Writing

I wonder why I write. That may sound strange to some people, especially those who know that I write pretty often. Writing poetry is often a painful experience. Let me explain.

When I am writing, it takes a lot for me to be coherent. It is mentally strenuous. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying. When I am done writing, I am happy yet I feel a lot of strain. I want my thoughts to be not only beautiful but make sense. Writing is an excercise that only that mentally strong should partake.

Secondly, when I write, I feel more in touch with my insane side. I feel that boundary between the sane and insane get a little smaller. I cannot explain it. Maybe it is the crazy artist syndrome.

Working Part 2

I decided against taking the job. I dont want to knock on other people's door.

Working

I have found a job that cannot be monotonous. Knocking on people's door cannot be boring. No I am not a Jehovah's Witness. I am a political activist person. Laugh at me. Its ok.

The consequences of unprotected sex

My penis itches
I may have gonorrhea
Yellow stuff oozes

My Freshman Year

My freshman year is almost over and now I am taking the time to reflect on it.

This year has been filled with a whirlwind of change. I left a large, diverse, cosmoplitan area to live in a colorless town (I mean that in many ways). I left an old relationship that was like the monkey on a heroin addict's back for one that has a newness and brings a freshness to my life. I now have a slew of new friends that I did not have when I first got up here. I lived without adult supervision for the first time (I mean in a technical sense). My habits are completely different. My look is different. My mentally has changed. Nothing is the same. Even when I come home. I now live in a different neighborhood. This year has changed so much for me.

I do not regret coming to Mercyhurst. There are things that I dislike but overall, I have really enjoyed my stay here. I hope to continue to enjoy it here. I do not want to leave. I really dont. I love my dorm. I will miss my 3rd floor McAuley fellows. You all mean a lot to me. I love you all, like brothers. We have survived our first year of college. Many people don't.