What do I want to do?

I really wish decisions weren't so hard. Or that I was good at something. I take all these tests and do miserably on them, all to fulfill the requirements for something I'm really not that interested in anymore. And the thing I am interested in? Not gonna take me anywhere, really.

Bonefish.

Thanks for the intro, Paul, glad to have ya!

Anyway, as some of my friends can vouch, I've been pretty depressed lately. Not just depresssion depressed... existential depressed and stuff. Thanks to James Joyce, all I thought of from last Tuesday to this Thursday was about where I came from, why I'm here, and what's gonna happen to me, and the answer to all three of those questions was , to my disdain, who knows? Of course, I didn't like that and kept coming to the conclusion that I just needed to stop thinkin' bout all of that crap. Couldn't do it, though.

Then, today I had an experience that made me forget all of it, one that really changed my outlook and cheered me the hell up.

(I just put on "Peacebone" by Animal Collective to accompany this description)

Today was my last day at work. I work an awful, boring-ass job at a country club and do nothing but press buttons on a computer. Usually I leave work at 3, but today there was extra shit to do, so I had to lift like, 20 really heavy tables for an hour. It was awful.

I moped over to my car after the day was over and turned the key in the ignition. I was miffed, a little relieved, but absolutely depressed. I pulled the car out, then found a CD under my seat- Strawberry Jam by Animal Collective. "Peacebone" came on and I started to drive.

I started to pull out as the assorted noises of the intro began. Bonefish. I pressed down on the gas, the car lurched forward. I was slowly drawn into Avey's singing, a peacebone got found... mulling over his lyrics and driving. I passed the houses of Hewlett Harbor and a few cars, leaking the most interesting colors. I slowly pressed down on the gas. I felt as the car accelerated under my foots weight, all by my own doing. The verse continued on as I waited at a red light and I began chanting, until the chorus began- and half of my fingers are dipped in the sand, you progress in letters... the light turned green and I suddenly had an epiphany. I was in total control - it's not the words that you should follow- and I slammed my foot against the gas. Insides! Complete release. Insides! I flew out into the street, like a pelican and reptile, and flew towards West Broadway, second chorus- just a few things are related to the old times! 50, 60mph, a free road. (screams!) I realized I had been shouting the song out of my open window- I didn't end in a yard but I kept going and going with a broad smile on my face. I turned down a random street- the taste of your cooking made me bow on the ground- and took all the turns as fast as I could, screaming along with Panda Bear and Avey Tare and an obsession with the past is like a dead fly, when we did believe in magic and we did die. I skidded around a turn and flew into my driveway... Inside, inside. I slammed the brakes. Inside, inside, I slowed to a near halt. Peacebone, peacebone, I creeped into the parking spot. peacebone, peacebone, I closed my eyes, put the car in park, and turned it off.

Bonefish.

As I exited the car, my ears still ringing with Animal Collective, I realized that I had completely forgotten everything I had despaired about. I thought back; through the five minutes of shouting and extremely reckless driving, I had found my own meaning to life, my own outlook to follow-

Live for the moment. Life is about simple pleasures and finding what makes you happy, and staying happy by indulging in these little pleasures. Who cares if you're going to die in 10, 20, or 60 years? Why not make every moment of those years a screaming joy ride, whether it be through actually using the handbrake for the first time (there are skidmarks on the intersection of Lincoln and Arbuckle to prove it) rapping along with Snoop Dogg as you sit in your cubicle, reading a book in Scots or just doin' whatever makes you feel good about yourself and your surroundings?

So live for the moment, find those little pleasures, and no matter how your life turns out, at the end you can look back on it and think, wow, I had a damn good time.

Twitter Withdrawal, a tragicomedy.

fmsbwbbb #whentwitterwasdown hahaha you're all such dorks! I didn't even know it was down until i saw it on the news. half a minute ago from web

fmsbwbbb @jaredk I know, my butt itches, too! 3 minutes ago from web

fmsbwbbb Can you believe I almost facebook msged my brother to call 911? 8 minutes ago from web

fmsbwbbb Hey, twiter's back online! Hooray! Man, I thought I was done for there! 10 minutes ago from web

fmsbwbbb fggghhnnghh 14 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb 911plz 32 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb mso dizzy... ecertything loosks asooo strnge... id nt know whats towrong 58 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb M finges arteroo biggggfor therbutond on ym fphoen icantanyone read mte>? 1 hour ago via txt

