This is the story of my life, so it's hardly a new thing.

I thought in middle school I'd be happy if I could just find a group in the cafeteria that wouldn't get pissed if I sat down with them.

Sometimes, (and when the subject comes up in my mind, all of the time), I think Nick is growing distant from me which is not frightening or surprising, but a little bit sad, because he's my best friend and doesn't know it. We hardly talk, and when we do talk there's not much to talk about. I know I'm not pretty or smart or very interesting or unique because somewhere else there's someone else who has everything I have but packaged in a sparklier way. I wonder what happened to our original group of friends, because it seems I can never spend time with people and be untouched by a distant sort of loneliness. Nick and Alex have newer, ever-expanding circles, Andrew is more social than ever, and even Puffy has his core of.. um.. mates. With me, I still rely on the same people, still talk to the same people. But they don't talk to me. I live in a snow globe and watch everyone else's life go by, and watch everyone drift into new affiliations and relationships overnight or over years (mostly over years), and watch Nick date various dark-haired girls whose names start with A.

"The wretching of the soul." -Me

Wow, that sounded quite angsty. But you do know what I mean.

Nobody pays any attention to my Blog unless I say something funny. That's like real life. I'm not a funny person at all, it's just that people force me to be. I hate being funny. I can be the comic relief while someone else goes off and saves the world and lovers die in each other's arms and Dark Lords corrupt people and people corrupt themselves and wars are fought and lives are lost and lives are gained. So I can sit around on my ass making fart jokes. Suckage.

You know what will be a very difficult drawing study? Nick S in drag. I'm doing it for a "back issue" of Skank Mag, since Nick B has requested more porn. Hmmph, and he doesn't even take the time to laminate them. I don't want him to soil my beautiful covers. (BTW, Life Sucks, their is no Hope in this World, angst angst, the System is drowning me. Etc. Old news.)

I AM THE KING OF MASHED POTATOES.
On another note.
People somehow universally think I'm referring to Nick S in my 11/20 blog. I wasn't. He seems to be quite happily depraved. Anyone with Hawaiian shirts and a seven inch shlong can't be too depressed. I was referring to some sad depressed people I met on The MoFo. I love the place; it's been my home away from home since 6th grade. I love the people. Even if they're crazy. Like Frederik, who got manically depressed about a bus driver telling him not to drink juice on the bus. And got locked inside a museum in Sweden after closing time. And Rich, who insists that Sonic the Hedgehog is real, and heard voices from cartoon characters in his head. There are other depressed people, but they're not as mentally ill, as far as I know. I have enough Angsty friends who're depressed for a variety of reasons, and for the most part the last thing they need is some shit telling how they should be happy and stop whining. I'm thankful for their existance. Even if they aren't thankful for their own.

I'm happy, actually. Without a crack-encrusted trenchcoat. HAHA, I love that term! See, see, little things make me happy, like it being Thanksgiving and me sleeping straight for four days. Woo! Four! Big things never happen to me. I feel I ought to experience things in life to make me elated, like ... I dunno. Snowboarding in the first snow of winter or rock climbing demented sandstone formations or other Mountain Dew/Viagra commercial stuff. I'll take what I've got though. Which is why I'm not depressed.

Good, my blog thing works. I swear I had linked to my Flaming Fork ASCI last time.

Oh, by the way. Go here. It's funny.

I'm being linkariffic, but my life is rather boring, so I'm entertaining you with other people's life happenings instead. I don't know what I'd prefer- feeling profoundly depressed and angsty, or just numb to the world. Not feeling pain may be a curse in itself. The Univalves, or whatever we call ourselves tend to belittle teenage angst as the ranting of the self-important. If you curse, if you go to school dressed in black, if you're horrendously left-wing, we like to brand you as immature attention-getters, and to a certain extent it's true, in that if you truly don't five a fuck about The Man's opinion, why go out of your way to displease him? But just because you aren't starving or you aren't abused doesn't mean that you must be happy. Lack of suffering does not chain you to an obligation to be happy. Well, it's one reason to be happy, but happiness is more than just not suffering. Any animal can Not Suffer. Then it dies, and worms eat it. That's the fundamental principle of teenage angst. You've achieved survival. And then? And then? What do you do with your life? What do you want to do? I suppose you could shake EvilGothBrooders by the collective collars of their crack encrusted trenchcoats and go, "Shut up and LIVE, you motherfucking bastards!" but that's their own battle to fight, and one hell of a battle. Not yours. If that makes any sense at all.