You're Pretty When I'm Drunk

I suppose it's time that I update. A lot has happened lately, or maybe nothing's really happened at all. Maybe it's just been another day in the life of Kevin, I don't know. I got some recently. Yes, me, your resident loser, the whiner extraordinaire, champion of all that is melancholy got some play the other day. Or days to be clearer. Of course, it first happened under the influence of a lot of alcohol, but it still happened nonetheless. I hope it was all in the spirit of fun. The spirit of being in college, of being alone with nowhere to go. Because that's all I want right now; I don't need the baggage of a relationship. I hope she feels the same way because, though she seems to be one of the least fucked-up girls I know, I don't think I could have a relationship with her. Never mind the fact that I don't want one anyways... even if I did I don't think I'd want one with her. I'm just not attracted, and over the years I've come to realize that I have to be attracted, both physically and emotionally. I know what you're really wondering, though. I didn't have sex. But what did happen was ten times as good as my trusty right hand, and I had fun. That's what's really important.

I don't think I've been as melancholy lately either. Maybe it's because a girl touched my penis. I really couldn't tell you though. I still see the same happy people holding hands, and I'm still disgusted at them. I still question the fact that I'm sitting here at UW-Whitewater, learning more and more everyday on how I'll really be going nowhere. I may be smart. I may have some uncanny charm on certain people. But I still question everything that's taught to me, even when it's that there's not really any rules in writing (there really are, but no one dares to say that). There is no room for questioners in this world. Everyone has succumbed at one time or another to their superiors. Even your favorite rock stars, artists, and authors. But getting away from this dourness... I'm uncharacteristically happy. I walk these streets like I can still conquer the world. I still think I can write the great American novel. I still dream of being a rock star... a bassist for the best of the fictional bands, The Jews (or maybe it's more PC, yet still shocking Spastic Asshole?). I don't know what to think of this, but as in the story I just read (Candide), I'm not going to think about it too hard. I'm just going to live my life.