fmsbwbbb Why won't these bright colors and loud noises go away? Does the #twitterfairy hover over your monitor too? 1 hour 10 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb I thought only rabid dogs foam from the mouth? 1 hour 30 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb PLEASE PLEASE I'M BEGGING YOU JUST WORK PLEASE 1 hour 48 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb Okay, Ryan. Just breathe. Go get some air. You'll be all right. Just don't think about it. 1 hour 49 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb Is anyone else considering #suicide? 2 hours 9 minutes ago via text

fmsbwbbb Is vomit usually dark red? Do you think It'll break my monitor? 2 hours 33 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb My computer monitor is getting fuzzy... Don't have patience for solitaire... please... someone... Gonna puke... 2 hours 40 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb tried getting on the website using a proxy and it didn't work. WHY WON'T THIS WEBSITE WORK 2 hours 49 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb My head aches. If I don't find out what @sockington is doing soon I may vomit 3 hours ago via txt

fmsbwbbb Tried picking up a book, then put it down and checked if Twitter was working. What's happening? 3 hours 15 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb @jaredk @ankit @sexiigurl30 @mikeman SOMEONE RESPOND! ISN'T ANYONE READING MY TWEETS? TXT ME 3 hours 30 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb I wonder what's happening in the twitterverse. Do you think it's up yet? 3 hours 58 minutes ago via txt

fmsbwbbb Twitter's down? *scoff* I'm not addicted to this stupid website, I'm just going to go outside 4 hours ago via txt

A Portrait Of The Blogger As A College Student Who Stopped Giving A Fuck Too Soon

Google Analytics says I still get about 5 readers a day, two or three of whom stay on the site for more than no seconds, and surprisingly few of them being unique visitors. So those readers may notice that my updates have been coming less and less frequently.
Well, that's because I stopped caring about everything. Oops!

I was gonna write a blog post about how much I was enjoying the book that inspired this title a couple days ago then thought, hey, I just don't give a fuck.
I was gonna go out the other day, eh, nah.

For example, my daily schedule-

9-10- Not doing anything

10-1030- Not caring about the speed limit

1030-300- Standing thoughtlessly by a computer, usually belting one of the three songs I know by heart

330-530- Not caring about anything

530-1200- Who Cares?

Showering? Who cares what I smell like? Brushing My Teeth? So my teeth are yellow, what do I care. Getting Dressed? This stained t-shrt has just enough holes for me not to care. Combing My Hair? Psh.

I don't know, I'm at the part of my blog post where I'm rereading and it doesn't sound like I'm saying anything. Maybe I should just delete my blog. Nah, too much effort. You know, I kinda feel like Adam Sandler's character in Click when he's on fast foward and stuff. Whatever.

I was going to write a poem to describe how little I care but that would take too much effort, and in all seriousness, I don't care enough to make this blog post good.

So I'm going to express how I feel again only this time I'm going to try to make it rhyme, I guess.

I'm writing a poem

Fuck how it sounds

I guess this'll show'em

Mngrghgmmmghounds.

Thank you, thank you, I'll be here till Thursday.

Hypocrite

I am the world's biggest hypocrite. Serously.

Since freshman year, I was the bubbly, happy person, bouncing around classrooms, making jokes and taunting teachers. I watched as my peers succumbed to pressures, got together, broke up, complained, angsted, and all of these things.

Being unable to relate, I criticized.
"You just want attention." "There's no such thing as angst." "Teenage depression is just your yearning for attention."

After a sudden change, they are the ones with the last laugh.

Today, I woke up at 8. I layed in my bed until 10, plagued with the worst stomachache I've ever had. Thinking I could make it go away by forgetting about it, I showered then drove to school. I returned home and sat on the computer. I sat there for four hours doing nothing but checking my facebook and sitting. At 4 I broke up with my girlfriend. I then went to tell her best friend. At 7 I went to dinner, but of course, no appetite. I had three dumplings, came home and vomited. I tried watching Forrest Gump but instead curled on the floor of the bathroom in a fetal position. I will be going to bed soon.

I need some help, please.

Erngh

I lost my appetite a week ago, it has not come back yet.

It started in my mouth. I could no longer find pleasure in the taste of a hamburger. After finishing the meal, a taste I once loved was so repulsive to me that I had to wash my mouth out.

It moved through my esophagus and down through my stomach. My once hearty desire for food withered away and I was overcome with a feeling of emptiness. The feeling wasn't a hunger emptiness- I needed nourishment from something I still don't comprehend.

The feeling continued- even the thought of food made my gastrointestinal tract begin to ache and my intestines convulse as my body stated simply "I will no longer take in food."

Is this some growing up sickness or anxiety or something?

Being Forgotten

It's happening more and more often lately and it's starting to get on my nerves-
I look through pictures and see all of my friends together having a great time
-or-
I read my friends twitter updates and they read something along the lines of "had a great time last night"

Why does this annoy me?
I am not in those pictures.
I did not have a great time the night before.
I wasn't even there...
I wasn't even invited.

