Rant! And hence, the world we know.

I figure you probably know me for who I am if you look over these 100 posts. (Or however the hell many there are,) And you probably think I'm a fairly... sad-stricken person. Like I think the world is ending in the future. And although that's not the case with me, I see many people on this blogging service writing poetry that makes me think of dying, or being dead, or being in trouble, or just plain hell. In the past couple of posts, I've told about events in my life. That's basically my life: I like those .22's, and I want them. At this moment, I could care less about everything. I supposedly have a good idea for a book, which I wrote the beginning to, but I just don't feel like I'm caring enough to work on it... ever. I want to finish it, and I want to be a writer. I don't feel like I'm ever in the spirit to write this book, unless I just got back from Eugene's house. He always gets my spirits about the whole project up. He's like the unofficial coordinator guy. I can't figure out what to do... I've got the whole beginning figured out, but I just don't feel like writing... ever...

I would write poetry, but I figure it doesn't make a difference. I see so much poetry on other people's blogs, and I just get depressed, so I don't think I'm going to go there anymore.

Blah. I feel tired, and I feel like craps. And I don't even work.