Whoo!

Fin. I am complete my first manuscript and it is a wave of relief washing over me. Finally! I wrote 7 pages in about 2 and a half to 3 hours. It was quite a good run of writing. It's not all poifect and stuff, and I haven't quite decided on the title (lots of good options) but I'm quite pleased. And anyhow, the whole workshop business is for fixing things anyway, so it would be kinda pointless to turn in a perfect piece eh? Heh. That's what I'll tell myself. And any others who listen. Quasi-open ending, but I'm just fargin' thrilled that I finished it. Something else I feel like writing is for Clan Lord. A good satire of the stupidity of certain parts of Clan Lord. I think it's because I'm feeling a bit bitter.

Apparently a childhood acquaintance of one of my aunts teaches here at OSU. We knew this, but she'd married some time ago and no one knew her name or anything. But my mom thinks it's my American Lit professor and it's quite possible because she has a good Florida accent so who knows? Would be kinda odd. She said I have "the smallest handwriting ever." Heh. And I wasn't writing all that small. Medium for my regular range of writing. Too relieved to write much of a post. Heh.

You Gotta Have ...

Grug. Been awhile since I last updated. I have felt an enormous pull on my time. I have time, but it's this damned unfinished manuscript making me flip out. I ended up starting over on it yesterday because the story I was writing was ... pure unadulterated crap. Heh. Well, maybe not unadulterated but it wasn't really worth working on much longer. So that's that. And someone turned in their manuscript early (today) so I get to read that. 9 pages. Length is my biggest concern. Apparently I have something in common with incarcerated addicts in that neither them nor I can finish stories. But I think I can do it this time if I try. Anyhow, read the story. Wasn't particularly impressed with it so I'm not really worried about being in an "advanced fiction" class but I still have to actually write. What a pain in the ass. Heh, yes I'm kidding ... sorta. But reading it really boosted my confidence, so I'm good for it. Just have to turn my experience of being robbed into er ... fiction. Thinking I need to just lay out the bare bones of the story and then punch it up tomorrow. Editing as I go messes me up.

They're wanting to raise fees since they can only raise tuition 7% a year. It's so fuggin' annoying. May they burn in a discomforting retirement facility. I'm strongly adding weight to the ideas of either going to Japan or taking a year break next year. But I would prefer to go to Japan and learn this crazyass language. It just keeps getting weirder and weirder and much more difficult ... but that's cool. In my western civ. class last Thursday I wrote on my desk in Japanese that I wanted to go home. I just wrote my name and decided to make a sentence and that was the only thing I could think of and be able to write. But someone erased it. So I drew my classic middle finger and wrote some more crap. And it's not like the desk was clean before I wrote on it. Packed with flames and lightning bolts and a Monopoly house among other things. So I'll write whatever damned thing I wish. Bastardass.

But, aside from my manuscript being totally unfinished (I overheard that I am not alone in just recently starting!) there's something else on my mind. Pretty much everynight I do the prayer thing. Pray for all sorts of things, like being able to sleep. That's always in my mind. Health. But also, other people. There are people I pray for all the time, hoping that things'll go well for them, that things will take a change of course for the better, or that things will stay on the same good course. I stopped praying for myself a whole lot because it seemed selfish as well as pointless. But I decided not to last night. Because it just felt pointless. I don't know. Anyhow, not feeling like praying anymore. So, I must apologize to those of you I pray for because ... the buck stops here? Random.

Crapzilla

I somehow crashed IE trying to entertain myself earlier while I was starting a post. Oh well, I lost nothing. And yes, yes, I know, don't write in a browser if you care ... well, I rarely do. And I like to complain. I am a Jeremiah. I will find something to complain about sooner or later. I know what I was writing about, at least. I don't remember the exact things I was saying, but it was probably in the most roundabout way anyhow, and that's a bunch of crap. Watching the Iron Chef. I find that just as important as revealing this is my second attempt on the current subject matter. And my stomach hurts. And my laptop is pressing on it a bit, which doesn't make things better. And now the "tail" end of the Man Show (which would be "Girls Jumping on Trampolines"). I probably shouldn't be watching television, but it's highly unlikely I could make myself do anything useful if I wasn't. I might read. But reading might remind me that I need to write, and that I'm already sick and tired of my story even tho it is only a page and a half off the ground. And then I'd just get more irritated with things. Not like I need an excuse.

So, "screw dat." I'll just try and write it out without thinking too much about how I should be holding back. Because there are probably a million reasons for censuring myself, but they don't help me when I can't sleep. Was chatting with Mary earlier about random stuff. Being a healer really fit me, as the PWC Polerand, because I think I'm shameless that sort of person who likes to help or heal problems. Other people's problems at least. Fulfilling, but draining. I need my own healer. I think I need to see a therapist. Not for anything big, but just so I can have someone to listen to my bullshit. And without me feeling guilty as sin for putting my problems in their lap. Because I will even if there's no logical reason. I walk in an anti-logic bubble. Ain't life grand. Normally, I can't really take talking about my own problems very long. It's rarely even a problem. People are too trusting, but I am thankful for that. Nothing is the matter, but what's up with you? It's not that I don't mean it, either. I do. Maybe that's the problem. I do mean it. I don't know how not to revert to it, either. Natural. Perhaps I am shut off my emotions. Let us try and talk to them, my emotions. It will not be all of us trying to talk to them, it will be all of us listening to me trying to talk to them.

Hello, emotions. I want to talk to you. Emotions. Anger, ah, anger you are my friend. But I don't wanna fuckin' talk to you anger! Go to hell! Ok, ok. Um ... other emotions, I would like to speak with you. Oh, hello, happiness. Nice to see you. How nice of you to pop by. Fuck you happiness! Go to hell! Ahem. Ok, ok, let us speak to the other emotions then. Hello, emotions? I just want to be friends. Hello? Where did you all go? Dammit! Friggin' posers. Oh well, what good are they? Anyhow, empathy. I have empathy. Sure. But it's too bad that it doesn't help me much, does it? No. It relates to other people's feelings. Empathy's good, tho. I'll give empathy a hug a pat on the back, and maybe even a cookie. Maybe even throw it a birthday party. I've had exactly one birthday party since we moved to Oklahoma. In Ohio, my mom made me cakes for my first coupel of birthdays. I can still picture one that she made look exactly like a lion. It is amazing. I've seen pictures, too. I remember the gifts I got, vaguely. Just my parents, the cards from my grandparents, and me. The one birthday I had since, with others, was a "sleepover" part of sorts. And it sucked. The day after my mom had us all go out and pick up trash and we went to the park. Only one. I've gone to several. The last one I went to was the first couple of weeks at school. There's something obligatory about birthday parties that I hate. And it makes it even worse if I'm invited to one by someone who had ceased talking to me. This would be the case of the last party I went to. But I still feel that obligation to go to the damn things. But I avoided one last week. An actual good friend's, who I do talk to about every week. But I just didn't want to go. I felt like shit. It was actually sunday. So it's not "last week" until tomorrow.

