Dear Diary,

I'm going to be honest. I'm not going to be regular about this posting thing at all. Well, maybe I lied. I'll be an obsessive poster for a very short period of time. Then, I'll doubtlessly get distracted by something much newer, shinier, and interesting. I will love you passionately and leave you in the digital dust, clinging to the shreds of my memory.

I have an issue with commitment, ok?

But maybe that's alright- it's only because the world seems to have an issue with commitment when it comes to me. They only love you when you're beauitful, and you're only beautiful when they can use you. Scratch out all those "you"s in the previous sentence and replace them with "me"s. I don't feel like going back and editing this, so what you get is what comes out of my fingers, directly.

I'm also listening to my ipod on shuffle while I'm typing this, so if you smell any weird and wildly different changes in mood--- that's it. I'm a musician. Music does that to me. Well, I suppose it does it to everyone who hears and has a somewhat functioning brain, but take that, multiply it by a million, and that's what it does to me. Yeah. Not so much fun.

So I've got this rehearsal tonight, and I really don't want to go. I mean I do and I don't. I feel all squirmy and weird inside. Ha, you have no clue what I'm talking about, do you? Tough. Maybe you'll find out later.

Peace out, yo.
Da Shivers