whether there is weather

Whatever higher power that is romping around above us meek human beings has an ironic sense of humor. The humidity has gotten to me; to both my attitude and my heavy hearty hair. I'm worried that if i stay in this damp room much longer i won't be able to fit my fro through the doorway, and will be forced to bloat until the room gets up and leaves instead. At least i'd feel like i accomplished something with my unconscious protest. Holy hot, michigan. I have never been nostalgic for the weather 3 months ago. Scratch that, 3 weeks ago. The cold, the snow, the frostbite. I remember ever so clearly shaking some mitten-covered fist at the greyed and snowing sky yelling at mother-fucking-nature about how it's mother-fucking-april. I took it too far, so this is probably all some sort of cosmic justice, telling her (mother nature that is) that i understand she's been around for some thousands of years and i'm sure this is just her menopausal mood swings setting in but she should get a grip. And now, after lecturing her about the concept of heat, oh, she's giving it to me baby.
In the haziness of the heat and devastation of finals, the campus has turned into one big mirage for me. Errbody else is done with their exams and stumbling around in a celebratory-drunken stupor, headed to one giant-fucking party that i'm not invited to. I keep seeing an oasis of friends, shining in the distance, but as my eyes focus in and out i see only the glow of my computer screen and papers rustling in the wake of this life size fan, blowing used air over my used body, and doing nothing good for the current situation of my hair that i had described briefly above.
Denise and i wandered on over to rendezvous at some point during this endless night, to get a little bit of learn on, but ended up telling stories to each other, mostly on my part. With the hope that i am just as enigmatic to her as she is to me, i put a little part of myself onto the patio table and watched my history spill through the holes and onto her lap. But instead of grabbing a napkin and wiping my words off of her, i decided to let them seep. I hope she spills something huge and steaming on me one day too, because hell, y'all know misery loves company. This heat is really doing something to me, pumping into my pores until older parts of me overflow and cascade down, drowning villages and towns. I feel pretty drained right now, after dumping myself onto an unsuspecting bystander, but as long as this humidity continues forecasts predict me to be fairly swelled up once again by tomorrow. Hope to withstand all this weathering.

"i bought her a drink, but she wouldn't sleep with me, so i bought her another"

Unless the man sitting to my right is robin williams in Jack, then i'd have to assume from his completely greyed hair and full bearded look that he's around 50. However my inadvertent eavesdropping would tell me otherwise. I would like to assume the teenage attitude towards relationships would grow as you do, but maybe it's simply instilled in certain people, which leaves me very worried. Today someone described college in the best way i could think of. Before coming into this world of scheduled thought even i had the attitude that, hey, i'm going into the real world. Well, college baby, is anything but. We live in this world, a "student ghetto", a redlined area for people going through the exact same things that i am, all told that they are intelligent enough to come here, and floating on the remnants of that belief. And i'm right there with them, up stream, with one of those shitty plastic paddles. So it may be this atmosphere that has left me thinking that nothing in the world is different, especially attitudes about love. We've all got that modern-love-bug. Take nothing seriously, skate by, waiting for the next best thing, because once it's good it'll eventually come to us. At least, that's what Mr. Middle-aged on my starboard side thinks. He, and his fairly silent but agreeable friend just "doesn't give a fuck" and is "just looking for a good time". It's not that bad, i tell myself. No big. Because i have faith that eventually i'll be in the process of searching for a great time, a long time, a life time? Maybe this is what we've entered, an era of haphazard relationships, bumping into one another and ricocheting off in the opposite direction until we run into someone else. The seven-year itch has expanded into a full-fledged bodily rash, that leaves us wanting to scratch all the live long day. I heard oatmeal baths help, however i'm not sure how to relieve an irritated mind. The most devastating part of this scenario is that my sweater is dangerously similar to that mans. I see my future, and it is middle-aged and meek.

Ta-da

Today i found my fingers itching for the comforting click of key-typing today, a clear facebook-withdrawal symptom after LJ and i took a girlscouts oath to stop wasting our lives away on the ether and changed each others' passwords. however the age old adage rings true once more reminding me that when one door closes, another one opens. so here i am, 4 internet tabs away from insanity, browsing through craigslist personal ads, episodes of old addicting tv shows, pictures of celebrities, mayan facts, BBCmundo, anything that could relieve my need for rifling through other people's personal lives in the privacy of my own room. i took a short, but well earned, bathroom break, and upon my return i saw the severity of the situation, with the window showing a list of fight-club quotes, and decided that i need a different form of therapeutic release, just to ease my aching-facebookless-soul.
Maybe banning facebook, the one stable aspect of my life at the moment, wasn't such a good decision. It was almost comforting to know that i had the overly published details of every person's life that i have so much as smiled at lingering right there in front of me. Although i never really care about how much homework chelsea has, or even remember who the fuck ezra, who is now single by the way, is, the fact that i could access said information was a great fall back. But the truth is that while FB allows me to get a sneak-peak into the lives of other unimportant people who i don't think about, it distracts me from thinking about, well, me.
So here's my plan b: blogging. I keep telling myself that i'll keep this updated because it serves as my own mental release from whatever was clogging my mind beforehand, but the idea of it seems so very angsty. I was rarely angsty in highschool, mostly bitter, but even so i generally kept it to myself. However it seems that the blogging-boat that i embarked on was filled with throngs of angry-angsty teens pouring their hearts and souls, or rather other people's depressing song lyrics, out and into public domain. After spending some time sifting through teens writings, i realized more and more that i was becoming one of them, an idea that both shocked and attracted me. It's mob mentality basically. I have no need to recount how linkin park was obviously writing about my life when they wrote the song "i was born this angry, i can't help it, go fuck yourself", but if everybody's doing it then it must be good. Anyways, i hereby dub this post a semi-permanent welcome back party for myself, that is, until i forget to return tomorrow. Let's whip out the streamers and champagne baby.