And I feel guilty about it. But not too guilty or anything. And I don't know what brought up birthday parties ... oh wait, I did. Somehow got there from empathy. Don't ask me, I'm just visiting. Maybe it's because I'm aware that my problems are so trivial. It's always in my mind that nothing I will ever face will be so bad, or be worth so much worry and hassle. The world, the whole world, is poor in more ways than one, whereas this nation that I live in, is not. I'm got my high school degree instead of dropping out to support my family. I'm in college. I am relatively healthy (for all I know). Nothing in my body is overtly falling off, or falling apart at a greater, or lesser, degree. Yes, there are things I could ask for, but not much I really need on the basic human level. And if anything this bothers me more and more as I continue to find happiness, or contentment, always just beyond grasp. I push and I push my rock, only to have it fall down the other side so I can start again. But at least it has an end ... right?

I've been called manipulative. That, too, is in my head. Always at the surface. Floating through my mind. I can not let it die. But I do not want for it to die. I want to know of it. I want to avoid it. I don't want to manipulate, but I do. Subconsciously? I don't know. But it happens. And it probably helps me not want to talk about myself. I fear that in doing so I will unintentionally manipulate things. Damn me. Damn me! I have found myself doing it. So I cut myself off, further isolate myself, perpetuate the need for someone to talk to me. Or, to listen I guess. This is an example of what I feel is bad of me and that I would like to expiate and to remove. Can I ever? No, I don't guess I could. Hum. I will strive to. Here is an example that I had planned on giving a few sentences earlier: "My name is not Jeremiah." "That is not true." Obviously simplified to be meaningless, but that is how it is. Meaningless effortless, non-thinking manipulation. That I feel ever so bad about. Maybe if I clog up this blog and unload it all upon thee, the reader, or even just the ether. Surely, this! This must save me. It must be my sweet salvation or my cold-faced killer, but either one will work for my ends, will it not? It will. Oh how it must. Although this is getting longer than I intended, and much more off-track. But is this better or worse for me? Chances are some discerning readers will skip the self-indulgence and be the better off for it. But will I be better off?

I think Kamille drained me. I don't think I'll ever write about it, doubtful I'll ever talk about it. But I don't know what to think about anything anymore. Everything's so fucking confusing. But variety is the spice of life, and inconsistent cooking. Or maybe I'm confused about that. Haha. Not like I'd ever know. Blissful ignorance, sheath me in your shadows. I think I need something to drink. So that I can keep writing my awful fiction manuscript. I hope more than half the class writes crummy fiction. And I hope I write slightly better fiction, so that I might tower over them and not feel so crappy about every damned thing under the sun. At least until it came time for my second manuscript. You know, that reminds me of something. It's ... I don't know, odd. Odd. Kamille always said she wanted to read my writing. And I always said I would let her, but I wanted to give her actual paper to read and not electronic writing. Because it's not the same reading something on a computer when you can read it on paper, to hold in your hand paper. I wanted to get my portfolio from my last creative writing class in high school but my teacher was kind of ... scatter-brained and so I couldn't get him to focus on it. And so we'd gone to talk to teachers, but I couldn't get it. Foo. So I ended up sending her an email with Highway 11 and she said it was good. But she also added "I didn't expect it to be good." What the hell? That's bugged me since. I still don't know what to think about that.

So I've totally gone off-topic but this has got to be one of my all-time favorite posts. But I still held things back. I don't know why. I have reconsidered the changing of my comments from "Comments [#]" to "Love Me [#]" but I wanted to. A lot!

Temper?

I really should be doing something else at the moment. A week and two days is when my fiction manuscript is due. A week and two days to do the whole thing as I have done not one bit of it yet. What is the worst thing someone has said to me? Hmm. This is tough. I would say one thing, but I'd rather save that for later. It was a PEAK (thing for kids who are "smart" as demonstrated by high standerdized test scores) teacher my Sr. year in high school. She said I don't have ambition. It was true, though. Or, it is true, I could say. I don't really. But what the hell can I do about it? Heh. No worries. She was quite the hellish taskmaster, though, and I really wish she would have just once decided to not be ... annoying? I don't know. Anyhow, she was right but I won't hold that against her. I will however hold it against myself cause I am very attracted to myself. Mmmmhmm.

But I'm delaying the writing of my idea for a bit longer, because I can. I am the master. Hoo hoo. So I decided to read random blogs, because that is always entertaining for a little while and then I found something else even more entertaining. Everyone either loves or hates those pointless little tests the internet is filled with, and I personally enjoy wasting my time on them for a good laugh. So, I took anime tests and was quite amused by the results. I took two tests - "What kind of Dragonball Z guy are you?" and the "Anime Stereotype" test. My only knowledge of Dragonball Z is the video game I rented last month, bit I'd say it gave me some information about the series so it'd be a fun little quiz. Vegeta - arrogant, hot-tempered, proud, elitist. "No one messes with the great Vegeta" is all I hear when I think of him. Hah. I don't know how well that fits but the next quiz was better. Tough Boy - "Like the Tough boy, you're brooding and hot tempered and prone to violent outbursts. You love to fight and are probably more than a little cocky." And then there was a big space and it followed up on all that by adding, "Until you meet a girl, and become a complete sap. We liked you better before." Haha. That's priceless. Anyhow, I really should start writing before it comes down to the day before where I must write a thoughtful, elegeant, and correct short story in a day. That would suck. But if I could do it all today, that would be great.

Heavy

So heavy. She's so? I know so. No, my eyes are loaded down with the worries of a madman. How can I keep my empire? The gauls are approaching. We shall fight again and see if the luck, or the gods are with us. I have been half-asleep sleepy since about 5 o'clock. I should have taken a nap, but I can't really. I keep forgetting things, you see. All sorts of things, really. I always forget things. I got so tired of forgetting contact solution and deoderant that I decided to just buy one for school and one for home. And that is what I did. It makes it much easier on me, because I can think to myself, "Ok, I must remember to put my glasses in their case and then in my computer bag. Ok, I'll leave the bag open so that I can't close it without noticing I am not done." No. It didn't work. I just closed my bag a few minutes later after I had already forgotten about the damned glasses. So I have no glasses here. So if I need to take my contacts out, it had better damn well be to sleep for the night. Sometimes, I really hate my contacts. Sure, I'm also not a fan of my corrupt, weak eyes that can't see inches in front of my face without being blurry, but contacts can be such a pain. Oh sure, they're convenient and I do see better with them (although the real reason I wanted contacts was more of a self-image and self-esteem thing), they dry out real easy and if they do that when I don't have glasses around, I'm scrooged. As I am, now. Scrooged. And sleepy. Because I forgot my glasses. And money. I needed money to buy something for a class, but oh well. I'll just pretend I know what she's talking about for the next week. I probably don't even need anymore money, but I like to have extra. Just in case. And yes, I need cash. That's the problem.

Last week was worse. I forgot my contact case. Case. Sigh. Very annoying. I had thought about it before I left but I thought, "No no, I have another case at school, since I'm so forgetful." I didn't. My mom even asked me, before I left, "Do you need this?" "Oh no, mother, I plan for these things and that is a spare," with all the confidence twenty years can give me. Mmm. Stupid. But aren't I lovably dumb? Yes. I think so. Not like overtly Homer dumb. Just ... ah, who knows. Do I think I'm dumb? Sometimes. Do I let it get to me? Not really. It's a good excuse though. And if that doesn't work, I just blame Polerand ... and then they really think I'm dumb. So I win. Everybody wins at the Burn's Casino. But no one wins from sports announcers over-using the term "penetration." No one at all. Or "back-door." Or worse, "back-door penetration." It makes it hard to take them seriously. Oh wait, they're announcers. I don't take them seriously anyway. I feel like the walking dead. Except, I'm not walking. I'm lying here, typing. At least I'm not messing up my typing left and right like I have been as of late. I seem to have found control over that. Or so I think. I probably shouldn't have said anything about it, because now it'll just go to hell. But maybe it will pass go and land on "free parking" along the way.

