2-27-03 12:47 AM

I used to be impressed with Jedwin because he has kept his webpage going for 2 years. And I still am. However, Thomas, of www.boredatheist.com, has SEVEN YEARS of journal entries on his website. That's impressive.

While reading a small sample of this voluminous collection, I came to realize that my little webpage is basically nothing. It is supposed to be a window into my mind, but it's hardly. I'm just not honest enough. I don't reveal personal details like I should if I really want to give anyone true insight into my psyche.

Inspired by the what I perceive as honesty in this newest addition to my list of frequented websites,  I'll try to be a little bit more candid from now on.

I'll start today with something that everybody already knows: that I'm a lonely pathetic wreck.

I don't have a girlfriend. I never have. And what really hurts the most is that I basically know why, and it's my fault.

For some reason, I have a complete inability to deal with girls. Its utterly pathetic. I, who am not afraid to speak my opinion on anything, who will talk smack to anybody, who honestly fears almost no-one, turn into a cowering, mumbling, shameful wreck around any girl in whom I have the slightest interest. I compensate by acting like an egomaniacal jerk, driving away any girl who may have ever had any interest in me. I don't know why my personality has been shaped this way, but it has. Its basically the only thing I have working against me. I'm not ugly; I'm not short; I'm not fat; I'm not poor; I don't smell (at least I don't think I smell); although I'm not buff I'm also not a weakling; and I'm definitely not stupid. So all that's left as a reason for my solitude is my personality.

My personality must be the biggest turn-off ever. I act so fucking stupidly around girls. Since I have no idea how to hold a normal conversation with them, I just act like a jerk. But I'm really not a jerk. I'm more of a coward. You see, the reason that I can't deal with girls is because of fear. I fear that anything I say or do will be interpreted wrongly. I fear that I'll be slapped with a sexual harassment lawsuit. But most of all, I fear rejection. It hurts. A lot. It makes sense that it would hurt so much, after all, rejection by the opposite sex is the most primal, most basic form of failure. The very evolution of man is governed by who is more successful at avoiding being rejected  by the opposite sex; therefore, it makes perfect scientific sense that this would be a painful experience to go through. However, clinically dissecting the experience does nothing to alleviate the pain of it. And so, I fear rejection more than any other thing in this world, at least that I can think of. And by extension, I fear the only only people who have the power to hurt me so: girls.

And it's a downward spiral. According to many people, one of the most attractive things about a person is their confidence in themselves. And it doesn't take a genius to realize that in the context of this discussion, I have none. Whenever I want to say anything even remotely personal to any girl, all I can think about is the myriad of ways in which she can say that she's not interested. Because of this, I don't say anything nice, and instead put on my arrogant mask, which, in turn, causes everyone, including said girl, to hate me. And therefore my premonition becomes true, and I dig a deeper and deeper hole for myself.

And I hate it. I hate being in this hole that I myself have dug. Contrary to what everyone believes, I don't want to be alone for the rest of my life. I can't maintain this facade forever. It's unhealthy; it's painful. I hate it. I hate being in this state to the point where I can't even make jokes about it. All I can do is feign a smile when everyone else makes jokes at my expense. But you know what? Only my face is smiling. I am not.

By writing this, I have basically resigned to the state of my life as it is, at least temporarily. I have obviously ruined any chances I ever had with any girl that I have ever met, and I'm almost OK with that. I need a new start. I'll have a new start. You might think that I'm bullshitting, but I will be different as soon as I am away from the people who have known me for years. When I'm out of this trap, this prison that I have made for myself in EBHS, I will have an opportunity to apply the lessons that I have learned from my infinite mistakes.

I won't need to be arrogant if I can be confident. I can be confident if I am not afraid. And I don't need to be afraid, because if I stop acting like an asshole, I won't always have to hear "let's just be friends."

(That was painful to write ... I am sorry if it was painful or boring to read ... but I feel better having written it)

2-17-03 10:00 PM

So, my heater has been out since last night. Fun stuff.

It seems that, somehow, the snow managed to fry the flame-sensor of my furnace. To understand how little that makes sense, you have to understand that the flame-sensor is basically a solid piece of metal. So its cold in my house. And both my parents have some sort of flu. And so does my brother.

But since school is cancelled, I'm still happy.

2-15-03 6:11

Congratulations to Jedwin for getting unofficially accepted into NYU.

In my standard mode of one-upmanship I’d like to say that, not only did I also get the same letter, but … er ... mine’s cooler. Seriously though, they used the nicest paper I’ve ever felt for the letter that they sent us. I’m impressed. This makes me want to go to NYU ever more.

However, I’m afraid to think of what would happen if both Jedwin and I go to NYU. We would be, arguably, the only two straight males in the entire college. Now, this would be great, were it not for the fact that all the girls there are lezbos. (if you are reading this and go to NYU … um … I’m just kidding (don’t kill me)). (Wow. Nested ( )’s) Cool.

And just imagine the amount of hydroponic pot we would grow … um … never mind.

Speaking of drugs: I take way too many. (OTC, I swear!). I once saw a show about a thing called “rebound headaches”, where your body gets so used to painkillers, that unless you take them, you get horrible headaches. And this one guy took so many Excedrin that it ate away the lining of his stomach and he almost bled to death internally. I’m afraid they’re going to have to do a follow-up show, about me.

