I'm not very good at transitioning.

As I prepare to embark on yet another journey to see Bill Clinton (though this time doesn't involve standing in the subzero temperatures of Upstate NY for a glimpse of the former Pres, I'm talking about ABC, baby!) I wanted to make a quick visit to my journal to spew about an encounter I had today at school.

There's a kid in a few of my classes, Brian, and him and I got to talking on the mere basis that we're both social misanthropes, so to speak. (Oddly enough, we were reading "The Misanthrope" by Moliere whilst we discovered this.) He walked me to my next class today and we stood outside talking for about 20 minutes about how much we hate this, criticize that...blah blah blah. Apparently I have a reputation as a sort of crank, it has been brought to my attention, not only by my classmates, but by myself. Hearing myself talk about "pro-suicide" and "Dr. Kevorkian's mistress" and "You suck at life," kind of makes me want to cry! (And I'm not just saying that to make me sound like a good person!) I never realized I hated life that much. But for once, I didn't have to feel bad about going on and on about my theories of "personal darwinism" and doing lines of Zoloft to make it through the day, because Brian understood.

Do I really hate life?

Yes and no. Yes when I'm utterly frozen with anxiety and overwhelmed with sadness. No when I'm amid contentment and peace. Where is there that happy medium?

I'm not ready to give up my life and display acts of hermitism by never leaving my cave. Yet I don't think there's enough out there to support my depressive ways and bring to a point of sanity.

How do you end an entry like this? Should I just use a farming device and talk about Bill Clinton again?

Ok, we'll do that.

Bill Clinton will be on in 20 minutes, I must prepare! Until then!