Excessive

I feel like I want to write. I feel like I want to scream in frustration to all who will read. I feel like I want to collaspe on the bed and cry and cry until it hurts. Why does it feel that everything is different? Why do I feel hated, disliked, ignored, alone and isolated?! Why do I feel ugly, have no confidence, and like I was left out of some huge announcment. Like, "everybody change the way you act, who you talk to and change your life! but don't tell jordan". I feel out of the loop.. I feel left behind it didn't matter, I was quickly forgotten. I suddenly feel like writing this is pointless. I suddenly feel like having this website is pointless. I suddenly feel like thinking and feeling.. is pointless. I feel...

Two things I feel good about lately. Emily and my web development projects. For one, I know that Emily loves me more now than she ever has, and I think now she believes me when I say the same. We laugh still, and play still, and enjoy games together still, and I teach her new things and she teaches me things too (different things, but they are still taught) and I can't express how important it is to me and how awesome it is that we haven't changed (for the worse anyway). As far as web development has gone, I've accomplished things I never thought I'd be capable of and I keep impressing myself with what I do, which is amazing, because it's been a good few years since I first made the first releases of Download Manager and Wallpaper Manager, the first creations that really impressed myself, and I dunno.. it's been my only light in what seems like dark times. I was having a bath tonight, just about five minutes ago, and an idea just popped right into my head out of no where.. I mean, I was exfoliating my face and boom, I thought.. what about a poll. It's a good idea but those free polls are so ugly and hard to manage.. I don't think I want to use those.. fuck that idea.. wait. I could just write my own poll script. I could just write my own poll management script.. and that's my next goal. I can think through what it would require and I don't really see anything that would be a problem.. so it should be a fun little project.

I don't really know what's been going on with me, or everyone else.. I guess there is a better chance of something being fucked up in my head than everyone else I know changing.. so I guess.. I'm sorry I'm not myself anymore.. I really am. I really loved what I had a month ago.. I really felt like I found my place.. but that seems to be gone now, and I miss everyone and everything.

The rain, it started tapping on the window near my bed. There was a loophole in my dreaming,
so I got out of it. And to my surprise my eyes were wide and already open.
Just my nightstand and my dresser where those nightmares had just been.
So I dressed myself and left then, out into the gray streets.
But everything seemed different and completely new to me.
The sky, the trees, houses, buildings, even my own body.
And each person I encountered, I couldn't wait to meet.
I came up a doctor who appeared in quite poor health.
I said "(I am terribly sorry but) there is nothing I can do for you
(that) you can't do for yourself."
He said "Oh yes you can. Just hold my hand. I think that would help."
So I sat with him a while and then I asked him how he felt.
He said, "I think I'm cured. No, in fact, I'm sure of it.
Thank you Stranger, for your therapeutic smile."
So that is how I learned the lesson that everyone is alone.
And your eyes must do some raining if you are ever going to grow.
But when crying don't help and you can't compose yourself.
It is best to compose a poem, an honest longing or simple song of hope.
That is why I'm singing...
Baby don't worry cause now I got your back. And every time you feel like crying,
I'm gonna try and make you laugh. And if I can't, if it just hurts too bad,
then we will wait for it to pass and I will keep you company
through those days so long and black.
And we'll just keep working on the problem we know we'll never solve of Love's uneven remainder.
But if the world could remain in a frame like a painting on a wall.
Then I think we would see the beauty.
Then we would stand staring in awe at our still lives posed like a bowl of oranges,
like a story told by the fault lines and the soil

876 words