I am so disturbed right now.

I'm trying to organize the shit around my computer... there's a lot. Not sure why. But anyway. I'm sort of trying to make it like an 'office' or something. I have no idea. After I'm done down here, my room is the next step. Trying to prove to myself I can be super organized, I guess.

Anyway. to the point. I found a notebook. There are very few pages left in it... but in the middle of the 25 pages that remain (I estimated), a poem. A poem my brother wrote in 1999. About a girl. I remember this girl. I knew he liked her. She had a boyfriend, I'm sure. I dunno. I remember being a little bastard while she was here, and being like... so are you guys going out or something? And her being like shut up. I have a boyfriend. Maybe it didn't exactly go down like that. But really. Anyway, the poem is crap. :P So disgustingly sappy and needy. Reminded me of Collin's poems.

I have to keep this poem hidden from my brother. And bring it out when he least expects it. Bahaha. I should give it to him for xmas. Oh man. I would die of laughter. He might cry, if he acts like collin too.

So yeah. I'm really disturbed. I hate finding new sides of my brother. :P The gushy side. It's gross.

But just cuz they write/wrote the same, doesn't mean a thing. It just means they're both sensitive. And. Baby-ish. :P We can't all be as not-poem-writing-my-feelings-out as me. :P Don't get me wrong. I love poems. But not sappy ones. Written by amateurs. :P Published poems are the only ones to read.

In english in grade 12, we had to re-write "a part" of the to be or not to be speech in Hamlet. I re-wrote the whole thing about hating burger king. Hahahaha. My teacher loved it. I should try to find it. I wonder if I still have it on the computer upstairs. yay, a distraction.


I found it! Yes! hahahaha. And now, read my amazing-ness:

Small Hands of the King of Burgers

To mop, or not to mop: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the hand to suffer
The pains and bruises of gigantic handles,
Or to take arms against a bucket of water,
And by opposing end it. To mop: to clean:
Forever; and by a mop to say we clean
The floor tiles, and the thousand dust bunnies
I missed sweeping up, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be miss'd. To mop, to clean;
To clean: perchance to slip: Ay, there's the rub;
For in that fall of death what lawsuits may come,
When we have forgotten to put out the wet floor sign,
Must give you cash: there goes my job
From which dough rolled in for six long months:
For who would bear the intolerable "guests":
The morning's the worst, I cannot read minds,
The pang of annoyed eyes, the kitchen's delay,
The insolence of some people, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When she herself might this job quit, make
Without any notice? who else would do it,
To serve and stock the drink station endlessly,
But that the dread of finding a new job,
The previously ventured path whose track
No traveller likes, apply at will,
And makes us rather bear the ills we have
Than fly that course again and again?
Thus conscience makes me reliable, I couldn't walk,
And thus the dull hue of cowardice
Is seen through the pale cast of thoughts,
And the mop is even bigger and wider now
Because there are so many other things
I'd rather do, than mop.


I. Am. So awesome. hahahaha. I can totally see why she wanted to keep the copy I handed in. It rocked. hard! I got 100 on it too. Of course. Cuz I did the whole thing instead of just a part. And this has been one of the longest entries I've done in a while. woooo! I have no idea how I wrote such a masterpiece. haha. I'm kidding. Man. Whatever. I also wrote a poem in grade 8 that my teacher adored and thought was beautiful. Hmm. So I guess... only my amateur poetry is the stuff that should be read. :P Kidding. But it's cuz I don't write sappiness. Back to cleaning.