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Okay, so I lied. I didn't get rich selling toilet paper. I just wanted to spark some interest so people would come and check out whatever garbage I'm about to write.

I never plan ahead when it comes to typing on these journal writings. I clear a path and start typing whatever pops in my head. Here's one: I wish I was dead. Those five words find their way into my brain every day. Every single day.

It's not that I wish I were physically dead. No pulse, brain cells no longer active, lying there lifeless. The phrase is merely a way for me to describe how unsatisfied I am with my current living conditions. But it would take longer to say, "I wish I had a 2005 Mustang parked in my two-car garage that's attached to the house in front of my swimming pool which sits on 40 acres out in the middle of nowhere yet I stil have access to the movie store".

But I do wish I was dead. My sister, being the concerned person she is, informed me that I should actually say, "I wish I were dead". Okay, fine. I wish I were dead. How's that?

To be honest, I wish I weren't so bored. Or is it wasn't so bored? Either way, I wish I had something to do. I do the same thing every single day. I wake up, I drink Sprite, I go on the computer, I find nothing to watch on television and I pace the floors and stare at walls until I fall asleep around two in the morning. Then I wake up at five or so and start all over. Seven days a week 95% of the time. It isn't very fullfilling or gratifying or self-satisfactory.

Of course there are a few things I would like to do before I keel over. I've never been to Las Vegas. I'd like to check it out. I've been a fan of the song "Numb' by Linkin Park, so I'd like to meet them. Heck, I'd like Numb to be played at my funeral. Hell, ya know what? I wanna be the person who performs it at my funeral. That would really freak some people out, don't ya think? I don't own one single shirt that is really made out of leather. Before I die I wanna own one. Maybe drinking a whole liter of Sprite in one hour would do too.

See? I have goals. Goals I yearn to accomplish. There are tons of things I wanna do before I die. I have the desire. I just don't have the means to get the ball rolling in the right direction. It's a money thing. I truly believe that. I think money can buy happiness. Or, at least, rent it.

But who am I kidding? If I had money would I be more content? Sure, I could go to Vegas if I had cash. Yeah, I might be able to convince Linkin Park to come sing for me. My friend Ari could probably find me a copy of the "Numb" song by Linking Park. I would settle for the remade version. It doesn't matter. The big question is this: Where in the hell am I ever gonna find a shirt made out of leather? I must be crazy.

It's time to admit when some hopes and dreams are unattainable.