Something inside me ... is confusing me. I keep having this feeling. Or maybe it's the lack of a feeling. I feel like I have to write. Constantly. If I am not chatting away I feel like I absolutely must write, write, write, write, write. And then write a little more. Yet, I don't know what to write. Or who to write. Or how to write? Or how to write well, I should say. Too scared to write. Afraid of failing. Afraid of succeeding maybe. Afraid of women. Afraid of failing women. Heh. Afraid of failing my parents. Only child ... most of the time, it can be considered a blessing. I'm so pleased I don't have to share, for example. Heh. But ... I am my parents hope. Lots of pressure, there. I have to do my best. I must succeed. I must always push on, at least. I must always try. Jeremiah. Gift of God, or something similar. Supposed author of the biblical book of Lamentations. He complained a lot about his lot in life. I seem to have been aptly named. Haha. But if you say so, I will bean you with scathing, relentless complaints. So watch out! I leave scars in my wake. Or pennies. I haven't really looked behind me.

Heh. Eric said I have a real "rantish" feel to my writing. I can see why he would think so. Grug. I think I'm gonna change a bit of my comments to pander to my rampant insecurities!

Edit: I forgot stuff. Oooh, surprise surprise. Worst part is I've forgotten it inbetween the time that I remembered what I had forgotten, and now. Sigh. Mindfull. And sleepy. Gads. I think that I need to sleep with a lovely lady named ... sleep. Also known as bed, and pillow. Bah. I'm so annoyed at myself. For forgetting.

Remembered! One of the dangerous things about when I drive is I just get this fool thought in my head to keep going. Just drive. Especially at night, when no one's around and the only thing you can see is the artificial orange glow of street lamps and the rainbow of traffic lights. They reflect off the comforting blackness of the streets. So many times I've been tempted to just drive off. Not into so romantic as the sunset after saving a town that will probably get into trouble again. No, I just want to drive away from everything. Just stop having to live up to everything. Sometimes I just wanna be me, dammit.

Hamsters

Everyone loves hamsters. Don't they? They're so furry, and uh ... they dance as opposed to some others. But the most lovable quality is their shrill singing voices that penetrate and loosen the bowels. Huzzah! I am always amazed at how utterly random Clan Lord can become. And it is humorous, oh yes it is. But it is limited in it's humor because it is not universal. It does require at least a slight understanding of things that not everyone would understand. And I have no idea what the hell I'm talking about anyway. I do know two things, though: 1) It's frickin' a cold here. Earlier it was twelve (12!) degrees with wind chill bringing it down to a wonderful 0. Oh, how thankful I am ... that my man parts didn't die. So very thankful. 2) Crap ... I knew this a second ago ... I really did. Oh well. Skip it.

I think talking about the man parts and the freezing made my mind go elsewhere and hence I have lost a thought, forever. Actually, it will probably surface at the most awkward time and force itself out of my lips. And I will play the fool. But it is really cold. Ugh. Ass-slapping cold? Sure why not. The wind is the worst part. It would not be so bad, if my face froze, and my ears cried, and my lips turned blue. But when the wind comes around and just ignores my coat, burns my eyes, and makes me want to build an all-year underground tunnel system, well then I get somewhat miffed at the weather. Let me create a mental image for you. Imagine a small child, of any gender, creed, or color, hopping along wearing one of those antique sailor suits. Bright white shorts, knee-high socks (for fun), bright white shirt, bright white sailor cap and everything with navy blue trim. The child is skipping along, whistling a tune whenever he is not licking a very large, rainbow-colored lollipop. One of those big but flat circular ones. In the hand not occupied by the candy he is holding a small bookbag, more of a satchel really, clasped holding his A-B-C's book and a coloring book for the afternoon. Today is show-and-tell! How happy the boy is!

And then imagine this boy turns into me, frickin' freezing outside in the wind and the wind actually hits him! Er hits me. I hadn't zipped up my coat (because I'm cool like that) and the wind fwapped me in the cheek with my own coat! Twice! And it hurt, to add insult to injury. Oooh, I was angry! So I buttoned it a bit to prevent that from happening. Hah! I'll mace you good, wind! Of course, the wind still kicked my ass all the way back to my dorm (this was last week) but at least it stopped braining me with my primative coverings. I just got done (whee English) with reading Mark Twain assail Fenimore Cooper as an author. Hah. Mark Twain is hilarious, of course, but it made me kind of nervous about writing. Hum. Not that I need excuses to be nervous, I just do it. 'Cause I'm hardcore. Sometimes I wish I were a visual artist instead of trying to do this writing crap. I can't be one because I'm such a perfectionist I never get done with anything. I almost was not allowed into kindergarten because I was not able to draw stick figures! What the hell is that? Like stick figures have a damned thing to do with my friggin' development. Bah. A kid in my class got held back, and I bet he could draw stick figures just fine and look what good it did him! Now I could understand needing to be able to draw, or at least recognize, stick figures to attend university because so many professors use them when drawing on the boards, but come on, pre-first grade and college are far apart. Let me be. And I taught myself to draw some things, despite my rampant disregard for ... something. I taught myself to draw: 1) A hand, giving the viewer the middle finger. Of this I am very proud. I basically stared at my hand while I gave myself the finger and drew it for a project in Freshman (HS) English. 2) A headless naked lady, without feet. Or arms I think. I'm lazy. I taught myself this last year while I was bored in my government lectures. Some jackass kept erasing my middle fingers (maybe he was offended) so I drew a naked ladyi nstead. No one can deny a naked lady, right? What can I say? I like to draw breasts, specifically, because I like breasts, but I'm not too good at drawing, so I have to draw more of the lady to get the picture clear. I can always do a left breast quite well, but when it comes to the right breast it's always lopsided and uneven. And this last semester I taught myself triangle eyes!

I am throwing around the word taught like a Dwarf.

Foxus

Hah. I meant to type focus but ... oh well. For the second time today it has come out foxus. So it'll have to stay. Anyhow, I can't focus. Gah. Have a terrible headache ... comes and goes ... intense ... must ... choke ... something. Oooh. It hurts. And has been for awhile. I took an aspirin quite awhile ago, to no avail. I'm considering a hammer. Hmmm. I watched American Idol tonight because ... I don't know why. I just did. I didn't want to study or do work, so I didn't. I watched crap instead. It was interesting. I'm shameful. I don't feel like doing a thing ... that I should be doing at least, like going to class, or doing my reading or my homework, or sleeping. Hah. Damn head. I was playing Clan Lord last night, er, I think it was last night, and I just played straight through dinner. Oops. Odd thing is I just assumed (and you know what they say about assumptions) I had eaten because the time for it had come and gone. No. I hadn't. I was just dumb. Although I could lend blame to being distracted ... I will blame Polerand instead. @$#% Polerand! I didn't remember I'd skipped it until this morning, as I was showering. Itj ust suddenly occured to me that I skipped dinner. Stupidass. I had been terribly hungry at 9 but didn't put two and two together.

