of course, I'd probably still end up being a photographer. But you know how it is.

Then again, if that meant avoiding WPI...damn. Well we all have regrets.

Where the fuck are my pants? I am detecting some form of conspiracy here.

Ok well so. I've always been more than a little afraid of poetry. The reason is that I can't write it. Not only that, but I had no idea what it was. The entire idea completely escaped me. Now, however, I have a fairly comfortable grasp on poetry, and I've been exposed to some excellent stuff. Yet poetry...it still sucks. Like Kurt Vonnegut's take on science fiction, the genre lends itself too easily to sucking.

There should be tests against this. For 99% of science fiction to suck...well, I don't know why but I don't mind that. Perhaps it's because literary professors don't make us read bad science fiction. Perhaps it's becuase bad science fiction can at least be laughed at. But bad poetry...jesus christ. If I ever catch myself trying to rhyme "you" and "blue" or "bed" and "head," don't let me ever touch a writing utensil or keyboard again. If I ever start to sound like a bad Smiths song, just put me out of my misery and let me communicate non-verbally by way of crude pictographs.

I think I'll just avoid the entire idea of poetry altogether. As it stands, my writing ability has atrophied into the skill level of a barely-lingual public school seventh grader. I can't bear to think what could come of it.

Oh god my legs itch. I am so not fond of winter and all that comes with it. This includes all winter holidays, as well as anyone who was born in the winter.

Oh oh oh! You know what pisses me off? What you say you don't care? Well that's fine you don't have to. Anyway. People have been complaining that I "complain too much." Because I complain on my journal. ...Okaaay. Funny they must be idiots. Oh look there....An intro to my journal pages AND my main page saying "go away." oh...and there...some stuff that says this isn't for YOUR enjoyment, it's for MINE. That means I write whatever the hell I want, and I leave it open for those who care to see what's going on with me. That means, Go away, but I won't stop you. That means, you have a right to read my shit, but don't complain about it, because I didn't INVITE you here in the first place.

Morons. It's amazing that even after you SPELL THINGS OUT FOR PEOPLE, ideas and concepts completely escape them.