Excedrin is even better if you mix it with Advil, though. (Hypothetically).

Speaking of pain: Valentine’s day has passed. Yay! As you know, I have a complex about that goddamn holiday, and am happy to see it pass. Thank god that we only had a half-day, because I think that if I had to endure a full day of red, heart-shaped things, I’d have snapped. And then there’d be red, [insert other organ here] shaped things all over the place, and I’d have had to clean them up.

And as you can tell from the terrible quality of this post, I’m really fucking bored today.

2-13-03 9:55 PM

So today I participated in the Biology League competition; it's just the latest in a long string of Science League tests that I've done over the years (Biology I, Chemistry I, Chemistry II, Physics II, Biology II).

To understand the irony of the next paragraph, you have to understand my study habits in reference to Biology class. They range from nothing to sleeping. The only time I opened the biology book this year is when I was forced to study for the midterm, for 30 minutes, during the statistics midterm. The only time that I've looked at the labs, is while copying them from Jono, who copies them from other people. If you haven't noticed, I don't care about Biology at all. And now, the fun part.

I got the highest score on the stupid biology test. Yeah, that's right: I got the highest score amongst all the people that were there. I beat people like Grace at biology.

I fucking win.

On a much lower note: tomorrow. Since I am hoping that I forget to wake up tomorrow, I'd like to wish all of you happy people a good blowjobs-for-chocolate day.

2-11-03 7:35 PM

Although St. Valentine's day is not yet upon us, I would like to present my thoughts about this holiday before they are consumed by the blackness of the depression that unfailingly accompanies this holiday every year.

Not unpredictably, Valentine's day is by far my most dreaded and detested holiday of the year. I don't want to go into the arguments that St. Valentine's day is driven by materialism (which it is), or that the meaning of the holiday has been corrupted beyond recognition (which it has); rather, I want to discus the severely negative effect this so-called holiday has on many people. While for most people, it is an opportunity to start or rekindle some sort of romantic escapade, for many others (including myself) the holiday is merely a cruel reminder of their solitude. Many people, perhaps out of fear of sounding like a loser (which I know that I sound like right now), suffer in silence as they are forced to watch a celebration of the bliss that has evaded them. But that is what this holiday is. It is the same as making the losing team of a sporting event attend the victory party of the other team; why should people who are unhappy be forced to celebrate the happiness of others?

I attempted to express the feelings evoked by this holiday in many people through my latest poem, titled Valentine's Day. I am sure that there are plenty of people amongst the readers of this website who can easily give their own voice to the speaker of this poem (it is not intended to be purely mine).

Valentine's day is just a cruel way of making the frigid month of February a bit colder.

2-2-03 6:45 PM

I wrote a short poem, titled Hidden, while I was taking my walk today. Enjoy.

2-2-03 1:09 AM

I fucking hate literary critics. What a fucking waste of mind power these people are. They spend all their lives pontificating about the meaning of other literati’s babble, and then write it down so that some poor bastard will read it and be amazed at how smart the asshole you wrote it is. Honestly, what is the purpose of these people? Every other profession has a purpose. Blue-collar workers construct things, white-collar workers keep information flowing, and artists keep the masses happy through entertainment. But what do the literary critics do? They do nothing. Nobody reads their work for entertainment, nor does anybody depend on it to survive. They exist only because they are subsidized by people who consider themselves so “sophisticated” that they need to read literary criticism and go “hmmmmm” and stroke their beard. Literary critics exist in their own little microcosm. They write meaningless drivel about books, only to have this drivel read by other critics. For god’s sake, there is literary criticism about other literary criticism. These worthless bastards get into these longwinded, printed arguments about who’s interpretation of “Beckett’s irreducible reduction” is more accurate; do they really think that anybody else cares. Have you seen the sheer volume of books in the stacks at Alexander library? It’s mind-blowing. “There are endless fields,” Neo. A mountain … no ….  an avalanche of worthless, meaningless shit that does nothing more than take up space than could otherwise be filled with something more useful: perhaps bat guano. And then I have to go cite it. I have to read though page after page of self-contradictory garbage, just so that I can pick out quotes that fit the worthless interpretation of a book that I am forced to make every goddamn time I have to write a research paper. I have to pretend to care about this crap, even though all I’m doing is looking for a series of words that I could misrepresent and skew to fit my interpretation of a particular book. And it’s not like my particular interpretation is any better or worse than the shit that I’m forced to cite from. I mean, after all, each fucking critic has a completely different take on everything, and each one backs up his version with a mountain of unrelated quotes without ever explaining anything. And somehow nobody seems so notice that all of the interpretations are mutually exclusive, and yet each one is equally well backed-up; everyone ignores that the aforementioned paradox proves that the entire premise of literary criticism is flawed; nobody acknowledges THAT! But it’s there, and you know it. You know that it’s bullshit, and you still read it. WHY? Because some bullshitting highbrow bastard somewhere decided that it would intellectually stimulate you to read this garbage and to think about it and read what other people think about it. But it doesn’t. Instead you could have used you mental capacities to do something worthwhile. You could have furthered the state of science; you could have created art; you could have built a fucking house. It doesn’t matter what other activity you choose, it will still be more productive that wasting your time reading what some prick thought about some other prick’s worthless book. Fuck.