The day where I did nothing.

I went to bad last night no later than 11:30. It was a really bad day for me, and I'd go as far as saying that every day this week has been a bad one. Today wasn't much different. I couldn't sleep at all when I went to bed, and so I logged on to Meebo at midnight and tried talking with people. Nothing of substance was said, but it only took an hour for my eyes to get droopy. Turns out, of course, that droopy isn't enough, and I stayed in an uncomfortable coma from 1:00 to 6:30. Unable to take any more pretend-sleep, I logged on to Meebo again and caught the only person who's mattered this week as he was heading out to work. Once he had left, I tried the whole sleep thing again, then abandoned my attempts at 7:00 and got ready for the day.

By the time I made it downstairs, I was tired enough again to fall asleep, so I lay down on the couch and pulled out my iPod, to type on its notepad all of the things I wanted to say to the only person who's mattered this week. When that was done, I rolled onto my side and slept until my stomach demanded attention. I gave it the usual breakfast: cinnamon life (all we have in the way of cereal) with some mixed-in bran (all we have in the way of keeping my bowels just shy of total misery). When that was out of the way, I got on my computer, and logged on to retype everything to the only person who's mattered this week from my iPod and into Adium. Afterward, I composed Green, a playlist intended to only have songs inspiring fresh starts and new outlooks, sans any hint of love (something I currently see as cruelly ironic). Either my heart wasn't in it enough, or I'm a helpless romantic with too many songs centered around that theme, because when I was finished making the playlist, I only had 51 songs. I didn't feel like listening to it once I'd finished, and opted for my normal playlist of some 390 songs. When shuffled, it usually has a good sense of fitting the mood I'm in at a given time. Today wasn't different: the songs were all downbeat. During the ten songs I listened to, I got back onto Adium and typed a few more things to the only person who's mattered this week, and once I'd said everything that was on my mind, I retired once again to the couch downstairs. It was 2:00. I woke up when my dad got home, just before 4:00. Now I'm writing this blog.

I nearly started crying when I was in the middle of the first few sentences of this. I just started crying again now, thinking about how my father, who has never been one of many words, noticed how depressed I was on Tuesday and talked to me about it. I'm fairly sure he's still concerned, because my mood hasn't drastically changed between now and then. I mean, I just told you I'm crying right now.

I know that this shouldn't have been such a bad week. I got a new cell phone, I have my first job, and I'll be doing orientation for it on Saturday, two days before my family leaves for Virginia Beach. But what does that mean for me, really? A shiny new toy, and the finest symbol of power any red-blooded American can think of. Toys don't intrinsically contain anything of value to the human soul, and power is nothing without a means or a reason to share it. What good will my paychecks do if all I ever spend them on are toys that remain static on my shelves all my life? What good is saving that money for something grand if the only person who will witness its marvel is me? There's no sense to it, and so all of these things I have or will have... they're as empty as I am right now.

I don't know how much more often my heart can go through this pain. Love leaves deeper scars than anything else I know.

It's not every day you have a day this bad.

I'm currently sitting in work-study and listening to Switchfoot (I finally got The Beautiful Letdown after turning 20, meaning that I now have all six studio albums Switchfoot's released so far). Funny story about listening to Switchfoot. As I was doing so, a girl asked me for help, which prompted me to get up, and since my MP3 player was in my lap, it hit the ground with a very satisfying thud.

I would be doing something more productive than listening to music today. It was my plan to do so since I woke up. But when I started to look for my backpack earlier this afternoon, I realized that it wasn't in my room. Which means that it's in one of infinite places that aren't my room. Hopefully, though, the thing and the $200 worth of textbooks inside it are safely in the Student Leadership Office (which happens to be closed on Sundays) or in the last classroom I had it (which happens to be locked on days when there isn't a class in it). Either way, I'm very certainly not going to get my homework done for my gauntlet tomorrow.

Speaking of homework, I also have a "portrait" due in photojournalism tomorrow night. To clarify what a portrait is, it's a photograph of somebody which tells a story of some important facet of their persona. It was my idea that I would go down to the local thrift shop and get a shot of the woman who runs the place. She seems like a nice old lady, and plus I got a kickin' Hamtaro lunchbox from that place for only a quarter... You'll never guess what's closed on Sundays. Go on, guess.

And I'm not complaining, but does anyone else ever talk to somebody online and then get a phone call from them, without having a clue as to how your number made it into their posession?

Oh, the decision of whether I get my iPod Touch now or in October has also been made for me: Best Buy is out of them, and there's very little way in Heck I'm going to ask somebody to drive me to Omaha so that I can make a $318 purchase. I know that it's selfish to be bitter about something like this, but jeez... I really wanted this iPod, you know?

I think that just about the only thing I can take solace in this weekend is the fact that I'm on the cusp of finishing writing a song, which will mean that I've written three songs since February. Unfortunately, this is a bittersweet piece of news in and of itself, as it seems like the only time I can really write a song is when I'm experiencing unrequited love, and anybody who's fallen head-over-heels (isn't the head... generally over the heels?) for somebody else can tell you that it's just agony trying to keep all of the feelings inside (hence the songwriting), and not knowing what steps you can possibly take in order to make yourself clear. Worse still... is when you make yourself clear, and you're told that it isn't the right time for them to be in a relationship. Incidentally, this plays into Linger, by The Cranberries (my Switchfoot wrapped up a little bit before writing this half of this paragraph.

You know I'm such a fool for you
You've got me wrapped around your finger
Do you have to let it linger?

Man, does it suck. Why is it that some things can't have definition? Why do we have to wait for things to take shape? Why am I getting stalker-like phone calls? Why is my backpack going to be locked in a room until it's too late for me to do my homework? Why do I space out and drop my MP3 player on the floor?

September... just sucks.