Random semi-psychotic thoughts.
Sunday, 09/02/01 - 4:14 p.m..

I'm bored. You can tell I'm bored when I start counting all of my bookmarks and lining them up according to a dumbass category like alphabetical order, according to the last letter of their name. Although I have some school shit to get done, I'd rather not to do anything.

I never received the damn email with my password for the Aerosmith message board I moderate. That makes me a non-moderator (duh). Shit, the Aerosmith boards are all screwed up...and so am I, I can't write a single sentence without people passing me by, because I feel they're reading behind my back. For Christ's sake, stay in your room, people! You're making me fuckin' paranoid.

So, anyway...as I sit here, in my lonely corner of the Internet, I'm starting to get depressed already...it's school day tomorrow, not a fuckin' email in the whole day (though I spend a lot of time sending Ecards and emails to the people I know...)...school day the day after tomorrow....and the day before...

It ain't easy, livin' like a gypsa'y, tell ya honey how I feel...

(Sweet mother of God, stop walking behind my back!)...There's nothing like an Aerosmith groove to get you high for a while.

I wonder why writing on this diary pisses me off...no, well...my philosophical self says the question is "what the hell is pissing me off at the time I'm writing?". Right now I can't think of a reason, ok? Let me enjoy my anger.

Fuck, I'll get off the computer, people just can't take their children spending the whole sunday in front of it...yes, yesterday I said that my parents were gonna be out all day long. The day is over, they're here. And they assumed I'm a vegetable typing who-knows-what in who-knows-where all over the Internet because who-knows-why...they're driving me nuts...but I do understand, they're parents, they're just doing their job. I'll go get my math notebook and act like a nerd.

And I'll listen to my Draw The Line CD...checkmate, don't be late, take another pull...that's right, impossible when you gotta be yourself...

...I wish I was part of Steven Tyler....I don't know, any part. His right eye, the left side of his brain (musicians develope that side more than other people)...any of his 206 bones...no, not the package, thanks. You gotta love that man.

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