what · you · don't · know

nicholas_stokes is nervous.

Shakey, shakey. Parkinson's patients keep inviting you to join their community and you don't know why. I'll tell you why: you're too damn high strung for your own good. Chill out, yo.

wanna know your lj's moodring color? enter your user name and hit the button. (discussion thread)

HUH.
Okay that just sucks bad.

So, things aren't so bad.

Really, they're not.

I guess I'm in the "building bridges" stage. My behaviour has been a little erratic, I suppose. I seem to trying to make up for things a lot lately. There's just such huge debts on my side, and I don't know how I can ever repay them. Everyone, for finding me. Warrick, for putting me back together again. Greg, for forgiving me when I didn't deserve it. Eveyone at the lab for putting up with my stumbling steps back towards being even as averagely competent as I was before. Zach, for liking me as I am now. For some unknown reason.

There's this person in my mind who I'm supposed to be, and while before I never measured up to it but I thought someday I might, now he's like a foreigner from Mars.

I can't be who everyone wants. I don't even know if I can be who ANYONE wants.

Dr Schillinger, this emo journal thing is KILLING me. KILLING ME.

JOKES. Sanders can't have the only entertaining journal around, even supposing anyone is watching this.

How do you kill a circus?
Go for the juggler.

Aahahahaha, oh my aching ribs.

Who: Greg
Where: Breakroom at the Lab
When: Current (after Greg has been dating Lexi for a bit)

He comes into the breakroom, and stops on the threshold, seeing Greg hovering over the coffeepot. He's not sure when it became his first instinct not to talk to anyone, but he and Greg have been friends for too long. Better friends than Nick's being now, that's for sure. Or has been for too long. It's just so hard to talk to people. To see the knowledge in their eyes. But. There's something about the way that Greg hums under his breath that reminds Nick of so many other conversations that before he knows it, he's in there, lowering himself quietly to the couch, and watching Greg's back.

He waits for a minute.

"Hey," he says. "Long time no see."

When: Back a bit, after the big afterwork hangout party of doom
Where: Outside the club
Who: Warrick

Nick leans against a wall, trying to hold onto the sensation of the brick digging into his back, because the world is spinning gently and he's started to feel a bit sick. It's not a good sort of drunk. He feels like he keeps seeing things out of the corner of his eyes, but when he turns his head with a sickening lurch, there's nothing there. And that's almost a relief, except that maybe it's inside his head.

He sucks in the cool evening air. He doesn't even know how he got out here, and that's frightening as well. Because it means that he's drunk enough to night to actually black out. And that hasn't happened to him ever, even in the worst of his frat party days. Though he doesn't remember feeling this desolate before. He's had heartbreak before, but this feels final. Or maybe that's just the alcohol as well.

He slides down the wall, and just sits, looking at the sky with the wheeling stars. The moon looking down on him, and he'll never get tired of looking at that.