I'm a wreck. Hoo hoo. Stupid head pain messing up ... stuff. I was trying to deal with skin around my thumb nail that was bothering me today, earlier, and I er ... I must have cut something cause it started bleeding right by the nail. Dammit! Oh well, I decided to ignore it a bit. I had to study Japanese words (that I had remembered earlier today for tomorrow) and eat! I had decided to sleep in really late and not bother with lunch until after class. No worries, my class gets out at 1:45 I can wait until then. Oops. You moron, you have to go to the language lab afterwards to do the Japanese homework you didn't do earlier that is due (do) tomorrow. Damn. So, I didn't get back until 2:45. But I ate then! And I'll be damned if a bloody wound on my thumb will stop me from handling food! As I got back from taking stuff out of the microwave I noticed there was quite a lot of blood. Hrm. I can't just suck on it to make it stop (at least it didn't taste coppery, blech). Sigh. That means I'll have to go to the bathroom (get up?) and get some toilet paper to wrap around the finger. I hate doing that. It's so goofy. Especially if someone were to ask "What'd you do?" "Oh, I was retarded and attacked myself." The blood ran all along the cuticle edge though, which was really annoying. But then I remembered, "Oh yes, I have napkins in my room! Duh" so I used that and all was right with the world. Until I got this headache which is making me kind of sour. But it's all ... er, but I am fine. Yes.

Good Thoughts™ go out to those who need them. I have enough for my own self so I'm channeling the rest out to you folks.

Cheese

Someday, I'm going to find green cheese on the moon. I just thought I'd warn you all ahead of time. All [x] of you. [x] being some number on the real number line, counting, but not limited to, people and government employees (seperate from people).

I don't really have a good feeling for what day it is. You see, today is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Happy Martin Luther King, Jr. Day! I don't have class and I'd consider thanking Martin Luther King, Jr. for my not having class, but really, he deserves thanks for greater things, and I'd feel like such an ass for writing something as pointless as what I considered for a half-second. Which is generally a half-a-second too long as I tend to just act instead of think. Mmm, that looks like a nice watch ... anyhow, no class. Weekend was long. Still is the weekend even! It doesn't feel like it. Yesterday, I clanned for ... 9 hours I think. 9 hours straight. From around 5 in the afternoon to 2:30 in the morning (this morning of January the 20th). It really wore away any sense of time I had. All sorts of things happened yesterday, and I am having a hard time recollecting if it all happaned yesterday, or previously in the week(end). It's an ... odd feeling. I'm fairly certain I have a full grasp of all that happened yesterday while I played ... or talked, I should say. I had quite an enjoyable day, but I did very little that others might consider "substantial" - I considered it substantial. I am babbling again. It seems the babble switch is hard-wired somewhere. And it's all melted and sparks constantly! Bzzt.

So, no sense of time. Whee! And it's complicated by the homework I did today. What did I do? I read. I read from about noon to 4. Oooh. Mind Jell-O! I read a Martin Luther pamphlet that was fascinating, if not really long and semi-archaic. I read all about the Protestant Reformation (again) and the Catholic Counter Reformation (again) and it was quite interesting, if not hard to keep up with. All these Protestant groups of varying nationalities with different leaders with names like Condé or Cromwell, but not the Cromwell of later English fame, although an Englishman. Blech. Hard to keep up with. I found myself just nodding to myself as if I understood who this guy was, because I knew I should have remembered him but I was probably still thinking of other things while I was reading which can be ... counterproductive. Heh. Crap. I got distracted. Um ... yes, well, if I or, for that matter, any of you!, find myself (or yourself) in charge of a country, large or small, European history around the time of the Reformation is good for studying what not to do. Since that seems to have been the only thing leaders could figure out (what not to do, that is). And I read the intro to my lit book. My hands were freezing by that time (this was the last thing I read, so close to 3 hours of reading prior) but the book's paper felt so nifty! I couldn't put on gloves. I feel like a freak. Heh. Good, quality paper, though. Mmm. I still have some reading left to do, but it can wait until tomorrow, because soon, I must clan! Or something. We'll see. Anything! Heh. Lost the train again ...

Oooh, good stuff is coming my way in Febuary. Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. one of my absolute favorite authors (yay for satire) is coming to Oklahoma City and speaking at a university and my dad's going to take me. Of course, it's not as good as originally, because he (my dad) had thought it was on a thursday, but it's on a wednesday (church night) at 7:30 p.m. (slightly after church). But I'll drive down to OKC and back if I have to. I'm going to go! Sure is a good thing I dropped poetry, then. Hoo hoo. And sometime soon I plan on writing up a post about how I am having a hard time concentrating. Sadly, I don't think I'll be able to fully write it out. Pfft. Lack of concentration.

Good Question!

Why drop poetry? Oh, I don't know. I hated the time. When I enrolled, having 4 classes on one day didn't seem too bad since it wasn't going to happen several times a week. Sure, I'd start the day early in the morning for my every day Japanese class at 9:30 in the morning (originally typed as (;#) - oops) and I'd have a big break, two classes, big break, and then my final class from 6:30 to 9:00 at night. Well, it was not so light as it seemed it could be. After half an hour of my poetry class I was looking at the watch. Oh, gee, only 2 more hours. Blech. It was awful. I did not like the professor. He seemed smart enough, sure, and he seemed to know his stuff, but he was totally boring. Boring. Not Ben Stein boring, but the fact that I'd compare him to Ben Stein (and by that I mean Ben Stein in Ferris Bueller's Day Off - he is not inherently boring, but my oh my is he good at it if he tries with that voice) says he is quite boring. Or that I was quite bored. He seemed to serious, not relaxed enough or something for me. It just made me really apprehensive about everything. It was clear to me that I needed to drop a class to be able to do that day, and I think I picked the right one (I dropped it from home yesterday). I need a friggin' break, and now I've got one.

You see, I took 16 credit hours (16 supposed hours of in class time each week, but a bit less) both semester's last year. I took 18 last semester and I was enrolled in 17 this semester. Well, I'm taking my break a wee bit earlier than I was planning, taking 14 credits now averaging out to 16 a semester. Or else I'd go mad. I can't relax during my breaks in between classes. I like them, because I can sit down on my bed and relax to a certain degree, but knowing that I have a class coming up, even if it's 3 hours away, I will be worried about getting to the next class on time and everything. So I probably stress myself out pointlessly. So, wednesday's, no relaxation until after 9. And no real homework time. But I guess that's what I get for trying to take two 4000 level classes as a sophomore. Pfft. But lessons for the future. Although I don't know exactly what the lessons were ... I do know that when I came out of that class, I didn't want to write another damn thing in my life. Heh. I was thinking to myself as I went to sleep, it would be nice to just drop out. Or to take a year break or something. Just friggin' relax for a year. But that's probably not a good idea. I've rarely been blamed for having good ideas, though. I don't think, at least.

So I guess my reasons aren't totally clear why I dropped a class that should be pretty easy for me, but I don't think it would have. I think it would have stressed me out, affected other classes, and just made me even more upset at everything. So screw that. Oh, and he was a visiting professor, so that's the only reason I was taking it right now. So I don't run the risk of getting him again, but I bet he would have fit me better with a twice a week hour and 15 minute classes. Or not. He seemed to emphasize crap that I didn't care about (like give me the definition of ). It's like OSX's Mail program constantly giving me alerts that it can't receive mail, when it not only damn well can, it damn well did already today. Maybe now I can relax ... but I am kind of annoyed that I felt I had to drop it. First class to drop and it's such a stupid class to drop, but I think it was the good call. It is better than dropping other classes that were definatly required for my major (language, lit., non-english humanities) and I enjoyed my fiction professor too much. She's so sarcastic, and she made fun of Alex Trebek's pronunciation (which is a deserving tarzhay). Did you know the most money won by a single person on Jeopardy! was a little over $1.1 million? Crazy. And of course, that's not in one episode.

