Okay, so blogging isn't really a phase, or in my case, consistent, but I'm trying to keep with a theme here. They have this whole "blog banner" thing available now, and all my various Photoshop free trials have run out. I was hoping that JD, Juan, Dave, David, Spooky Dave, Sleeptight, that one guy with all the cool blogs, or whatever you prefer to call him, would help me. I know you're probably swamped as it is, but if you get the chance when you get back, I'd really appreciate a blog banner made by the best. Something that says I'm Doug, I'm young and fun but mature, though often random and more often ranting, BUFFY BUFFY BUFFY, television is great. So with that vague description, I ask you for your help when you get back. Anyone else: If you're not already reading his blogs, start.

My sister Christine gave me a link to a website called alluc.org, which has several TV shows watchable online for free (not quite legit, but that's how I roll, yo). I was in the H section, looking for House when I saw the title of a show a former teacher told me she enjoyed: Heroes. I figured I'd give it a shot. I ended up buzzing through the entire season in three days (I could've gone faster if it weren't for school, darn it). I love this show. I don't love it *quite* as much as Lost, which of course means Buffy, Angel, etc. are safe, but Heroes is still an excellent show. Check it out if you haven't already!

Last school year was awful. But hey, that's high school for ya (if you're not athletic, good looking, or rich). You know what's bad? Drugs. Alcohol. Etc. (Not the abbreviation "Etc.", obviously. I mean, who doesn't love good old etc.?) Anyway, back to the point, BAD. First there was Anna-Maria Francesca Gouda. Well, maybe we shouldn't count her, as she's not the best example. Second there was Claire Chiffon Devant-Vanderpeer, but we'll act like she was first. She and I were good friends all through my freshman year, but my sophomore year is when things really started to go downhill. The more time went on, the more she screwed herself up on tobacco, marijuana, alcohol, prescription pain-killers, etc. (there's that etc. again). Being the concerned friend in high school apparently makes you not a friend at all. Tell someone that what they're doing is hurting themselves in the short and long run, and plead with them to stop because you care about them, and for all your concern all you do is strain the friendship, because they don't want to be told that what they're doing is wrong. They think the true friends are the ones who basically say "Yeah, sure, go kill yourself or screw up your life, I don't care! As long as you think it's fun, do it." Over the year, Claire C. Devant-Vanderpeer came to school drunk, skipped cllasses to smoke cigarettes and marijuana, was suspended several times, and sprayed on tons of perfume to hide it all from her parents. I mean, you can see how it could mess things up, not even mentioning all the health risks. So, over the year, I avoided her more and more, because watching someone you care about destroy themselves while you're powerless to stop is too painful. So, after essentially losing her, and having Anna-Maria F. Gouda already so far gone, I was left with pretty much one good friend besides all of you on this wonderful site. Thank God (literally) for all of you.

The friend I was left with, Jonathan Elvidden-Meyer Applebottom, Esquire was often irritating though. What is it about me that makes my "friends" get immense twisted pleasure out of making me upset? I mean, the fact that they're making me upset is one thing, but the fact that them enjoying upsetting me leads me to the conclusion that they don't care about me, as they don't seem to care about my mood or being considerate towards me, is worse. Also, almost every day we were together, he'd say something terribly inaccurate (for example, he insisted that the United States did not participate in World War I), and I'd correct him, because I would think people would like to know what they're talking about. This led him to assume that I thought he was stupid, so every time we went through this we'd get into a fight. What does he do in a fight? He decides to leave my house, and then I annoyingly and exhaustively have to chase him down and convince him to come back. Honestly, I have to spend so much time convincing him we're friends and don't loathe each other that I actually start to loathe our friendship. Could you just accept the fact that we're friends even if we don't have everything in common, Jonathan Elvidden-Meyer Applebottom, Esquire? Sheesh!

Then there's the academic side of school. I test very well. Unfortunately, that doesn't matter as much if you never turn in homework. There's more explanation as to why I didn't in another part of the blog. (See what I did there? I'm forcing you to keep reading! Ha!) That led to bad grades, which led to teachers who don't know me very well assuming I'm slow, which is really annoying. Also annoying was almost failing Several cllasses. Fortunately, due to doing a group project almost entirely solo (and getting the highest grade of any of the groups of the three cllasses who did it) and doing well on finals exams, I passed everything (except second semester French 3. I don't care. I'm so over French. Just stick some rotten cheese down your throat and phlegm it up, and no one will be able to tell you're not speaking French. Sorry to you all who love the French language).

I even got an A on Mr. Newport's (name not changed) final exam, which is surprising, because he corves it. That means I must have gotten one of the highest grades. On all his tests he put far too many questions to finish, so that no one does, and then he find the average scores, and so on. I thought I did badly. I guess not. He was without a doubt the hardest teacher I had all year (one project required 25 note cards, each with on bit of researched information, on a short story from another country, five cards from each source, the sources being the internet, a book, a periodical (newspaper, magazine, etc. (Ha! Etc. strikes again!)), an interview with an expert that we were to conduct ourselves (sheesh, where was I supposed to find a werewolf expert? (My short story was "The Lay of the Werewolf")), and a fifth source of our choosing. In addition to those bits of information, we had to have 25 accompanying cards citing our sources in a mixed from between proper MLA documentation form and Mr. Newport's own modifications. Isn't work like this supposed to be saved for college (university for you foreigners)? But he was a very nice guy, very passionate about knowledge, and he was rather eccentric, too (he called himself "Papa Newp" ).

