  for a night owl,  my nights have been quite shity lately,  with the exeption of last night.  why is it i always have to come home to bitching?  i think it is unhealthy to want to flee a place you live in,  and i want to flee desperatly.
 and having things be so splendid outside of home and in other aspects of my life doesnt help.  blah,  i make myslef so bloody tense!  i do it all to myself,  i know i do.  its amusing,
 i really couldnt wish for things to be better,  i mean things in friend zone are. brilliant,  and i feel SO good around her,  mmmm i love being a corny sentimental romantic " doofus"
 im just letting things go.  not like work wise or responsibility wise,  im just gonna let my life take me where i need to go,  i dont want to wake up when im 30 and realise im in a place i dont want to be,  im gonna book it with my school shit and keep up for bloody once,  i want my mom off my back,
 and i want to do well on my own,  again for once,  see what i can really do without support.  i guess i just want a lil room to breathe,  room to make my own mistakes and learn from them.  i want to live a life without a cushon to fall back on,
 a cushion that can at times be lined with nails.  AAH my life is scattered and collected,  i feel like a big contradiction.  im happy though,  through it all,  and im pretty sure ill stay that way.
 this is the strangest thing.  i get home happy,  come upstairs,  get online,  get depressed and angry,  and then it melloes out and i feel really good,
 for no apparent reason or for very obvious reasons,  this is so strange.  i feel good.  * two minutes later*  mildly curious ponderings of blue brown eyes.
 should feelings flashed for instants in distant chapters blur and slip away when chances were the author was distorted?  a blind painter,  a poet without imagination?  one cannot make the ink wet again.  reshape and manipulate what has already been written to suit present pretences.  just turn the page man.
 chill.