Unbeaten Duke lost in basketball today. My school won it's 2nd game against high ranked conference teams (beat 5th ranked OU monday in a low-scoring game, and 11th ranked Missouri by 20 today). Today is a fun day in college basketball.

Not Now

I haven't felt like writing really lately. Anything. I think I'm going to drop poetry for a couple reasons. I plan on writing more later, but I don't plan on it being good. Ciao.

Shamed

Went to class, as the good (sweet, innocent, lovable - all apply) student I am, today. 3 of 4 so far. Still to go is my poetry class, right about when it's supposed to be getting deathly cold. It might even snow (how many times have I written that?)! I hope that, if it does, it does it after I get back to the room because I've had it up to here with the weather outside. Pfft. And the winds? They're supposed to be at 40mph later in the week when it's also supposed to be colder in general (teens plus wind chill?!). I think there's a hit out on me or something. Ok, maybe not. Ok, probably not. Japanese suddenly got more difficult. Well, part of it is gradual actually, as I forgot words and letters/symbols from last semester, but now, even the words I remember are slightly different depending on tense. Originally tense was changing the ending of the sentence (instead of ending in desu, it will end in deshita if it is past tense for a crude example). Now ... now, everything's all mucked up! Past tense sentences change certain adjectives and the ending I'd associate with past tense. Instead of atalashii deshita being for something new in the past tense (it would obviously have to have more words in front of it to make a sentence so that it made sense) it would now be atalashikatta desu. Bah! But she gave us an interesting little tongue-twisting word. Atatakakatta desu. I still have difficulties with it. But it's fun! I find it very interesting, but I don't understand her as well because I am not at all used to this change, and forget trying to speak it. And of course, this is only as I understand it at this moment in time. For all I know it could be a very limited thing. Haha.

And then in Lit. apparently 8 people (myself included) do not have the book. The professor was a wee bit surprised that 8 (she said so many, I thought so few) people didn't have a book so she asked for our email addresses and said she'd look into it. Well, a few minutes after I got out of class and read a certain email from a certain someone who was telling me to behave or else(!) I received an email from my professor with links to the pieces required for today and for friday's lecture and a note above that said she was working on a rush order. I, being the good (sweet, innocent, lovable) student that I am had already looked up the story for today's lecture online yesterday and read it. I am prepared! In my unpreparedness. I was pleased, however. And we discussed a short story, "Do Not Disturb" by A. M. Homes in fiction today. It's a really wonderful story and can be found in The O. Henry Awards: Prize Stories 2002 a book that has some of the best published fiction of the year from various magaziens and such republished for the book. The story was ... disturbing, but as I said, it is wonderful an I enjoyed it. A fellow student in my class who happens to be over 50 (at least, I assume) called a certain character in the book a bitch. It made my day. And she was right, that character was a bitch. A bitch who got cancer and didn't change a bit.

And today I had one of my "panicy" moments that I get ever so often, increasingly more often as late. I was sitting here at my desk, in front of my computer, thinking up bigger and better ways to be a jackass before I could say I had finished my blog reading "rounds" if you will, eating my meal, and generally satisfied with what I was spending my time on. Sometimes you get good reading, sometimes you don't. Sometimes you don't even get reading. And then I feel really nuts because I'll sometimes go back through blogs that I know have nothing new added to them because I have extra time and I can't think of anything else for me to do. I mean, I've already written (this is a word I avoid because it does not seem like a real word - it's from an alien-space language) a letter to Kamille and that was the big thing that I needed to do this week. Of course, I forgot to mail it twice already. I had initially planned on mailing it on my way to go to Japanese. I forgot. My dad emailed me last night, which I received today, a slight address addition, so it's good I didn't mail it. I then planned on mailing it on my way to lit and fiction, after making the address correction of course (which I did immediately because I knew I'd forget if I didn't) but I forgot then, too. Maybe it's in a bad, memory black-hole spot. Not in my brain, although I guess that is possible, but on my desk. It's in the top-right corner, on top of my CD case, behind my alarm clock, and flanked by my new mini-desktop calender that has to do with movies (Billy Elliot is the movie of today), the wall, and my pillows. There is a slight obstruction due to my computer. But that really has a very little to do with what I began speaking of, my random panic. As I was done with my reading routine, I had planned on playing video games. A racing game in fact. Now, I'm not big on racing games, mainly because I lose and they seem kind of dull, going around in circles over and over. They are kind of dull in that respect. But this is Gran Turismo 3, the elegeant racer. But, as I was sitting there, I got that thought that sits in the corners of my consciousness - is this all there is? Panic. I suddenly don't want to paly games, I don't want to sleep, I don't want to have classes coming up, I don't want to read, I don't want to eat (I was full), I don't want to piddle around on the computer, I don't want to do anything, that I can do.

It seems to happen too often. It was happening daily during break. Oftentimes, several occurances would sneak there way in throughout the course of one day. Now, it seems to be bothering me again. I thought, I hoped, maybe I'm naive, ok I am, that coming back to the grind, the madman school routine, having at least something to do, would stop it and I could go back to just being slightly depressed. But no! Oh well. In time, this too, shall pass. Maybe I need a new toy. I'm actually surprised that they're selling these (and it's not too expensive) so early. But maybe it's not that early. I'm not actually thinking a need a new anything, by the way, it was just a (I apologize ahead of time) convenient segway to that link, which I found interesting. It is ever the human failing and the human condition to always want, want, want more things that we don't need and that certainly doesn't help my depression. If anything, it makes it worse. And of course, we are American! It is un-American not to want, no, to need more stuff! I bought the Communist Manifesto for my western civ. class yesterday. The clerk kept looking at it. She was obviously as surprised as I was that they even sold it, and that it looked like one of those cheap glossy picture books they sell at the Alamo that tells of the victorious and brave Texans and Americans that fought off the Mexicans who owned the land legally, even though they stole it from the Spanish, who stole it from the Indians, who stole it from the wildlife. More, more, more!

Snoozy

I never really got into the Peanuts cartoon strip. Or the cartoons. Sure, there were some funny things, but I never really cared for it. Snoopy was interesting, though. Which is why I'm miffed that the Daily Oklahoman continues to run the strip. Dick Tracy's creator died, and they don't run it anymore. Calvin and Hobbes creator retired, and they don't run it anymore. And I liked those strips. They must be fascists for disagreeing with me.

