But I Am Le Tired...

No, I am not up extremely early. I have not gone to sleep yet, because of the worst invention ever: No Doze.

Everyone in this apartment has been asleep since around one, meaning that I have been awake almost six hours longer than anyone else here. Nothing good can come of being alone and wide awake that early in the morning. I can bet that this ruins my Saturday, because I haven't slept yet this weekend. Not a wink.

Instead, I have wasted my life surfing the internet. During this time, I realized that there is simply nothing worth reading, except wikipedia. However, I read wiki all summer when I was bored and trapped at work, so I was at a loss for subjects to read up on.

That said, this post is a shoutout. That's right, I'm actually tagging people if I can figure that bitch out. This post is an ode to those who have ever made a mixed CD for me. I have appreciated and loved them all one thousand times over again. They have opened my eyes, helped my self-expression, and just plain entertained me.

There is truly something magical about a CD mixed especially for you. Not only do I get an idea of the generous giver's musical taste, it may also help me to understand how I am percieved as well.

CDs are a cheap way of letting someone know that they are worth the time you are spending on them. The music and emotion behind every note carries something specifically brilliant. The words in each song of the CD do matter, because themed CDs are, in my opinion, the strongest, and filled with the most consistent emotion.

The order of the tracks MATTERS.

The art on the CD MATTERS.

The occasion MATTERS.

So, to all of you, I am sending this incoherent message of glorification, because I have been up for twenty three and a half hours without a wink of sleep. I just wanted to let you know that I care. You rock my world.

And You Want To Be Dressed In Poetry

Alas. I insist on attempting to transcribe my soul into a word document once more.

Today, everything I'm wearing is grey. I really hope that's not a metaphor, but it kinda seems like it might be. School seems hardly bearable... but once the caffiene kicks in, I bet I'll feel better and change into some color.

Venti white mocha nonfat no whip? You bet your four bucks I went there.

I never have much to say, but it doesn't seem to stop me from writing a lot. Most people tell me that's the reason that they can't write. They don't have anything to say. The real issue is that they might not want everyone to know their thought process. I think that might be all writing is: revealing your complex thought process through chains of meaningless sentences that more or less give meaning to your life. I guess that's my trade. Quantity over quality, and that's how we gain the freshman fifteen. No one tells us when to stop. We need to stop ourselves.

So, I guess it's my turn to figure out how to limit the words I type. Not only do I want to limit the number, I would really appreciate an increase in their quality, as well.

Ugh. I can literally feel the caffiene surging through my veins. I know that sounds a little off, but my face flushes for a bit while it's kicking in and I'm smiley for the few hours the kick lasts, kinda like alcohol or skipping physics.

and i am weaving dreams,
and you are singing hymns,
and we, as a pair,
could not very well care
less about something outside these sheets.

Every Inch of Me is Bruised

I've got my things. I'm good to go.
(Sometimes perfection can be perfect hell).
...I swear I didn't mean for it to feel like this...

Prepare for some really severe angst headed straight your way.

I
can only hold together
my life (and sometimes not even).
Please, don't rely on some sinking ship help you float,
because, baby, I'm just a ship-turned-anchor and I'll only drag
you
down.
Roping;Reeling;
I guess you're not missing much
of this sinking:feeling.

Hours pass,
and we [youandi]
are some light at the end of the tunnel,
and the end of the sand
in your tight-wound hourglass.

and she smiles
and he frowns
and we are still indifferent
to the rushing waves that can't begin to write anything like this
and the sun rises
and sets
and i never noticed how it lit washington avenue
(until you pointed it out).

and i [me myself(ish)]
am still teenage down deep
and so, entitled,
to some broken free-verse.
you know, you know:
"too many pronouns."

and the lushes and lovers are calling
and i'm watching this chickflickfade
to whiteout.

black!
black;
grey...
grey:
grey?
white.

...and now every word of every song...

Half the Night I Waste In Sighs

I went to the city of my birth earlier this weekend. It's very weird, because I haven't been gone long, and everything has continued in its pace. There was no period of grieving. No one's life stopped. It was actually rather disappointing to see things that are different.

I realized a few major things.

1. I've grown up a lot in the few months since I graduated. I'm taller, weaker, more straightforward, healthier, and, surprisingly enough, more dedicated to school. I've recently affirmed the well-known fact that you really can have fun without drinking, and it might not be as good of a release as everyone assumes it is. It goes without saying that I really feel like toning everything down a little. Everything.

2. I actually miss very few people or things from home. Dorm life isn't luxury, but it's mine, and that's all I've really wanted my life to be. Here, I can be genuinely nice to people I like, and only mildly polite to those I don't really enjoy.

3. I never sleep. At home I slept for a total of 18 hours in two nights. That is literally more than three nights of sleep here. I can't decide if that's necessarily a good or bad thing. I still don't really feel rested. Maybe I just slept too long.

4. Class sucks a lot less than I keep saying.

5. My parents are not pushing me into anything, at least not directly. This is only really a recently discovered fact, but it should've been apparant long ago. Though I realize they would be a little disappointed if I suddenly dropped out to become a carnie (but I guess my hands are too big anyway...), they just want me to be happy. I'm pushing myself into this major and this classload, and as much as I complain, I really do like being a nerd.

6. I miss the worthless TV shows like "20 Skinniest Celebs" and "Real World/Road Rules Challenge: The Duel." I refuse to pay $50 a month just to engorge my brain in such things, but the shows make me realize that our society really has too much free time, and I kinda like it.

7. My life could be a lot worse. And I mean a Lot.

8. I'll probably disagree with most of the above statements by the time Thanksgiving rolls around, but they are just things I feel like I should acknowlege, like global warming, Japan, and the JFK assassination.

None of those three things are really related.

Love, John.

I Swear.

I will write in my blog.
I want to write in my blog.
I can write in my blog unless I feel like I have nothing to say.

Procrastination will be the death of John Ervin Thomas Sand as he is known. Friday, I have my next physics test, and the studying is going over like a lead balloon housing rusty knives. That's right. It's killing me.

Generally speaking this has been a quality week so far. I'm starting to get the hang of this college thing. I can officially balance work with fun, however, I seem to consistently prioritize incorrectly. For instance, I am currently working on English, due Monday, rather than studying the physics I so desperately need assistance with. Both will be completed, but why put my self through more agony than is necessary? Simple answer. I want to pass.

I will not fail physics.
I can not fail physics.
I refuse to fail physics even though my teacher is an angry nazi.

Late night meals are so so good and so so bad. The residence hall I am in is the only one with special 'late night' dining from 7 to midnight. Two words: taco tuesday. I am in amor americano.

I will not gain fifteen pounds.
I will try not to gain fifteen pounds.
I will probably not gain fifteen pounds if i stop eating more than three meals a day.