I ate Raisin Bran this morning
I couldn't think of an appropriate or creative title, so I figure I'd just tell you what I did today. That was it. I woke up late, ate a heaping bowl of raisin bran, and went back to bed. I exhausted myself last night. After work I went to the YMCa to work out. I always push myself way harder than I should. Last night was no exception. My lifting partner didn't go so I did my hour of cardio and then an abdominal workout.
I went for career counseling last week. A miserable experience, that turned out to be. I took the skill assessments, and scored in the 98 percentile in everything but spacial recognition and art, in which I scored in the 99%. The counselor ignored me for the remainder of the group session in favor of lesser individuals whose skills pigeon-hole them into a career. No such fortune for me. And after the skills test, she assessed our interest. I scored Artistic. No other area ranked high enough to register. Since the career counseling is at a tech school , she basically gave up. She mumbled something about needing to go to a four-year school, lips turned down, hands fidgeting, shifting from foot to foot in her fashionably neutral and spiritually hollow business-casual skirt and blouse. Then she moved on to the cute but hopelessly idiotic factory worker who wants to be a lithograph press operator, because "it uses my brain!" Yes, yes it does.
In other news, I met a girl on monday, based on crooked fingers. She tends bar at Games in West bend, and when I entered I immediately fell in love with the song playing. I asked her who it was, and she told me it was Two gallants. I mentioned that she might like Crooked Fingers, she grinned wide and said "Eric Bachman rocks! I love Archers of Loaf!" That pretty much started a nearly four-hour conversation where we talked about art, living in milwaukee, and ex-es. I believe I am quite smitten.
Last night, as I talked to Chondra online, I received a phone call from my friend Holly. Apparently he ex-boyfriend, kevin, attacked her with a box-cutter. She called me because she was terrified. I raced over to where she was. Her friend Gina had cleaned her up (she has two cuts on her neck), and I waited with the two until her current boyfriend, Adam, came by. Then I walked the block looking for signs of Kevin. Sadly, I found none at all. I itched for a fight.
Even more pathetic, this sort of violence is common in West Bend. On Wednesday, Holly's friend Kelly came over crying. Her boyfriend at tried to attack her, and kill both of them. He smashed up the apartment and then smashed up the neighbor's car. She fled, and when she returned to the apartment, she found that he had tried to start a fire at their place.
The worst part, in all of this madness, is that Kelly returned to her boyfriend to work this out. Also, this isn't the first time he freaked out. They've been together for five years. Honestly, I lost all sympathy for her at that moment.
Today, time slips by like an impatient drunken southerner giving directions to my midwestern ears over a bad connection. I feel confused, rushed, angry, overwhelmed; I ask the day to repeat itself so I can write this down. Fuck beans, I'm tired.
I went for career counseling last week. A miserable experience, that turned out to be. I took the skill assessments, and scored in the 98 percentile in everything but spacial recognition and art, in which I scored in the 99%. The counselor ignored me for the remainder of the group session in favor of lesser individuals whose skills pigeon-hole them into a career. No such fortune for me. And after the skills test, she assessed our interest. I scored Artistic. No other area ranked high enough to register. Since the career counseling is at a tech school , she basically gave up. She mumbled something about needing to go to a four-year school, lips turned down, hands fidgeting, shifting from foot to foot in her fashionably neutral and spiritually hollow business-casual skirt and blouse. Then she moved on to the cute but hopelessly idiotic factory worker who wants to be a lithograph press operator, because "it uses my brain!" Yes, yes it does.
In other news, I met a girl on monday, based on crooked fingers. She tends bar at Games in West bend, and when I entered I immediately fell in love with the song playing. I asked her who it was, and she told me it was Two gallants. I mentioned that she might like Crooked Fingers, she grinned wide and said "Eric Bachman rocks! I love Archers of Loaf!" That pretty much started a nearly four-hour conversation where we talked about art, living in milwaukee, and ex-es. I believe I am quite smitten.
Last night, as I talked to Chondra online, I received a phone call from my friend Holly. Apparently he ex-boyfriend, kevin, attacked her with a box-cutter. She called me because she was terrified. I raced over to where she was. Her friend Gina had cleaned her up (she has two cuts on her neck), and I waited with the two until her current boyfriend, Adam, came by. Then I walked the block looking for signs of Kevin. Sadly, I found none at all. I itched for a fight.
Even more pathetic, this sort of violence is common in West Bend. On Wednesday, Holly's friend Kelly came over crying. Her boyfriend at tried to attack her, and kill both of them. He smashed up the apartment and then smashed up the neighbor's car. She fled, and when she returned to the apartment, she found that he had tried to start a fire at their place.
The worst part, in all of this madness, is that Kelly returned to her boyfriend to work this out. Also, this isn't the first time he freaked out. They've been together for five years. Honestly, I lost all sympathy for her at that moment.
Today, time slips by like an impatient drunken southerner giving directions to my midwestern ears over a bad connection. I feel confused, rushed, angry, overwhelmed; I ask the day to repeat itself so I can write this down. Fuck beans, I'm tired.