But that really has very little to do with what I really want to complain about. And it's not even the fact that the bookstore has no more literature books, evne though we got a little bit of reading homework on the first day. I would have done it yesterday, except of course, I couldn't get the book. No no, I don't even want to complain about that (much more than I just did). I had a strange dream this morning. I was playing with a band saw. I don't know why or how exactly, I just know I was playing with one. I could hear it. Vrrrrrr! It was getting dangerously close! I woke up ... and the noise was still there. You see, some highly intelligent person decided that the best time to work on our dorm's roof was after school started up again. They were doing it yesterday and they're doing it today and they will probably continue for the rest of the week (at least). And do you know what time it was that I woke up to a saw screeching non-stop? 7 in the a.m. 7! What the hell?! It's 37? F right at this moment, with a 17mph wind so it's friggin' cold. It must have been below 30 that early! Can't they a) find something better to do with their early morning hours, like sleep, or let college students sleep or b) shove off. I mean, geez. I can only imagine what it must be like on the 12th (top) floor. Cripes. I guess it's just too much to ask that it be done during a break, or later in the day, or maybe during a fuggin' break! I don't care about summer students staying in the dorm, let them wake up early. Of course, I don't know anything about putting tar on the roof. Maybe it has to be done in winter (pfft) but it smells like ... well it fuggin' smells like fuggin' tar. Nasty. And I get to smell it all day while I'm in my room, shivering because the air conditioning is still on when it's fuggin' 37? F outside with a nasty wind chill. And there's that gentle hum of feet shuffling on the roof and the machine they use for the tar whirring constantly that really puts my mind at ease.

So maybe I shouldn't complain because they're doing us a service right? Bull. I'm paying for it one way or another and I should damn well be expected to enjoy sleep during our fuggin' quiet hours! Oh, hey, students, you can't make noise from this time to this time, but if we want to do demolitions in your lounge, or maybe crack open the ceiling to look for buried treasure, we can do it whenever the hell we feel like it. Of course, this always leads me back to the conclusion that I simply hate - people always have it worse off, so get over it you hoser. Fine. Maybe I will (I won't).

Hot Pockets

Blech. Blech I say to Hot Pockets. When eaten on occasion, they are not too terrible. No, they are somewhat interesting and desired, maybe. But when you've had these things over and over for meals because they are convenient, it begins to soak in: I'm eating crap. In fact, I had to stop writing this to eat one because as I tried to eat it, I began to think about it too much. At least twice before, I've been eating one and then I started to think - I have no real idea what this is that I'm eating. It could be processed people parts or cheese older than me. Ugh. And then in the trash it goes. Along with my appetite usually. And it's worse if it's not cooked long enough. They say 1 minute in hte microwave is enough, but sometimes it's not, and the cheese tastes like warmed over rubber, and it looks ... well I'll not get into what it looks like. That's what started my problem with Hot Pockets I believe.

Hmm. I somehow accidently switched to the Burger Shack with a button. Freaked me out a wee bit. Which reminds me, I have once again updated my links and I even added a poem. Holy cow, I'm really working now. Went to Japanese and got back my final from last semester. I got a low B so I'm a little confused how I got an A in the class, but I don't care. I keep making these stupid little mistakes. Hopefully I'll be able to get on that. I have a gigantic break right now. I got out of Japanese around 10 and I don't have to leave for my next class for another hour (at 1). I don't know what I did with the 2 hours so far, but it's been slow, that's for sure. And I'm nervous about my classes. I want to do well in Lit. and I'm a bit worried about fiction. Gah. Oh well, first day shouldn't be too much of a problem. But my stomach is mouthing off at me and has been since about 6 this morning. And with that on my mind, classes are that much more stressful.

I Can

In middle school, we had a class called "I Can" - can you guess what it was about? What it was for? Why, oh crap ... forgot the word ... self-confidence I guess. Yes, that will work fine. That is what it was for. It was an ... odd class. Real goofy stuff and such. Good idea ... in theory at least, but it was an elective and an easy A at that. Heh. But I guess judging it by grades would be "improper" - I don't really think it accomplished anything, however. So there. And the teacher's name was Mr. Pink! The first color name I can easily associate with a real person and a movie person - Steve Buschemi in Resevoir Dogs if I am not mistaken, if I am, give me back please. Spelling might be off on Steve. So, here I am, back at school. Not looking forward to it, either, if I might add. It just looms over my head. And it's not necessarily the classes and such, but what lies beyond the classes. The real world. Eep. May I never stay there long and only occasionally visit. I'm having a spelling problem right now. Oh frickin'-a well. I need to write my lady friend pretty soon so I can send it off and hope it takes two weeks or less to get there. Hurray for international par avion! Hoo-ray. Maybe I'm a bit cranky. I reset my sleep schedule last night by a stroke of genius - I went to bed earlier. Of course, I woke up multiple times, and forgot I had slept at all for a couple of minutes, but that's ok.

Was cruisin' on the way back, listening to the radio as per my usual driving routine and for some reason, all the songs got me to thinking about things I didn't wanna be thinking about. Gotta love when those things come up. Oh, and have I mentioned how I hate the phrase "You gotta love such-and-such." All the time people, especially sports announcers, will say "You gotta love -----." It makes me say "No, you don't gotta love it you ass!" And if anyone wants to point out that I said I hated the phrase "You gotta love such-and-such" when I really hate "You gotta love -----" where ----- is any word at all, in any language, then I will point out your eye. Yeah. You go think on that. And if anyone else points out that this is some sort of filler, I can find out where you sleep. And I will have pizzas delivered to that place with recklas abandon! Here's a transcript I had with spelling today:

Spelling: Your spelling is not always accurate, and often, ludacris stoopid dumb.
Me: You go to Hell. You go to Hell and you die.

There it is. I was not delusional, either. Anyhow, one song I heard today, that is absolutely marvelous, in a way, is Meet Virginia. I've heard it many times before, but it has been since Kamille was still in the country (gads, what an awful phrase - makes it seem as far away as it is) since I last heard it. Maybe even a frickin' year! Who knows. And no, that's not a question. Who really does know, but I'm the third base coach, so he can't tell me. Yet. Oh, and I updated my links finally, since I've been meaning to for a couple of months. And they're still probably not right, but I don't care. I can have the same conversation I had with Spelling, with Links easily. In fact, I will, but I'll raise my voice a bit to sound like a woman to accurately portray the character of Links (I have no idea what he is talking about):

Links: Your spelling is not always accurate, and often, ludacris stoopid dumb.
Me: You go to Hell. You go to Hell and you die.

And now we have come full circle ... and if you are thinking about questioning how we have come full circle when I didn't go anywhere at all, physically or metaphorically, do not forget of my threat about the pizzas and the poking of the eyes. Resistance is human.

Bleary, Aye

Well, last night we had some excitement in the house. Seems a foreign cat decided we had a pretty nice house. It got as far as my parents room, which is at the other end of the cat door. Pretty brave of that cat. Of course, the other cats were kind of freaked out. Last night, as I was reading before sleepy-time, I heard growls and hisses. Mutter. I snapped my fingers and said, "Hey, cat" just to shut them up. Sometimes they fight and I don't want them to make a ruckus or wake my folks. So, I went to check it out. One of our cats was in front of the cat door, staring outside at another cat sitting right outside the cat door. A showdown. I broke it up because I'm impatient. I walked forward and they both broke off going the other way. I couldn't see the other cat, because the cat door distorts vision, and it was dark so colors are rough. Later in the night, I heard the strangest noise ever. Not a cat sound. Closer to a howl. "Hooooo" - very extended and low. I went to check it out and saw three cats. One, the cat who was on the inside of the standoff was near my room. He sleeps in the guest room. The family who built this house had two kids, a daughter and son (named Jeremy). Originally, the room I'm in was the girl's room, and the room next to it was the brother's room, now the guest room. The cat likes it because no one goes in there. Anyhow, in the kitchen were two cats, Buster, our retard cat, and a cat that looked just like Humphrey. Humphrey is grey and white, and is the only cat with a collar in the house (which has Kamille's old address on it, and a bell). This cat was dark and white with a collar and was sitting right next to Buster, so I looked around. Under the table, under everything, couldn't see a thing. Had no flashlight and couldn't turn on the lights, because it was too late (or early). Saw nothing, went back to reading.

