yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay

DOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE.

crazy kids:

Inge and Nick defacing portland dorm property. 'Twas a good time. Mind you, this was in the middle of downtown, so a lot of random people, mostly regulars at the diner below, stared up quite a bit what would be the next few days.

46?

It says I have 45 on my dashboard thing. Strangeness, all around.

Hey it's the only pop artist I respect. . .!
woooooooohoooo.

i'm going to bed.

I think. I've got some plans. Although, there's not much more I can do. What I'll add isn't required, which doesn't help the absence of required things. I'm burnt out. I'm rambling so I can fill this up to 48 and go to sleep.

My chemistry grade is going to suffer this too. I haven't finished the egg drop business. Maybe school will be canceled tomorrow. Wait, it's not a maroon day. I'll have to forget it.

mary go round.

I'd like to see you when the summer sun sets down.

I need more for this portfolio that I don't have. Christ. My ankle fucking hurts, man. Every night of this winter it's hurt.

Do you see what I'm reduced to?! I'm solely bitching. This is a bitchfest, people. It used to be occasional. Now it's just pouring out of my lungs and onto this keyboard. I don't think I can maintain this much longer. I am being stretched too thin. I want to sleep.

okay.

We're lookin' good. I just need one more book/art project and I should be set. I don't know how much energy I have to write that. And am I printing all of this? I'm sure this printer is going to awake the parentals. . .

I really wanted a good night's sleep tonight. Ha!

I feel bad for you, Ms. Sirois. . .a Macbeth summary, eight pages, is a very dry informal paper. . .

I had a memoir type piece, much more interesting, but it's on the server on the laptop and I forgot to print today. Maybe in the morning? Perhaps that'll make up for my lack of class notes which are probably stinking somewhere on my bedroom floor. . .

ohhh.

Why don't I have everything done?

I wrote my Fear and Loathing summary, which took way longer than it should have. Seriously. I'm slow with everything, tonight. And I'm going to be so tired tomorrow. Now I need to write about another book. With step father looking over my shoulder, reminding me of the time.

Work Ethic: You asked for this.
Myself: Suck it through a fucking straw.

Just eleven more!

I think I should actually take a break. This is a dangerous business. Carpal Tunnel, man.

Did I write about Edythe's and I's brillant reflection on lesbians? Well, if I did, it'll be that pleasant feeling of deja vu.

I walked by these two girls with a baby in Panera. I commented on the child, who was drooling and looking up at me like a fish and so forth, and they just glared. I walked away.

Me: Geez.
Edy: What?
Me: (tells of event)
Edy: Let me see. (walks by them, comes back)Don't worry about it. They're ugly lesbians. Nobody likes ugly lesbians.
Me: They're useless.

We are terrible people.

37!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

The number 37 has absolutely no relevance to my life whatsoever. What if someone was born on the day 37. Would it blow people's mind's or is that just as uninteresting as I think it is? Yeah.

Edythe! Snake! Named! Nomis!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

broadway night!

Dear God, if you've a spectacle I particularly cherish, it is this.

Two mentally challenaged individuals singing Beauty and the Beast. Someone's cell phone going off while the chorus did a rendition of 'Sk8r Boy'. Edythe and I pissed all over our seats.

Sojo was spectacular, being the only one who has a voice in that whole theatre situation. . .

and it's your town now

Was not in a good mood today. No, no. . .I cannot wait to shed myself of that school. I can't say it enough. Just have to push through.

Thank you Katie St. Micheal, Aaron Dallman! For actually spending your time talking about me so much when you know nothing about me! I don't even talk to you, ever! It's flattering, really, that you refuse to speak to me, but to everyone else, who reach the point of aggravation to tell me all the time you're doing so. If you have a problem with my existence, if it particularly disturbs your monmouth academy experience, you should really talk to me about it.

But you won't. Sweetness.

we call it ridin' the gravy train.

I'm feeling better though. I'm writing these all consecutively to escape my chemistry project due tomorrow so you should probably scroll to the first postage of this date to avoid a headache or something.

"Oh man, what am I tryin' to say? It's a messed up world but I love it anyway."
Yeah you do, Greg Brown.

I made a turkey burger and it's good.

I want to paint with oils. I have never done so.

Congrats to Noah! You had your first gallery exhibit in a town I forgot the name of! (I think it's Rockport but I'm not sure because that doesn't sound like it even exists!)

uhm.

Did not go to mass. Was late. Yeah. Saw Steph instead. Bella would not eat those peas, no. . .

I need to work out. Why does the best gym have to be 25 minutes away?

Last therapy appointment tomorrow! My therapist needs closure, I guess, because I don't need it. Oh, I'm not excited for the goodbye, as I'm terrible at 'em, but I'll just be happy when it's over. And it will be.

let it all drop.

