You got a friend in me

I am in the rare moments that I am completely grateful for every friend I've ever made, and I've this great desire to speak with all of them and tell them that I miss them and think they are pleasant human beings.
But these are the moments when no Facebook Wall Post, Status Comment, Phone Call, or anything will do. Time spent together with friends is the water and the blood of Friendship. A Facebook or Phone-call friendship could never last, because it's just fake water and blood. A night of friends with tea is irreplaceable.
But now I am completely isolated from most any friend I've ever made in this world, and I feel quite unmotivated to make any new ones here where I am.
I wish I could turn around from this computer and see all my old friends smiling at me through the cracks between my door and wall.
And this is Isaac Middleton being Melodramatic.
Good night.

Awake My Soul

It makes one wish to open one's eyes and find a way to live this old life in a not-so-calloused manner.

You Were Made to Meet Your Maker.

I'm not going crazy-- I'm N(maybe...)ot.

So here I sit, a freshly tuned violin in my lap, a wallet with much less money than what I would like stuffed inside it, my glasses (slightly smudged) perched atop a novel that I shall probably never finish. My room is in its typical mess, apart from my bed which is so neatly made that it looks as though it belongs to a room of the House of Elrond. It's a really nice-looking bed. I have spent exactly forty-three days in search of a job that would help me pay for college, and I have fallen short of completing this task. I am more than slightly discouraged, but I'm also more than slightly pleased as well. Because of this lack of income, I am forced to live a frugal life inside this room with my Elf bed and unfinished novels and various musical instruments, and learn to be more like Penelope Stamp. Everyone wants to be more like Penelope Stamp...

It's 1:06 in the evening, and I still have bed head, morning breath, and wrinkles on my face from my pillows, and I am in no inclination to fix any of it.
This summer, my trade is simple: A recluse.