I was reading all my last entries. Ugh, I was soo depressed. And this was only, what, last month? Holy shit. Well, in the time that elapsed between then and now things were slowly getting better and finally I taught myself to ejoy my summer and go to sleep satisfied. I guess high school and its drama really fucked me up big time, but I've been slowly recovering. Malaysia was therapeutic as all hell. One thing I noticed that was interesting was when Justine asked me, "How was Malaysia?" I went "Amazing! Awesome! I loved it!" It was only days later when I spoke to her that I mentioned I was sick for half of it and was hospitalized. And she said, "Wow...and when I asked you, you said it was amazing. That's admirable." And I was like, "Yeah, ok, I guess so!"

Anyway, so the past couple days have been the only ones in a while that I've had to be by myself and amuse myself. The last two days I moped around the house, alternating between television, computer and attempting to read my Freud (varying degrees of success: I came to understand his first point, but tired of it after another 5 pages and stopped.)

Things will be better in college, I hope. Maybe I'll understand stuff more because my work ethic will improve and I will have more fun. I had a dream about college last night. Same dream I always get in mid-August: i go to school and I forget my schedule, or something stupid. My professors were pissed and I was like 1/2 an hour late cuz I couldn't find the schedule man, Nathan Cleckley (what, why Nathan?? Ok..) Last year I forgot my schedule too, and I came to school naked. I've also had dreams where I forgot my locker combination/lost my books. These things happen in real life too, yes, but it's always exaggerated in those goddamn dreams.

Anyway, right. Then yesterday during my TV binge I saw Brat Camp, which could possibly have been the gayest thing ever in my entire life, but it brought something to my attention nevertheless. These kids went out into the wilderness to be utterly alone for three days so they could think about their lives. All they had was themselves, some food and a notebook. So as a result they all came to these remarkable conclusions about who they were and all had marvelous epiphanies and shat themselves silly and cried and all that bull. Anyway, I thought, if some idiot OC kid can be affected like that, I guess I could too. Maybe I hadn't been taking advantage of the predominant loneliness like I should have. All I'd been doing for the longest time was trying to drown out the feelings by watching television and immersing myself in the thoughtless and ridiculous media: in the clutches of E! of all things. Television and the media were my alcohol, my drugs, my prozac. Coincidentally, Garden State was on TV the other day telling me, "Go out and feel! Do! Live! What the fuck are you doing on the couch for!"

So today I said, "Yes! Indeed! I'm going out!" And I went to the SFMoma this morning because nobody else would ever go with me. It was relatively dissapointing. The photography was anything but "modern art" it was very classical. It went up to some good people, but showcased only one or two of Erwitt's, Goldin's or Arbus's photos. Most of it was 19th-early 20th century bullshit which come on, is anything but modern. The top floor was invigorating, my favorite being a giant room painted completely as a paint by numbers rainforest with a jail cell window and outfittings. It was magical.

Besides that it was ehhh. THere were about two each of Rivera and Lichtenstein, a decent array of Matisse (but none of my favorites) a single Kahlo (though they had tons of her shit in the gift shop) and...uhh.... yeah. There was a surprising lot of minimalist bullshit which drove me crazy, especially the three canvasses painted white. I mean, come on. The only minimalist/total abstract thing I liked was the room full of shoes sewed up in cow gut. Awesome.

Overall though, it wasn't bad. I was right in assuming that when I separated myself from corporations all yelling in my face and suburbia babbling at me in a monotone and went out into the city, I had things to think about and write about. I filled some pages in my journal. the beauty of anonymity is nice. It's wonderful to observe people in their surroundings, oblivious to anyone watching them and to peek into their lives. Small things are so gorgeous. i wanted to take pictures but I fucking forgot to put the battery in my Rebel. But yerba Buena park and the people in it are just magnificent. I saw these two teenagers on a bench trying to blow plastic bubbles, a lot of kids running through the park and a woman laughing like mad on a pay phone. I smelled weed very strongly and tried to scope it out but I'm not sure if the guy I saw giggling and smoking was the culprit or not.

I liked today. It was much better than sitting in front of the tv again. much less depressing. I considered staying longer but I didn't want to pay any more for parking.