Watched The Wall. Was gonna do an essay about it, but then I decided it was magnificent enough to speak for itself.
I have to write another what. Twelve entries until this journal is completed? By Tuesday? Something like that. Well. If that isn't excitement. . .
I think I might be going to mass in the Basilica today at five. A friend may meet me down there. I went in there yesterday and fell in love with it. If you think it looks gorgeous on the outside, the inside is phenomenal. Possibly the most beautiful building I've ever been inside. So huge, so quiet.
That means I should probably get moving. I'm a little nervous, seeing as I haven't gone to a Catholic mass since I was very small. I still remember all the OCD hand crossing shit though. There's that.

redbird, redbird

I should write but I don't know what.
I should travel but I can't.

el fin.

a dream:

house of Emerson,(heard it mentioned) made of massive trees. Shot of walking on one of four stretching out into fog horizontally. Another building(?) made up of wooden steps, huge rooms, filled with children running around. Many floors. Museum came to mind. Man with a machine of some kind, again wooden, arrows indicating answers, calculator came to mind. He was puzzeled. He kept asking me things, but I couldn't talk. Certain animals - can't remember if it was a rabbit or a ferret. Ocean, huge and wide, swimming, went out to far. Train overhead, tracks in the sky. Was pulled up beside the train and suddenly Chris was telling me about a sweater his father had given him for his birthday alongside.

Yeah. Nothing extradorinary, nor the strangest of dreams that usually circulate. It's the only thing I've got to write about, really. That, and the lonliness that came on after I woke up. Immense. I'm so sick of everything right now. I really am.

more quotes:

"Age is no better, hardly so well, qualified for an instructor as youth, for it has not profited so much as it has lost. . .I have lived some thirty years on this planet, and I have yet to hear the first syllable of valuable or even earnest advice from my seniors. They have told me nothing, and probably cannot tell m any thing, to the purpose. Here is life, an experiment to a great extent untried by me; but it does not avail to me that they have tried it. If I have any experience which I think valuable, I am sure to relfect that this my Mentors said nothing about."

"The greater part of what my neighbors call good I believe in my soul to be bad, and if I repent of any thing, it is very likely to be my good behavior."
(This could've been my senior quote.)

-Henry David Thoreau, Walden

music-

is pretty bizarre when you really think about it.

I need to meditate on patience, because March is proving most restless.
What am I going to do with a free weekend? Evidently I was scheduled for too many hours. Mulligan's is getting sick of paying a part-time extra. . .

Patrick Swayzee (sp?) has pancreotic (sp?) cancer! They tribute that to his smoking habit! Gracious!

Ah! Maybe I could actually go to the Basilica this weekend. I've been meaning to since last summer.

why go home?

I am quite literally sick.

Someone something get me out of here.
Someone something get me out of here.
Someone something get me out of here.

best string bands around. . .

Yonder Mountain String Band
A Good Natured Riot
and you already knew about Old Crow Medicine Show. Who some terrible country singer stole a song from. (Thank you, untalented mainstream artist. . .)

I love that people still insist on prodding around in other people's business, specifically mine, and causing more conflict ala binge of self righteousness. Oh, you bet I love even more that I can only guess who this is, because most adults in that school system insist on lying to me so I'm not tempted to open my mouth, and so I won't want to cut off communicato.

I'm so utterly sick of that building. So sick of sitting still, keeping my mouth shut, and having to smile at someone who is probably the reason I feel the need to throw up all over the place.

up on the hill where they do boogie.

All of the bands I want to see are all out west.

I could've made that sentence rythme if I had stuck 'without me' on the end of it. But I didn't. Yeah.

March doesn't really provide any short term goals. Besides gaining the weight I lost, I'm left with May, the magic six month marker, the graduating from school scenario.

I looked up 'Pistoria' which is actually changed to 'Pistoia' in Italy, where half of my family is from and half of them are still there. 20 miles from Tuscany. A quick little factoid to the devoted of random. I guess the pistol was invented there? I'm thinking of more tattoos, perhaps two pistols, one on each hip, dedicated to my mother's blood(what a bad pun!)/heritage and memory. The other for my dead sister.

Oh, let's review all the tatoos I want! Okay. Grateful Dead lightning bolt in Magritte sky style, don't know where. Something if I ever get married. A fish, one color, 2-d print-esque, probably brown or white. Either catfish (oh, inside symbolcies...)or coy. That'd be on my neck in front/to the side. I was thinking of "we are all frail" after a favorite of Shakespeare's plays (line from) but I don't know how much I like the idea of words. . .

Holy shit, nine year olds are doing flips into the air off platforms on NBC. Olympics or something? I don't know. Insane man. They've got thicker legs than I do.