Heard the same odd sound again! Mutter. I went back and touched the cat to make him shut up, but this time, the cat I thought was Humphrey was right by the kitchen table, close to the cat who was making the noise. "Humphrey?" I wasn't sure. I looked at the cat, but I couldn't tell. Something looked off. Went to the kitchen and turned on the lights (they have a dimmer, so I can turn it on at any time, but it also doesn't help me see much). The cat decided to take that opportunity to get the heck out of there. Zoom! It stopped right at the catdoor, so I turned on the laundry room light and sure enough, it was not Humphrey. Black and white. The problems of cat doors. My grandmother (that is, father's mother) has a cat door in her house in the door leading to the garage. Much older, since it's been there longer than I've walked on the Earth. Not see-through, instead, hard but thin white plastic with a fairly large (relatively) hole in the middle so the pet could see through. I use to climb through it when I was a kid. It was great. Wide enough. I looked down on it after my dad told me I could get fleas from it. Heh. It still didn't exactly stop me ... but it made me think about it a little bit more. Her house is the coolest, though, because it has an open-air room inbetween the garage and the rest of the house, which is wonderful in Florida. Because Florida is wonderful. Sure, some people whine about the weather, but what does she know. I mean, what do they, these hypothetical people, mean. It's amazing when it rains. I love Florida rain, though. It's a good rain. And there's always that rain smell before and after. And lizards! There are loads of green lizards, large and small, all around. I loved to catch them. A test of my cunning and speed! I never hurt them really, and I certainly got my licks. Until I started chasing them I only thought beaks and teeth could hurt and since lizards had neither (really), that I was safe from their mouths, but holy crap can that hurt. Not too bad though, really. No blood! The one lizard I hurt was absolutely accidental. I was holding one by the tail, a few feet above the ground and all the sudden the tail and the lizard were no longer one! The lizard fell to the ground and ran like hell, while i held the flapping tail. Gotta love nature lessons.

And I learned a lot from my grandmother, too. She'd read to me, and do math and logic problems with me when I got older. She'd give me words to look up the meanings of. Also, she had some false teeth! When I was younger (and probably, ruder, pfft) I'd ask her to take her teeth out. Sure enough, she would. Of course, now I'm lucky enough to get to hear about it every so often. Ah, the joys of being taunted by our younger years.

Dreams

I had some freaky, creepy dreams last night. But one in particular was rather odd. I was an American soldier in WWII, fighting in a hedge maze of some sort. Sounds strange? It was. I had some orders, I don't remember what specifically, but I do remember they involved me going somewhere I didn't want to. Alone. There was a tank in my way, too. Pfft. A tank. An enemy tank. And I found friendly soldiers, but they uh ... got shot. And then I was surrounded by the tank and some sort of motorcycle behind me. But I escaped through some convenient hole in the maze that I had only just noticed. And it wound up getting me to be roaming around my church and it was Christmas, Eric Clapton was playing, I was suddenly outside and I was trying to to make a pencil-sketch of houses that I was looking at. Make sense? Exactly. And Dreams is a Cranberries song that I simply love.

I'm watching a movie in my room, and my parents are watching it in the living roon. Same movie. However, it's like 2 to 3 seconds faster in my room. Strange no? I mean, strange, yes. But I'm used to it. They have digital cable and I do not. I wouldn't think it'd be that big a change, but what do I know? A lot about a little. Ok, it's getting annoying now that it's dialogue instead of gunfire and music ... or maybe I just see the future! Haha. I needed a laugh. And got one. Maybe two. Grug. I'm hungry. Quite hungry. I never seem to be satisfied with the food I'm getting. Need meat meat meat. Mmm, meat. Course, I'm not eating lunch anymore so that puts me down to ... one meal a day with a snack thrown in somewhere. Cereal, usually. Blech. Maybe I should eat more.

Goody Two-Shoes

Yes, I am talking about Mark a.k.a. Mr. Polite. Well, maybe that's going a bit far, but still, he is much nicer than I would be in similar situations. Have you ever been to the movies with lots of people, say, Lord of the Rings lots of people? Diversity is the name of the gang there. Die-hard hardcore fans who wait in line for hours to people who bought their tickets online and laugh at those who waited (like this: "ahaha hah hah hooo that's funny"). I can't say I'm either, but that's ok. And of course, there's always the assmuncher (I'm feeling 5 years old) who can't understand the concept of turning off their "lifeline" phones. "But, my poor kitty might run out of food and have to call me! It's an emergency!" "Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow ..." Or the parents who bring 3 month old children to see a movie when they can't even sit through a nap. Damn these people. Wait for video. Wait for cheap $1 theatre releases. You don't have to go with small child on the very first day of release. Settle down, it will still be out when you can find a babysitter, or even after you read the manual on the phone to figure out that power can also turn it off. When we were at Gangs of New York, I was near the end at the front (hate the front) and there was one seat empty, next to me. I don't prefer empty seats next to me, but that's life. Eventually some girl sat next to me (asked me if it was saved) and she was with a friend who had to sit in front of her. They talked to each other on their phones - but - with text messaging, so it didn't bother me and I only knew because I'm a major snoop. Haha, yes I am.

But one jackass got a call on his phone. He answered and walked into the tunnel leading into the viewing area (theatre ... but the whole thing is also called a theatre, no?) "Hello?" He is louder than he thinks, maybe. "Hello?" "Hello?" "Hello?" He continues as he slowly walks towards the door. Einstein was not getting a good reception. Someone called him a jackass. I would have probably, but he was vaguely behind me and it would be more difficult to get my point across, plus I was next to a stranger and I didn't want to properly represent myself. I know, I know, some people do have emergencies, but can people not be responsible about it? Try a text-messaging pager. Always use vibrate. You can answer a phone and communicate without talking. And leave the theatre if you are going to talk. But I don't use cel phones, I don't like them. I have a big enough problem with people who just stop walking suddenly for no reason; it's worse when they stop to answer their phone. Sometimes they move, sometimes they just stand there and talk, forgetting that they are standing on an arrow sidewalk and yes, there were other people around them. Even if they do walk, they walk slow, and they only use a quarter of their consciousness to do so.

But we're all rude in our own little ways. Me? I like to make fun of people as a whole. One of the crappiest things about going to the movies is the commercials. For a long time, I'd never seen a commercial before a movie, but the past couple of years, I have. They are awful. And how many times are tax dollars spent to promote the Navy while I just want to watch a movie? That's annoying. The worst commercials are the one's for movietickets.com, but this is only leading up to something that somehow, annoys the hell out of me. What is it? I don't know about anyone else, but all the theatres in OKC have goofy animations, usually from the early 90s or 80s. AMC has one with a man made up of golden film. To start the movie, he is a conductor about to play music when all the notes fall off the page. HAHAHA! So funny! HAHAHA! Blech. Or he'll be walking in the dark and trip over a bunch of film canisters making a ruckus and the words "Silence is golden" appear. Now here is when I just snap. I laugh. Outloud. Loudly outloud. I want everyone in the theatre to hear me laughing at that crap. And if they hear me, they'll know I think there is nothing at all funny about it. Nothing! No prisoners. Ahahaha! He walked, and he tripped! Ahahaha! It may be good for the "G" movies, but not "R." A nice "Shut The Fuck Up" would be better. Then I might really laugh outloud.

