Boobies

I think that writing in a journal will help me out. But, I'd rather write in one of my leather bound journals for shit like this. I dunno...A part of me is sentimental and believes that paper and pen are the ways to go. Maybe a part of me is thinking that I don't have enough time anymore to crack open my journal and write a few sentences down. The curse of the technological age. It's faster and just...easier. Shit...maybe a part of me thinks that it helps to tell this sort of shit to a stranger, even though I know no one is reading this. Just the intrawebs...

I miss Shakespeare. I...wonder what will happen between us when he comes home. I know I want to ask him...if he really loved/loves me and isn't just bullshitting me. I dunno. Maybe I should just leave well enough alone. But then again...he and I always said that our paths would cross again.

He said he always thought I was smarter than he was and that I reminded him a lot of himself.

I wonder if he ever felt like this. Like...like he'd always be alone. Not feeling like you were in the right place or the right time.

I wonder if he was so hurt that he just...couldn't do it anymore. That he gave up.

Another part of me just doesn't care. Go figure.

Terribly...

I feel terribly unmotivated. At this moment, I would usually be chomping at the bit to do homework and be studious and crap. But right now...eh. I think it's because I'm feeling awfully diabetic.

Ohh...procrastination...I've missed you, my old friend.