Holy shit. My life is so beautiful.

They told him to see the world, so he told them the World was in Chicago.

Her name is Rhae, and he met her while living through a London-overcast weekend in a foreign land twelve miles outside of Philadelphia. It was a invitation-only college visit that this weekend operated under the guise of...

So how does he do this, now that they're gone from each other, and the eleventh-hour attempts to find each other in the Philadelphia Airport, dodging the zealous overwatch of aiport security, proved fruitless? How does he make somebody two-thousand-one-hundred-and-thirteen miles away fall in love with him?

And how does he stay charmed?

And is he in love with the girl, or the ghost?

Is the feeling in his pleural cavity desire... or a stomach-ache?

Love he the person or the misery of his circumstance?

One way to find out, he thought.

Now that no one reads this anymore, I can slap whatever the fuck I want to the face of this.

Updates:  -President of Drama club. What the hell do I do? I am the Barack Obama of the Dramerica. I have a hard-on for change but I don't have any clue what to do and I'm the first to represent the color of my skin.

                  -Chairman (I'll have that fuckin' chair by any means, 'cause it's gotta be fumigated of all traces of Manoj) of Writer's Circle. What qualified me besides enthusiasm? If there were a graph displaying the quality of my average story (the y-axis) against time (the x-axis), it'd be mistaken for diagrams of common erectile dysfunctions.

In sum: no idea what to do. Getting it together, and then puttin' the smackdown on the officers for them to slave to my delegations. Juliana, did you get those announcements in? Jay, stop hittin' on Adrienne and get your asses on Thespian initiation. David Mandell... just... hit up the Yaz so we get a little less of that. Eddie: get your shit together man.



And my haircut? It's a great Russell Brand pretender, I know, but someone'll assume I've got the same kinda groomin' downstairs, and that, my friends, though more cushion for any kinda pushin', is unhygienic. There is no publicly acceptable way of demonstrating otherwise.

As well, my limp, borne from hitting the ground at thirty coming down Mt. Diablo on Sunday in front of a car, gives me a striking resemblance to House - generally irritable.

Enough, you probably weren't itchin' for that bitchin', so:

I did see something beautiful today.

Remember when Jesse came out in Drama, all that time ago? In the middle of Chip's exercise?

She's always been made fun of for not being feminine in any traditional sense, but -

"I've felt this way before; I can play this character. I've felt this way because the girl I was in love with was straight."

- today, lost in my misery limping through the band rooms, I saw it. I saw it all I needed to.


Jesse holding hands with her girlfriend, looking at each other like Apollo 13 from the moon at the earth, like I'd never seen.


Hope.

Then Christina Robert bounced cheerily out of the band room and spoke to me, maintaining our smiles 'til I left and fathership backhanded me with college shit.

I love my life.

I'm okay.

 I am a shell of a man!

You have made... seafood of me! Damn!

Nobody does it better.

Makes me feel sad fooorrr the reeessst.

Nobody does it... quuuuiiiittteee as good as me!

Baby, I'm the beeeesssssst!

Nobody does it

Quite the way I doooooo.

Why do I have to be soooo goooood?

366 days ago... her songs are time machines.

 Actually, having just opened another twenty-four (yeah... it was tough) college letters with my katana - it doubles well as an effective if not unwieldy and dangerous letter-opener - I retract that statement about Whitman and extend it to every college but NYU, Amherst, Williams, and Kenyon.

"I, Dean of Admissions at so and so and thus master of the universe, am thuper-thtoked about your high school achievements. Please apply now so we look good when we decline you. Thankth."

I'm being petty, but could you not seem like such smug assholes?

 Whitman College says, "I'm impressed Eddie, with your great academic achievements so far in high school."

You know my PSAT score, not what I've done. I will not be a number to you. Fuck you.

Oh daydreamer, sit down and don't look
I'm gluin' your shoes to the ground.