Misted Cro-Magnon Man

Why can't you crackheads sign the guestbook once in a while? But I suppose that answer's obvious. You're only here because you googled college fuckfest and not because you want to read some weedlings and whinings of a student who...well, nevermind who. You've already realized that much to both our dismays, there's none of that here and you're gone.

I, however, remain, with whatever dregs who have continued reading, if only in a cruel attempt to lead me on. Stroking that mouse button, thinking of leaving a note, or some acknowledgement in the guestbook of my pitiful existence, but knowing in the end, that it is far, far too good for me.

Unfortunately, you won't pay the postage to send me your boots to lick, so I will have to go on knowing you're just better than me.

Sigh, gasp, sigh. Such is life. Such is being.

So, you know, life is messy. And sorrowful. And I'm okay, or will be again, when I get out of this manic week of papers and bullshit and this weird state of mind. I wish I'd enjoyed it more, or certain classes, anyway. Or spent more time. Or spent less time trying to get out of weeks like this. I wish I tried, and succeeded at breaking my back much earlier.

Um, that's about all I really had to say. I'm sure there was more. Maybe I'll cover up this post with something a bit more viable later. But I am a student and I have papers to write or some such shit.