i think the worst sickness you can have is a sore throat. me and mom agree on this. nothing tastes right and i can't sing and nothing i drink will soothe it and it just makes me tired all over. so that's why this blog is at 7 in the morning on a school day because if i go it'll be simply to take a spanish test. that's two hours from now.
i'm pretty excited because that means i get to read for 2 hours and quite frankly i'm in love with huck finn. not really his character per say because he's a mischievous little boy and a pretty compulsive liar, he's rather good at it, but i love the stories and everything he gets into. i find myself laughing in every chapter. it's so cute. i wish i could have an imagination .001% as wonderful as that of mark twain. mark twain was pure genius. i thought he killed himself but i was wrong, he lived a very depressed life and then died of a heart attack the day after halley's comet was at its closest point to earth. he actually predicted that, if that's not creepy i don't know what is. he was born two weeks after the comet and then at its next appearance he predicted he would go out with the comet as well. that's a bit suspicious if you ask me. i don't see why almost all the pure geniuses in art and literature killed themselves but it's a pretty consistent trend. all the good poets killed themselves. i wonder if it's all part of some underlying scheme that all of us normal human beings are unaware of, maybe there's a union of certain authors and poets and artists of all genres that believe you will never truly experience success unless you plan to kill yourself after it's all over. and that success is in the wealth and popularity sense of the term, not by any means their level of happiness, because most of these types of people live out their golden years of fame in torment and depression and hatred towards the world and everything and everyone in the world, completely apathetic to their level of prestige. they don't care, it doesn't make them happy. and i think that should be a signal to us that fame is not equal to happiness, money is not equal to happiness, friends is not equal to happiness, popularity and prestige and recognition and 18 wives is not equal to happiness. frankly i would like to point out that henry david thoreau and cs lewis did not commit suicide but they are two of the highest level of literary genius in my opinion. but i can't say that my opinion of an author is based upon their level of happiness in their lives, or that i would deny the literary merit of their works simply because they committed suicide, because really when i'm reading it isn't about the author anymore. i mean it's good to know their basic biography and what kind of life they led because it can help you to understand some of the things in their writing, definitely, but i just completely lose myself in the books i read, and it becomes more about me and how it applies to me than what the author was feeling. although it's interesting to ponder both sides of the spectrum, i tend to focus more on the former. i don't think it's selfish, it's just the way literature is intended. you get lost in it.
sometimes i just need a break. like now. life is wakeupschoolbandtenniseatsleepwakeup and i just feel like i never get to slow down and do nothing. sometimes it's relaxing to do nothing. read something that has nothing to do with school. watch a tv show. write a blog that maybe four people read but write it anyway because it's just relaxing and there's nothing else pressing that i need to accomplish. i love the busy life though, i think it's where i need to be. i feel like i'm in my niche. i don't like the feeling of being lazy. this does not keep me from being lazy, by any means. but it makes me feel bad when i'm not productive for an extended period of time. i don't know how people enjoy that.
i feel like i had something to vent about but maybe i'm feeling better so the negative thoughts just vanished. it's so magical when that happens