its hot out. ugh. i think i heard its supposed to get a little cooler later in the week, but i'm not getting my hopes up. why bother getting your hopes up when you don't have any?

yes, i'm a bit sad and depressed. i'm not 100% sure why though. i was fine earlier today, but after i was at work for about 30 minutes, i just sank into this.. funk. not the same funk as my dirty clothes funk, and not a parliment-funkadelic kinda of funk either. just. a funk.

(off topic: i just saw a commerical for a staple gun. i want me some of that staple gun action.. mm, staple guns.)

i just.. i dunno. in a way, i miss social contact with people.. yet, people are very stupid and confusing, and i hate things that are very stupid. i don't usually hate confusing, as i seem to appear confusing to myself at times.

people at work just seem very annoying to me lately. more so than usual. all they ever talk about is how drunk they got the night before.. or how kyle was completely wasted and was hitting on every single female at the bar. or how they don't like their roommate. oh boohoo. if a single one of them even attempted to have something that even verged on an intellectual conversation, i'm sure their head would explode into a mushy gray mess, which would splatter the wall of the cubicle like a rorschach inkblot depicting frothy beer mugs frolicking through a meadow of sunflowers and horsies. maybe not that last part. but you get the picture.

one thing that really annoys me, is that mom is all spazzing because The Brother failed every class this year (or was it semester?).. apparently, he got all depressed and shit in the fall and was seeing a therapist. and taking some medication (i don't remember what.. paxil maybe?), but after a few months, he couldn't afford it anymore and his grades and shit slipped.

i'm depressed about 85% - 90% of the year, and i only managed to fail 1 class.

but apparently, my issues don't count for shit because i'm not seeing a therapist. i don't need to see a therapist and pay him an ungodly amount of money for him to tell me i'm a fuck up. i can get that from my family. for FREE.

i think that's one of the reasons for The Great Expedition. there are all sorts of places where i can go and no one will automatically know that i'm a fuck up. they can figure it out for themselves.

which kinda brings me to my next topic. why do people read this diary? i'm curious. at last count, there were 17 people who had me listed as one of their favorites. don't get me wrong, i'm glad ya'll read my stuff and find it interesting (is that the word i'm going for?) enough that i'm in your favorites, but i guess the question is 'why'? what makes you want to read me? sometimes, when i write something in here, its not even what is really on my mind, its just piffly crap like work or coffee with really cute girls. don't get me wrong, i enjoy coffee with really cute girls, but still.

but back to my point. why don't i always write what is exactly on my mind? i have no fucking clue. is it because there are some people who read my diary that i know in real life? does it bother me that dani knows about my diary? no, not really. i've known her since 6th grade, and she was one of my best friends. what about the other kids from high school who read this? it doesn't really bother me either. erica? nope. if i didn't want her to read this, then i never would have told her about it. i have no problem with erica reading this. she's actually probably one of my closest friends. closest and yet she lives like 2,400 miles away.

but, in a way, i know why i just don't usually say what's on my mind. i have trouble expressing it. when your growing up and The Brother constantly bullies you and repeatedly tells you that no one gives a fuck about anything you have to say, that theory gets lodged in your head. it still stays with you from when you were little, even up to when you're 19, a college drop-out and soon to embark on a cross-country journey that is only about 1% planned.

but really, why do you read this? i'd like to know.

music: melanie c, placebo