C? I don't really care.

I really didn't want to go to school today. I mean, I really didn't. I was way too comfortable sleeping in my bed.

My first class of the day was boring, as usual. The only thing that kept me awake was the fact that I was painting, thanks in part to overcommiting myself into making sure I don't slap down a coat of paint on there too dark to fix. At least, for once, I didn't feel the need to fall alseep in it.

English Comp. was interesting. My teacher gave us all back one of our essays. Priot to handing them back, she announced the ratios of letter grades based on a curve. The announcement of two papers having C's on them didn't sit will with anyone in my immediate area. Well, I didn't care, really. In fact, I wasn't too surprised when I found out I was one of the C's in the class. I'm two years out of school; I've been writing in this blog for about the same about of time. This is no surprise at all! I write like I would talk. That, I know and should have known when writing that paper, is not the way to type a college-style essay. There was a time when I could easily write in a way in which I would never talk in, but those days have long since passed. I guess I have a lot of remembering to do. I also have a lot of typing to do, as well.

I really don't know anymore. I'm starting to lose interest in everything. College, my art (or lack there of), and everything else in general don't seem to interest me anymore. I'm not producing any of my own original works for any of my class. If there is even one class that comes close as far as producing my own original works, Drawing 1 would be that class. Creativity may be second on that list, but I was never much of a writer. Everyone says I am. It almost makes me want to start a new blog where every entry would be a chapter in some on-going story. I should since I obviously make time to blog and get my mind off of things. My therapy.

Ethan, a classmate of mine in English, just said to play along with it and try to get from Point A to Point B. Ken has said the same thing to me once. Frankly, I'm starting to think that I am there. I'm not at the point where I think it is pointless to learn how to write correctly (AGAIN) or learn how to tap into my creative side of my subconscious. I know better than that. But still, I want to be an artist. I want my stuff to be in galleries. I want my works to be conversation pieces for rich people at some high society party. I want my art to be see and known. Impatient little me, I guess, just wants all that right now. I know I'm not ready. That's what college is for.

Still, I rather be doing something else. I woke up probably five weeks ago all bright eyed about starting a new life. I did things I would never do in high school. I actually read the required reading. I actually did my work the day it was assigned and continued to work on it until the day it was due. I even went out with friends and stayed out with them until unheard of hours of the night. Now? Now I am back to where I was two years ago. Maybe even more. I don't care anymore. I put off work and do what I can the day before it is due. I skim instead of read things that I should because they do not interest me. With the exception of my drawings, I don't bother to take a step back and analyze my work to the point of being anal. I just want to play video games, be a criminal, surf the web, even just walk around talking to someone about things that I have no clue about. I don't know what the deal is, but I am just tired. Tired of all of this trying to get from Point A to Point B shit. I wanted something more. I wanted something new. I thought I got it. I thought I had it. Maybe I never really did.

I have this very bad feeling that college is some kind of catalyst for a downward spiral that's going to leave me dead in the end. Do I be strong and try to go on? Do I just give up and let fate have its way with me? I don't know. I just want to try to enjoy life again, but I know I can't. I'm too old to be able to enjoy things like I used to when I was so little and naive that it was cute. I'm no longer ten years old. I'm twenty. I know I should be doing something with my life, and I am, but I still feel like I am just running in one of those hamster wheels. I know I am probably a whole world better off than I was before, but I sure as hell don't feel it.

Okay, now my emotions are getting in the way. Sooner or later, I'll end up going into that little area of my mind that no one likes. That dark area of my brain where logic is skewed and the easy way out is the hardest thing to do. You know, that side of me that cannot see reality. Maybe I should say refuses to see reality.

I need to stop.