I'm somehow convinced the "comma" is the only variation of punctuation

Today was busy, and not that I care to summarize my day, or any day really, but the main point is that after my class crit ended, my day swiftly became not-busy, and I found myself in a sort of clearing in the (forest?) and was left to my own thoughts. scary.

I was "Idle", and when I decided to go straight home, I stared at an old man sitting adjacent to me on the bus the whole time, who seemingly had no trouble sleeping despite the very...bulbous* lady swaying into his side with every stop and start and a man's cellphone that kept going off, which he did not even attend to, being plugged into max level Metallica on his iPod. This old man didn't even notice any of it.

I was 80% interested in the folds of wrinkles on this old man's face, and in hindsight, I was probably subconsciously mapping out how I would render it with charcoal on mid-tone paper, with respect to the jarring neon light accentuating his waxy cheekbones--as per usual when I have the opportunity to stare at someone who doesn't know I am staring at them. I left 20% of my attention out of this description, because there was something else that kind of annoyed me. I was thinking, in some way I wanted to be numb the way he obviously was. I don't really care about the swaying lady or the ipod/cellphone-incoherent man, but my thoughts** were starting to buzz into my head, and I couldn't.. not think them. They demanded me to think about them. And they kind of just accumulated into this (I want to relate this somehow to those psyballs of energy from Dragon Ball Z, a show which I have NEVER watched) sore thing.

The surprise end-of-the-rainbow point of this story, is that I am miserable and creatively uninspired, and I love my friends, and I love life, but just not when old men remind me, in a round-about way, that my thoughts can metaphorically be related to misquitos buzzing in my brain.

*bulbous is a lovely word Meagan in the ID shop used today, describing the rounded nature of the construction toys Adrien and me are building, but a whole slew of possibilities opened up for me in all the ways that I could use it. Bulbous is such a satisfying word! (just say it aloud)

**thoughts in the context of this post equal 'troubles', and troubles can equal emotional stresses, relationship confusion, undecidedness, and to-do lists. (the later being the most horrid)

"New Folder"

So, I hate writing the first post of anything, but this isn't really the first post, rather a piece of writing that I decided to start posting outside the folder on my computer named "New Folder". The one which I didn't want to name, because first of all, I didn't want it to look too conspicuous, and had I gone through the trouble of naming it, I would have realized that naming it would require me to consider the theme of writing that is contained within this said folder. Which, as I am finding out, is not possible. If you decide to read this stuff over the long term, you may come to understand why.

Regardless, these .txt files (were) really just random strings of observations and thoughts, that led me to consider other (hopefully deeper) things underlying them. Like, I consider myself a designer mainly because I take interest in altering and formating the things I see around me, and I feel like if I can take part in altering the things around me, I am improving the quality of my life in some way, as well as satisfy some sort of deep-seated need to create. or recreate? 

But this collection of old files attempted to express, in some way, what the fuck am I feeling? And not that I care if I am a crazy person at times, but sometimes I address whether I am acting like a crazy person at times. So, basically I didn't care for the outcome to be that: yes, your emotion is really just altering the way you are thinking, it didn't displease me in any way, but the fact is, I was "evaluating", and trying to be aware of the reasons behind why I might feel like crap one day, and Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds another day.

All this aside, "New Folder" has been discontinued as of the moment I press "Publish Post" on this sucker, and hopefully this will just be a new platform. I'm thinking that this to-web publishing thing will help me edit out all the pathetic things I write about, like, my "feelings" for a particular person, or the annoying coughing that is affecting my life.. but not yours: as 'the reader'. 

"the reader" sounds ominous. Like a hawk. Don't be "the reader", be the "observer", as in quantum theory, like a harmless fly on the wall. The observer collapses the wave function, what a horrid and un-useful metaphor.