I have another weakness. Sometimes, I like to talk. It's never a problem if I'm alone, and rarely if it's the first time I've seen it (unless it's really awful). For example, I saw The Matrix twice with my friends. Oddly, the first time we saw the movie, they didn't ask for ID, but the second time they did ... anyhow, it was not very full the second time but there were people who sat down in front of us. I didn't mind so much, because I'm tall enough to not have to worry about people who sit in front of me. However, one time when we went to see the Wesley Snipes vampire movie Blade, I had reason to worry about the people in front of me. We were at the late show and in comes 4 guys, teenaged most likely, and they were dressed like vampires. And they say down right in front of us. In an empty theatre. It was creepy but that's besides the point. You see, watching The Matrix, I couldn't help make wisecracks in a few ultra-serious and oddly written spots. I still remember them for the most parts, but not specifically. Something about wearing women's underwear. So, with all my bitching, I'm guilty as sin, but isn't that how it always is? But Mark, he makes me feel guilty. If I ever see him I think I'll pants him and run. That'll show him.

Boo Hoo

Well, another holiday has arrived. Hardly anywhere near a Christmas or anything, but when it's exactly a week after, it's mentally like doing it all over again. So, I guess that's why my parents had to make enough noise to wake me up before 11. And since I couldn't get to sleep, toss and turn, toss and turn, turn turn turn, before 5, I'm powered on about ... what is that? Oh, 5 hours maybe. I can't really be sure because a transformer (robots in disguise) blew up and so we had no power when I woke up. No power means no shower. Blech. So I struggled to get to sleep for about an hour, my parents left and came back, and I decided I wouldn't be getting any sleep so I got up. Dressed, went to bathroom to comb my hair (in the dark) and I heard a beep. So I flicked the switch. Nothing. Flicked it back to the "off" position, but then I noticed my toothbrush light come on. Voila. I wake up, and power returns. It still didn't save me from crankiness. I decided that I didn't want to go anywhere, so the holiday was a non-issue. My eyes have felt like they're hanging down past my chin for most of the day, but I trudge through, and now, I'm more awake than I've been. Very annoying. And reading? It's just making me wake up more. Grunt.

I called Kamille and talked to her for ... too long, the bills will say (a little over an hour). She's been sick, something to do with her kidneys, so I'm more worried than normal. She was also a bit upset at me for not writing or calling much, and she had good reason to be. But I'll write her until she wishes I won't! Heh, at one point I almost cried on the phone. That's what I do. I'm a whiner. Boo hoo. Oh boo hoo hoo. Blue new mew. Boo hoo. Mutter. It makes me angry. Damn. Oh, and guess what? I watched another Pauly Shore movie - Bio Dome. Yikes. I think there's something seriously wrong with me. Lots of people will agree, I'm sure, since I write some of "the *the* weirdest posts," according to a 98 year old elf. Kylie Minogue (not a 98 year old elf - for all I know) was in it, which I found odd. She was also in the Street Fighter movies (which, I admit, I enjoyed) where she played another British smarty-pants lady. I'm stuck watching Jeopardy now. My how the mighty (myself) have fallen (and can't get up).

The flute is a girl instrument. Odd to think of an instrument being more fitting for one sex or another ... stupid Brain. No no, stupid Pinky. Yes, that's it. They're Pinky, Pinky and the Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain. And now I sit here waiting ... 6 more minutes until I can post and make this tomorrow's post. Er, Thursday's post. Thursday is here! And I have a cat trying to get in the window right next to me ... nutty felines ...

Happy New Years

You filthy peeping-toms you. Ho ho ho. So, we're at a new year, a new junction. Oh ho, but yes, there are several decisions each day that may or may not alter our lives forever (however long that may be). A new division, then. Another streaming set of days that lead up to the inevitable anticlimactic ending of another year of the same. Nothing happens, really. Sure, there are greater and lesser changes that shape me and my existence, as well as that of my fellow countrymen (and women) and that of all life on this planet, yet in time, these too will be like crisp, red leaves blowing about on a cool Fall morning, leading to another day, another chance for life. Here we are, arbitrary number two-thousand and three. 2003 fewer opportunities, 2003 more, and 2003 lost. Nothing to do with 2003. Such a small number, really.

I feel tired. I could have gone to sleep before 10 tonight. Dead tired. I decided to stay up so I could get a post bright and early, fresh, in the new year. See if maybe, maybe this year will be better. Maybe this year things'll change for the better. Maybe not. Either way, at least I know how long it'll be and then I can hope all over again. I am the big blue circle, pretty in my own way, I imagine, and up ahead is a long line of small green triangle-shaped pegs. If only I knew what I was made of, I might not worry so much about the year. What's happened this past year, this two double-oh two? I doubt I'd ever be able to remember it all, certainly not at once, like, now. But that won't stop me from trying. Did the school thing. Two semesters, all A's, so that was pretty nice in a way. Went to my old high school's graduation to see some friends move on with their lives. Worked at Pizza Hut and worked and worked. All to cover about a half of one semester. Was on the wrong end of a gun while working there, which was less than pleasant, but interesting still. Lost Kamille and her family for the time being and still waiting for her to come back home. Waiting. Saw friends I hadn't seen in a year (just the other day, in fact). Wrote some good things, enjoyed some of my time, hated others. Sleepy. That's how I feel right now, and about the year. Sleepy. Like everything that happens has little to do with me, and I'm seeing it from underwater. Watching ... slow motion ... everything happening. Difference is, if it were dreams, I could at least change them. And I could wake up, too. Lost cohesion ... last sentence ... 10 minutes old.

Because, because, because, because, because of the wonderful things she does. I think ... but that does not complete me. Tonight, my friends were planning on going to one of their school apartments and have fun and such for New Year's, I think. To drink. I'm not a drinker, as I've said before, so I wasn't really planning on going (since I'd just be sitting there, watching them act stupid). But no one even called to ask. It's one of those things. I didn't really want anyone to call because I'd have to say I don't wanna go, and even though I wasn't even remotely planning on it, it'd still be nice if they called. Courtesy maybe. I don't know. But whatever. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Aren't I a complicated llama? Yes, yes I are. I wonder, do moths know anything? Specifically, do they know the flame will kill them? If they were human, I bet they would. They'd know, but they wouldn't care. They'd do it anyway. Flutter, flutter, flutter, fry, flutter, fry fry fry, flutter, flap, flip, fry. Fry fry fry! And then we die, if not to an impulse, maybe a collapsed lung, or "old age", whatever that is, maybe a rare disease, who knows. I have my flames, different colors. Blue is the best. Green on the edge. Red gets all the glory. Orange bleeds me nice. Yellow crackles to me while I sleep, while I dream, while I think, while I sigh, while I cry. Yellow, yellow, yellow. If I weren't so lazy, I'd probably be dead. I know I'd pick up other things, other habits, dangerous tricks, tastes, desires flaring through my blood. But then where would I be? Worse off, for sure. And that wouldn't be so bad in itself, but it would change others, too, and that I couldn't handle. I don't want to hurt others. Sometimes........ Oops, held down on that key too long.

And speaking of too long, it took a little over an hour to write this. Watching Leaving Las Vegas at the same time. So, time to end this thing. May you all have a happy new year, blessed and happy and safe. Cheers.