In late May, my family finally got our stupid insurance worked out enough for me to see a Psychiatrist. After a few minutes and a series of questions, I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder. I've been living with it for two and a half years, and had to go without medication the whole time. Let me tell you, that could be annoying (*Lilah Morgan ascends the stage in an elegant black dress, holding an envelope. She opens the envelope and pulls out a card* Lilah: And the award for understatement of the year goes to...). Not only is Major Depressive Disorder what you might expect (feeling very sad, very hopeless, etc. (other abbreviations just *wish* I loved them this much)), but it can also manifest in ways such as, in my case, extreme fatigue, lack of motivation for motor functions, etc. (Oh yeah, twice in one paragraph).

Guess where this can interfere very much? School. Extreme fatigue literally beyond my control led to me sleeping through many cllasses, which not only got me made fun of, but also led to not getting all of the teachers' lectures, therefore doing worse in school, and also leading Mr. Strudelflogger to believe I was up all night playing video games . Furthermore, only being awake, at home, and not occupied with other necessary duties for four or so hours didn't leave much time for homework, and it's not like I could spend all that time on homework entirely. I mean, then pretty much my entire life would be only school, not that it wasn't still during the school year. I needed some time for relaxation to relieve stress. Also, having little to none hope for the future leaves little motivation for doing well in anything. I'd think to myself, "Why bother if I'm going to end up lonely and miserable anyway?" Two and a half years of teachers assuming I was either lazy or stupid was too much stress that I didn't need.

Also annoying were people who just didn't get it. The few people who knew couldn't seem to grasp the full extent of how my depression effected me. I think it might be because people toss the word "depressed" around quite often to just mean "sad". "My sports team lost the game; it was really depressing." "I got a bad grade on my test. I'm depressed." However, understanding why they might not understand didn't help the fact that they didn't. In fact, Jonathan Elvidden-Meyer Applebottom, Esquire overheard me talking on the phone to my sister about how the medication seemed to be working, since I was feeling a bit happier, and suggested that it could also be because I was hanging out with him more often recently. I'm sorry, but how can you think that hanging out with friends is an actual treatment for something medical? Yes, one of the effects of depression is sadness, but depression itself is not sadness (that's a misconception created by people who toss the word around, like I said). Depression itself is a medical disorder, a chemical imbalance in the brain. Jonathan Elvidden-Meyer Applebottom, Esquire doesn't seem to get that, even after I explained it. I suppose he probably thinks chemotherapy patients would recover better if they stopped treatment and hung out with their friends. I know he didn't mean anything by it, but it seemed to me to be kind of arrogant, crediting himself as the reason for my salvation, like I'd be unable to go on if it weren't for him. Fortunately, now that I have a diagnosis, I also have a prescription for Wellbuetrin or however you spell it, and I'm certainly noticing its effects.

This'll be just a brief overview of my family members and how/what they're doing at the moment.

Mother: Seems to be okay, going steady.

Father: Insists he has no money to help pay for the house or a used car for me, but meanwhile is sitting in North Carolina with a large two bedroom apartment, a big screen TV with surround sound system, and three fryers (who on Earth needs three fryers?! Most people don't even use one). Oh, yeah, and his brand new Toyota Prius hybrid. No money my Buffy-obsessed butt!

Emily: Emily and Craig, a fantastic couple. Craig is the nicest, most caring and understanding guy you could meet. He's also just about the last guy on the planet who would put up with Emily's crap and the way she treats people. About a month ago, he officially proposed to her, ring and all. Her response to that life-changing question? Break up with him. At this point I hope you're all saying "What the Hell!" It was my reaction, and I therefore believe it to be the proper one, because I'm perfect. Okay, very not, but you get what I'm saying. She said she was too young, and just wanted to be young and free for now, but over their year of dating she had talked constantly of engagement, marriage, starting a family, baby names, how they'd raise their kids, etc. Now all of a sudden she feels she's too young. Puh-lease. Hopefully she'll eventually spew out enough liquid evil that she'll drown in it.

Christine: I told you she wrote a book, right? Questions College Students Ask About God, the Faith, and the Church. She's only 20 and she has a published book co-written with her Ph.D. theology professor (and she wrote more of the book than he did). Despite not being widely marketed, local priests are eating it up and promoting the heck out of it, and we've even been getting calls from Maryland asking for more copies. This has her very optimistic. She's currently writing a second book. I'm happy for her, but sometimes her overachieving ways make me feel so inadequate. I look to Wonderfalls' Jaye Tyler to see how to make being the lowest-achieving family member into a positive thing. It's all about perspective. Right?