rLobster's Journal: the sun'll come out tomorrow

Interesting that I spoke of something killing the creative wit, yet I had wits enough to write a poem, however terrible it was.

My Civ2 CD won't work. I want to go to the park at night. It's pretty. I won't be allowed, and that's understandable. I probably should call my dad. I will when I'm done with this. I want to see Rosie. I think seeing her would make me suddenly happy and energetic, but tonight it is impossible. Nothing positive will happen tonight. I will type this, wish for my Civ II CD, smell my cologne and wish that I could smell her hair, and take a bath and wish it would make me clean. I will look at my reflection in the mirror and wish I did not look so much like my dad. No one else cares if they look like their parents, 'cept teenage suicides. I'm not one of them. I suppose I think I'm biding my time, but when will I be happy again? Tomorrow, I suppose. Yes, tomorrow is a good day.