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.

Allergic to the World.

Today I went to the Progressive Club for the first time.
To put it simply, I fell in love. Madly, deeply, thoroughly in love love love love.
I'm sickened that I only now discovered its wonders. From Dalton doing heel turns, Dylan expressing supremacy over every other group ever, Trevor sitting on his little stool on the corner looking all important, and everything in between. (Including the actual topics, cause you know, that's sort of what it's all about.)
Have I mentioned I loved it?
I'll definitely be there next week, same time, same place, love.

Last night, by the way, concluded with the loss of a different friend, and resulting from this a lot of changes. Good or bad, I don't know yet. I'll try to make the best out of it.

Mehhh. I still can't breathe.

I just posted this a few hours ago, it needs additions now.

Olivia Rose Mandel and I are no longer friends, actually, I wouldn't even call us acquaintances. Now this seems really bad, because just while I've been learning how to be blented, I've blogged about my loss of friends, and this is pretty much the third one this week. Please don't think that I'm a bad friend or that this is a normal occurrence, because in fact this happens, well never. I guess this week is just get rid of negativity/accept reality week for me. I can't even say I'm totally upset over this fight with Olivia, because she is the one close friend I've ever had that I'm always fighting with, and that is always making me feel horrible about everything. And she called it this time. If anyone knows about my relationship with Olivia, it majorly sucks. There's lots of crying, bitching, yelling, screaming, and then making up. We're pretty much a really bad old married couple. Well now we're divorced, and living on different continents.
Maybe cry later.
Maybe.