Not The Answer

A couple weeks ago my biology class was marking tests. 

I can't remember what someone put down, but it was right. Well, no. It was right in that it made perfect sense and wasn't wrong. It made sense to me, it was something like "Species are not perfect and uniform as individuals often show imperfections." - that seems right, doesn't it?

There is nothing wrong with that answer, and yet, it isn't right because it isn't the answer being looked for. Now, unless you tell me what answer you're looking for, how am I supposed to know?

I wonder if this sort of policy works in everyday life; "Hey, want to get dinner sometime?" "No, I'm busy for the rest of my life." "That's not the answer I wanted."; "Want to have sex?" "Not yet." "That's not the responce I was looking for."; "Will you marry me?" "I-... no, not yet." "That isn't the answer I was asking for."; "Hey, how's it going?" "I don't think we should be together anymore." "That isn't the answer I wanted."

Maybe being right isn't a binary value; not just black and white, but many shades of grey.

Dreaming

I find it odd how apt my dreams are to contort into nightmares.

I think I have been robbed of nearly everything I ever hoped for. Of course, robbed isn't the right term. A great deal of my former dreams have converted themselves into nightmares in unimaginable ways. Maybe it isn't exactly that. 

Maybe I was never meant to end up with all of these things. Maybe all of the things that I hoped would go right were destined to go awry. Maybe...

Maybe I'm not meant to be happy. 

I hope that this is just me being a stupid fucking teenager.

Notessimo

Well, I am currently being a complete bastard on Notessimo 2. It is pleanty of fun for people of my sort that have absolutely nothing do do. That link there is a bit loaded, as that leads to what I am trying to make. 

This is of course, the Paul Gilbert classic, Get Out Of My Yard.

Anyone reading this should check it out. Any original compositions of mine will be published under Sir Anonymous.

I don't know what to write here. 

I have to write something though, so this is what I'm writing. 

I don't know why I have to write something, but I just do.

Argh.

I think there's something wrong with me. I seem to have become an odd charachiture of myself lately. I've found all aspects of myself, good or bad, have become greatly exaggerated. I have been smarter and taller and thinner and hungrier and a whole tonne of other things. Especially crazier. There's more to it than that though - I've been lonlier, and I've probably been easier to dislike and a great deal of thigns like that too.

I don't know if this means I'm feeling very much myself or not myself at all. 

Losing Keys

I think that over my time, I've lost a lot of things.

It isn't things like missing sock that I mean, either. 

I mean things that were going to be mine but then suddenly weren't. I don't mean to be selfish, but it is the sort of thing that's bound to put a guy in a bad humour. Getting so close that it is nearly mine, but then finding that it isn't anymore.

It is just as bad when it is something worth holding on to - a source of stability. Having the rug pulled out from under you is the saying, but it isn't quite a strong enough one for what I mean to say.

I don't know what I mean to say.

Handyman

I suppose you could say that I'm a handyman of sorts.

I've fixed a fair deal of problems in my lifetime. I suppose I may have made a reputation of being the sort of chap that can fix things.

I don't know exactly why I do it, it hasn't properly paid off, but I have no intention of stopping. Maybe I'm destined to make things better, but that wouldn't explain why I'm so talented at making them bad to begin with. There have even been some things that I couldn't save no matter how I tried.

I'd wager that most everyone else writes these off as not meant to be.

I am not as optimistic.

The Great Pretender

Did you ever hear about the chap that pretended to be the King of England, a World War II hero,  and a professional football player?

It really was amazing, I must say.

You see, he did not have to pretend to be the King of England. Or a World War II hero. Or a professional football player. This would require too much memorizing.

He only had to pretend to be a great pretender. 

Questions

Some questions are hard to answer. No two ways about it.

I was proposed a rather tough one today. It wasn't challenging because I didn't know the answer, but instead because the answer was not what I would have liked it to be. It would have been pleasurable to lie and maybe my lies would be made into truth by the masses, but maybe my lies would lead to falling (farther) out of favour with whom they concern. Such is something that I do not wish to do, as sad as it may sound.

It's probably because I don't properly know what's best for me.

Lining Up

I've come to believe that a great deal of things do indeed happen to a greater end.

Small things happen a certain way so that important things can happen properly. I'd like to think that it also means that bad things happen so that amazing things can line up properly, but this probably isn't the case.

I suppose I don't really know anything though.