Maybe I'm expecting too much from my friendships but you'd probably feel the same way if people you were sure you were good friends with hung out without you all the time.
ALL the time.
Literally.
Like, every weekend.

Whatever, I've got to go. I have a hundred parties, sixty movies and ten broadway shows to not get invited to.

Something better happen quick!

I used to be such a carefree guy- I could spend a night happy, with no strange, ominous or sad thoughts, with my friends. However, in the wake of a few funerals and the biggest transition I'll probably ever have to make close in sight, It's no wonder I'm becoming a little existential.

Whenever I used to think about death, I used to have all of these little coincidences I would remember and "prove" to me the existence of god, and therefore, of a heaven. For example, I listened to a band called Lectrolux, then the next day found an "Electrolux" vacuum in my house. Another time, I was listening to "Like a Stone" by Audioslave while I was sitting in the car, and as I looked out the window during the guitar solo, cars were coming by exactly to the tune of the guitar. Then, one day I found a list of schools an abandoned notebook that was identical to the list of schools I was applying to. After these experiences, I thought god had "proven" to me that he was there for me.

Now, as I realize that I have aged somewhat, these thoughts no longer assuage, and whenever I think of death, especially of how close it really is, I am overcome with images of eternal sleep, dirt, and blackness.

And that scares the SHIT out of me.

What's worse is that the malaise that comes with these feelings just doesn't go away. Constantly tugging on the back of my mind are these dark, hopeless thoughts that do nothing but give me stomachaches. I try everything -- setting goals, calling friends, listening to happy music... things that once comforted me and made me feel special -- things that once helped me feel better but now only serve as minor distractions.

I need to find or do something that makes me feel as if life isn't just the time you spend waiting to die, that I have some purpose or task I have to do.

Maybe I just need to get my ass off the computer.

Get it? Huh? Do Ya?

You see, it's funny because it's offensive to gay people.

Stomach

For some reason, whenever I get close to getting what I want I get pretty bad stomachaches. I don't know if it's nerves or just that I have a weird system, or whether anyone else has this, but like, when I'm anticipating a package, when I opened my acceptance letters, everything, stomachache. Then, since I recognize what causes the stomachache, I often try to convince myself and others that I didn't want the thing in the first place so as to assuage my pain.

The life and times of a flamboyant and quite narcissistic twelve year old...

I had a blog when I was twelve and wrote in it. I actually believed that people read it.

A cold, the green kind

EXPLICIT CONTENT- NOT TO BE READ BY NORMAL PEOPLE

"Thoughts" seems to be less exciting lately, and I realize why- my thinker is clogged. The damn thing is backed up with snot. I had a cold, gave it to my brother, and once I got over it, he gave it right back to me. So as you can guess, this blog post is me describing my cold in great detail because, well, it's the only thing I can think about.

It came over me slowly, hours at a time. First, just a rattle in my nose. Then, firm nasal pressure, and finally, darkness. I didn't realize until the first morning when I took a deep inhale through the schnoz, and instead of a breath, I took a gulp. That day was not the worst. Without any nose blowing at all, my nasal passages would swell with clear fluid, clear up, then swell again. I took a NyQuil this first night and I was fine.

The next morning it was not my nose that was stuffy. I felt like Giles Corey, an unbearable pressure placed on my chest. I took a deep cough; nothing seemed wrong and I went on my way. My nose welled with fluid and I blew it for the first time that morning: clear, thin fluid. Except for the 90 decibel nasal clarion call, there was nothing to be worried about. I spent that day, like the first, breathing somewhat fine, only this time with the occasional honk.

The third morning something was different. I woke again with the same chest pressure, only this time, I did not just cough -- I choked. There was something in me, a presence rumbling in my trachea. I tried breathing through my nose. Another change... my brain processed a putrid smell. I opened my window to clear the air, when I realized this smell was coming not from some strange emitter in my room; it was coming from inside of me. I blew my nose and out came the rankest, greenest mucus I had ever seen in my life. Instead of an alleviation of the pressure in my nose, my sinuses immediately re-filled with fluid. Instead of clearing them again, I went on with them stuffed so I would not have to smell the hideous odor. That day, I instinctively tried to blow my nose, but the effort was mostly futile. That evening I enjoyed the last meal I could taste, the last smell I could smell.

That night was the first night in which my cough and cold medicine did not clear my nose, so I tried breathing through my mouth. For two hours I forced my body to breathe in this manner, but when I was taken by sleep, I snapped back to my instincts and snorted through my honker.

