Colbie Collait's a Bitch

So besides for TOHS's wikipedia page making my entire life, decorating Joe's Christmas tree, and the 2.5 tests I have to prepare for, I'm bored.
I'm not so sure that sentence even made any grammatical sense.

Anyhow.
I'm not really bored at the moment, just, always, kinda. It seems to me as if interesting things happen to all those around me, and everyone's forming new bonds or strengthening older ones and I'm stuck watching.
Really guys? Really? AM I REALLY THAT UNINTERESTING!?
Maybe it's just the world's way of preparing me for a lifetime of TV watching, because apparently spectating and commenting is all I'll ever be doinggg. Where's my Jim Halpert and Alice and Jack and Sawyer and Ron Weasely and Hermoine Granger and Tila Tequila and Jeff Connaway and House and J.D. and Elliot and Carla and GOD I NEED A DR. COX. Fuck polysyndenton.

I have a new theory as to why I love to write fiction so much. It's because I am a book. Not like an open book cause you can read all my emotions on my face, because I'm actually pretty sure I have two facial expressions tops, but rather I am a book in the sense that I dramatize the majority of everything and am always thinking things out further than they need to be thought out, plotting, if you will.
Examples? Well. During a conversation with Casey I mentally decided her future, romantic and career-wise, in a total of maybe 20 seconds. A couple of hours ago I received a phone call almost clarifying some suspicions I am having, and then proceeded to imagine the entire scenario which I truly believe to be unfolding beneath me, including everyone's feelings who I presume to be involved. Also, I firmly believe that no matter if I open my math book or not, I will fail tomorrow, my father will cry real tears, and I'll be disowned from his family for going to Moorpark.
So, in simpler words, I'm just a book.

Nonsense. None of the above categorizes me as a book. No, I categorize myself as a book, so there.

I just want to write and read and music and talk, no not talk, listen. I just want to listen.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
I just want a Dr. Cox so I could listen.

Haar is Not My Daddy.

Though I like Mr. Haar and his class, he is really getting increasingly weird.
Yesterday he said something along the following:
"If anyone asks you who your dad is, you tell them, MR. HAAR IS MY DADDY!"
Ooookay. Weird, weird, weird.

Well my days are falling under a dreadful pattern. I wish I could drive so so so so so badly. I want to just get up and take off and drive to the beach just so I can listen to Sufjan and Death Cab and Iron & Wine for hours on end without interruption. Or even just just around town, blasting music and singing along and stopping at random places I've never been and scope them out for future reference.
More than I wish I could do all those things myself though, I wish someone would take me to do them. I wish I could drive for a long time and let good conversation fill up the days and the nights and let soothing music full up the occasional silences, or even the other way around.

I think the conclusion is that out of all the things going on in my schedule right now, I'd love to minimize everything but the good conversations and the music. In fact, I'd love to maximize the conversations and the music, more more more more more.

TAKE ME FOR A DRIVE.