when in doubt, sit around and don't do anything about it.

Hello, all.  Currently, I am sitting in Middleton Library on LSU's lovely campus, on a lovely day, with lovely sunshine and breezes... studying for a four chapter Film & Media Arts test at 3.  Oh wait, I'm not even doing that!  Because, ladies and gents, blogging is more important.  Ha.  Ha ha.  Hahahaha.  Ok, I'm done with that.

But really, this is how my life goes these days.  I put something off, assure myself that at the last minute, I'll come through, and then fail miserably to do so.  I just very sincerely hope that this doesn't become a recurring problem.  I think this semester was just bad for me.  Like, toxic, or something.  Anyway, besides this, I have precious little to talk about, disregarding my lack of initiative in reference to actually asking a boy out, the absence of any gusto in my life whatsoever (where has my enthusiasm gone?), and the easy way I slip in and out of love with every (straight) guy I meet (Tedjakeadambrandon Smith).  I swear to God, spend a week with an unavailable, unattainable someone in the Canadian wilderness or talking for a couple of hours at a party. . . I know it can't really be love, but then, I've never had real love, have I?  A string of attempts at normalcy (girlfriends) that, while somewhat entertaining for a given amount of time, ended with me unsatisfied and alone.  Oh, gag, here I go.  For being a gay guy, it's rather difficult for me to tell which way some guys swing.  That could possibly be because I'm too hopeful, and want the majority of straight guys to be gay simply because they're the ones who're attractive (gay guys suck. . . get your mind out of the gutter).  But who's to say that even if I met a nice gay guy who I was actually attracted to, I would ever ask him out?  Because when it comes down to it, I'm afraid.  Of lots of things, really.  Tornadoes, failure, but more relevant than those, rejection.  Oh my God, am I afraid of rejection.  So much that I'm afraid to ask a regular in the cafe where I work, who I know is gay, out for coffee (or in for coffee, depending on whether we'd want to leave the building, seeing as my job is to serve coffee).  I know that he's gay, I'm quite sure he knows I'm gay, but something is keeping me from making that move.  He's fucking adorable, if not a bit older (four years, too much?), he's clever, likes to read, and is Irish.  I mean, COME ON.  Seriously.  Fuck, well, this has been fun, but I should probably actually study. . . Perhaps a change in scenery. . . I'm sure I shall update soon.  To put a little Imogen Heap in you're lives, "I feel a weakness coming on."  Listen to her song "The Walk", and I'm going to go study.  Peace.