The fourth morning was the climax of my troubles. I woke up with a splitting headache, centered right in between my eyes. My chest felt like it contained a lead weight, and my nose was as swollen as a broken toe. I put a Kleenex to my face and blew- nothing came out, yet my nasal passages were still blocked. I was suddenly overcome with the urge to run into the bathroom; neither my mouth nor my nose would take in any oxygen. I choked, coughed and sputtered into the toilet. A whooping, bubbling cough permeated through the house, and after minutes of crying and spitting, I gazed, lightheaded, at what I had procured. Brown and green gobs of sputum sat in front of my eyes. The pressure was gone, but the cough remained -- I went through the day choking, crying and spitting in between each tissue blare.

The fifth day, yesterday, began exactly the same as the fourth. However, this time fluid came out of my trumpet- a thick, yellow pudding of bacteria and pus. I spent the day at the beach, and though my nose cooperated and stayed fairly clear, my sense of smell had dissipated, my sense of taste was gone, my coughs were full of gunk. When I arrived home I was so exhausted from coughing and taking shallow breaths that I passed out, sans NyQuil, at 8PM.

This morning, I expectorated more than I had ever expectorated before. Entire colonies of rhinovirus were laid to rest that morning, and instead of praying for them, I flushed them. I blew my nose, still yellow and fetid. I've been a one man symphony since this morning, blowing, snorting, spitting and choching (that's an onomatopoeia, pronounced with a Jewish CH as in Chanukkah). Starting at around noon, however, both my snot and my sputum have been turning white. The smell is still awful, the taste in my mouth is still gone, and my sinuses still hurt, but the pressure in my chest and nose is almost gone, my coughs have become less rattly, and my nose doesn't feel like a water balloon. Though I have no doubt that I will have a coughing fit tomorrow, I think with some hot tea and Tylenol I will beat this cold.

If you've made it here, thank you for embarking on this journey with me. I hope it wasn't as miserable for you as it was for me.

"Pretentious"

Someone just told me that my screenname, fmsbw***, is pretentious.
I don't think people quite understand the word.

Liking Dostoyevsky for the sake of telling people you've read the Brothers Karamazov is pretentious.
Reading the calculus textbook just so you can show everyone how good you are at calculus is pretentious.
Eating foie gras but not liking the taste is pretentious.
Listening to Beethoven to tell people you're high society is pretentious.

The fact that my screenname is a poem from an art movement I'm really interested in is not pretentious.
Taking notes on a textbook for a physics class is not pretentious.
Listening to Bach because your mother plays it in the car is not pretentious.
And for gods sake, liking Creme Brulee because it's fucking delicious is NOT pretentious.

Therefore, please stop calling me pretentious unless you sense that I'm doing stuff just so people think I'm high society. It's not my fault I like things that some people consider pretentious, that's just how things've worked out.

However, claiming that I know what's pretentious and what's not is pretty pretentious so uh, sorry

How to be 16: A Guide

As a 17 year old, I am, of course, the most reputable source.

-Hate your parents.
-Hate your friends.
-Complain about both.
-Be different.
-Get a significant other.
-Have a superficial relationship.
-Dump them.
-Binge, then purge.
-Make up problems.
-Complain about them.
-Give up.
-Pussy out.
-Blog about it.
-Facebook it.
-Twitter it.
-Today, fyl.
-Repeat.

Damn, I'm glad I'm not 16 anymore. PS, Columbia University '13 :)

Leyendecker

This song was the background of a nightmare I had last night.
It was a scary fucking nightmare...
And this is a scary fucking song.
Battles- Leyendecker

MIT Admissions

Shit goes up Saturday.
FUUUCKKK MYYY LIFFEEE

Lactose Intolerance

I really wish I would stop eating quart size containers of Ben and Jerry's... I just vomited EVERYWHERE.

Waitlisted '13

I got waitlisted at Caltech
I'm not pissed.
Well, maybe a little.

Annoying math teacher...

Math homework's more difficult
If you don't know the concepts.
It can be more frustrating
When the teacher gives insults
Telling you that you're inept
While she herself's complaining
"Didn't finish the problem?
Do it tonight for homework!"
So now I'm calculating
Every single one of them
And me this homework does irk-
Now it is she I'm hating!
So please Ms. Hagler, for tomorrow night
Give less work so I won't complain or fight.

Sorry if this sucks, it's really hard to write 7 syllable lines in a 1-2-3 1-2 1-2 pattern so I've tried my best.
I gave up with the couplet here so deal with the iambic pentameter.

Complain, complain. That's all I ever do.

I've beeen waiting for the pleasure of senioritis since freshman year and somehow I've been guilted into doing all of my homework. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Why can't I slack off like everyone else?