Guess who's got it figured out? I'll let you in on something secret; I can disappear

I am with you till the end







While I am sitting in my kitchen reflecting on my life, soothed by Justin Pierre's voice; I realized how much a song can affect my mood. Or anyone's mood, rather. You know in fucking gay ass lame bullshit Twilight, where Jasper's ability is to control the mood of a room? Well that's about the same thing as a song.
Motion City's "Disappear" appears upbeat and maybe kind of angry in the album version, but the alternate version is more like a funeral march. I tested drawing pictures based on the mood of various songs... Well, needless to say the alternate version of Disappear is a boy crying. And Lifeless Ordinary alternate is a girl smiling. Even though that song seems pretty serious, the beat is so fucking poppy. Definitely my favorite.

Anyway, life is a little weird right now. I'm trapped in my house with my parents. Although I have all the freedom in the world to move my ass upstairs, for some reason I've been set up at my laptop in the kitchen. I've got my Skullcandy's plugged in, and a brand new copy of My Dinosaur Life playing in my ears. I feel like this way there's a smaller possibility of getting pissed off when they storm upstairs to tell me something or to make me do something. So for now I'm just avoiding the competing volumes of Criminal Minds and Pinks blaring from separate rooms. I swear my house will be less fucking open when I get old.

Yesterday my mom told me the snow would be all the way up to the top of the windows. Well, it's not. And I'd have to say I'm pretty goddamn disappointed about this.
Days like this I wish I was a kid again, with the drive and the friends to go out into the backyard and build a whole system of tunnels through the snow. Now I think I'm too big, too antisocial, and too lazy to put on all the gear required to attempt such a feat. Instead, I dig holes through Facebook and set up camps in all my friend's posts.

You know what I hate more than anything? When my mom tells me stories about stuff I don't care about. She doesn't seem to realize that this is the 21st century and in this century we keep our stories to a maximum of 2 minutes. And they must be relevant to something I give a shit about. Unfortunately they are usually on topic, so I can't bust her on that, but she often rambles on about a story I've heard a thousand times, and if I tell her I've heard the fucking story she tells me to shut up and continues. I'm beginning to develop a block in my ears every time she talks. i.e.: this last weekend in Phoenix she told Alex and I specifically where to put something. Well I expected Alex to know where the fuck we were going. So I didn't listen. Well I fucked up and got yelled at.

Anyway, considering that I already condoned 2 minute stories, I'll change the subject. Unfortunately my usually very relevant thought processes are running out of things to think about. I am about 3/4 of the way done with Invisible Monsters. I have to say that the plot is much more interesting in the second half. Also, on that subject, more specifically on the subject of plot twists, my mom is a fucking rockstar at knowing what the fuck is about to happen in thriller films or like cop shows. She just fucking gets it. And the fact that she gets it ruins the whole fucking show. She'll tell you the whole goddamn plot before you get the chance to even relish in the suspense. I don't get it; I'm like, Mom, get a job as a detective or something! Maybe a fucking serial killer, or at least a story writer! If you can figure out all these plots before I can even process what the fuck is going on, maybe you'll be awesome at writing GOOD plots.

FUCK.






Anyway, I'm really done ranting about my mom.


Good night, and good luck.