July 12, 2010 (log)

I don't really know what to tell myself about the thoughts that play themselves out over and over again as I patiently wait in a dark room for sleep. The memories seem almost disturbingly recent - most of them involve Trey, or Josh. Some of my inner rants are things I wish I had the courage to say. Some of them are things that I wish I had the cowardice to forget. Most of them end with me angry, sad, and gnashing inside. Sometimes I think about Star Wars, and sometimes I think about writing. I think about writing fanfiction, and I think about writing sonnets about celestial bodies. Sometimes I think about publishing papers about computer science, and the political implications of open-source software, and other times I think about writing love letters to Richard Stallman.

Always, though, I think that it is deceptively difficult to write good daylogs.

It's storming here, the thunder crashing over my head every few minutes and making me crave smoking a cigarette on the roof. This is another one of those inexplicable 6:30 in the morning on no sleep things; I neither smoke cigarettes nor have I access to my roof. There is a certain kind of Keroauc-esque romanticism about the idea though, and that's probably what attracts me to it. It sounds like the kind of thing that an idealistic teenager should do at least once. I feel sort of required to try it.

I wish Josh would talk to me more. I'm interesting, and funny, and smart. I like the things that he likes. We have a similar sense of humour. I wish I were good enough for him to want to respond to.

I wish Trey would talk to me again at all. I know I was hard on him, but he should be able to admit that he was pretty hard on me about the whole thing, too. Why can't we put the past behind us, and forget all the badness? I think we're both optimistic enough to be able to do that.

I'm sorry. I'm always sorry. But can't you tell we're barrelling toward an alien future? Let's go already. Forget all your baggage. Let's just leave.