Thanks, Kyle.
I slept in today. Till three. I read for a bit. Then slept. Then talked on the phone. Then slept. It was amazing.
I should have done some stuff for school. I should have done some stuff for the IRS. I should have sent some stuff... I should have, should have, should have. I've been bitching for ever for a day like this, where I didn't have to be anywhere or do anything. It was a waste, but it was okay. Not reeealy, but what can I do about it now?
Now I'm watching a program on Avagadro's Number... Oh chemistry class. How I don't miss you AT ALL. But I dig these kinds of programs. Dig 'em hard.
I ran a bit with Adam on Sunday. Then walked five and half miles yesterday. And though there is so much soda in this goddam house, and I know it would taste so good, I don't want any because I know that it will make that burn in my rib cage that much worse next time Adam is prodding me along.
Abby Wells is the female lead in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof at OLT... I'm host/servant at CC... w...t...f... The end.
I did something that I had given up for Lint.. Yes, lInt.. Don't worry about it. But I did it. Now I have to worry about those repercussions, except, dealing with those repercussions means doing absolutely nothing. I'm no good at the dismount, which proves to me that I actually don't have a really good sense of humor about myself. I should do that.
I ran out of gas on the way home last night. I was over at Marc and Machree's. We went to the Eastside, then picked up some free stir fry and cooked it back at the house. It was good stuff. I saw Zach Mandeville again. Ta da. No big. Just another thing that happened in the last couple days. And another example of my inability to laugh at myself.
Jonny showed me a sight to get my exact astrological chart. It said that I take being wrong as a personal weakness. Not in others, just myself.
He knows this, and he's one of the only people who reads this, but Christopher got a girls number... Which is a silly social achievement, but it's good. I don't know.. This is probably not appropriate at all and is in all likeliness going to start a long conversation between him and I, but I have a bunch of weird thoughts on the subject, and this is for me.
It's a silly little thing. BUT, I'm so glad for him. I know that I fuss too much over him getting hurt feelings, I know that I've always treated him with kid gloves, and that was never fair. But I always worried that he was more hurt than he let on. That he wasn't just calling to check in, but for some kind of stabilization. Which I guess I do too, and it's totally okay. But that's not really what this was all about. I'm so happy for him. He's interacting with the world around him. He's participating. He gave someone out there the chance to reject him. Which not something I can do. Go him. But any way. Fuck my self importance, right? Rather than tell all of my friends that he deserved a pat on the back, or anything resembling respectful or healthy I chant on about how I'm no longer emotionally liable. Was I ever? Seriously? The fella has been around a little while without any of my help, so what a cock am I? I do suck, severely. I know. But still. I'm glad. He's healthier than I am, no duh.. And it's nice to see it again.
And to think it only required my pulling my head out of the orifice in which it was stuck.
All of this occurred to me while I coasted through the stoplight on Martin. Ephren died under the over pass and I felt like such a jackass. I knew I was low on gas, I was watching the odometer, except that quick drive home. I wasn't thinking about it. I was thinking about being a Host/Servant, I was thinking about Zach Mandeville, I was thinking about Austen, I was thinking about half Peurto Rican, half Polish women who read Hunter S Thompsen. And Ephren got fed up. I wrote a note saying "ran out of gas. will be back in two seconds. please don't give me a ticket" and called my mom to tell her what happened and then this little sports car pulled up. The guy ran my little can to Safeway and filled it up for me. I sat and waited it a bit. He came back, I put the gas in my car. Then drove home. Thanks, Kyle.
I should have done some stuff for school. I should have done some stuff for the IRS. I should have sent some stuff... I should have, should have, should have. I've been bitching for ever for a day like this, where I didn't have to be anywhere or do anything. It was a waste, but it was okay. Not reeealy, but what can I do about it now?
Now I'm watching a program on Avagadro's Number... Oh chemistry class. How I don't miss you AT ALL. But I dig these kinds of programs. Dig 'em hard.
I ran a bit with Adam on Sunday. Then walked five and half miles yesterday. And though there is so much soda in this goddam house, and I know it would taste so good, I don't want any because I know that it will make that burn in my rib cage that much worse next time Adam is prodding me along.
Abby Wells is the female lead in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof at OLT... I'm host/servant at CC... w...t...f... The end.
I did something that I had given up for Lint.. Yes, lInt.. Don't worry about it. But I did it. Now I have to worry about those repercussions, except, dealing with those repercussions means doing absolutely nothing. I'm no good at the dismount, which proves to me that I actually don't have a really good sense of humor about myself. I should do that.
I ran out of gas on the way home last night. I was over at Marc and Machree's. We went to the Eastside, then picked up some free stir fry and cooked it back at the house. It was good stuff. I saw Zach Mandeville again. Ta da. No big. Just another thing that happened in the last couple days. And another example of my inability to laugh at myself.
Jonny showed me a sight to get my exact astrological chart. It said that I take being wrong as a personal weakness. Not in others, just myself.
He knows this, and he's one of the only people who reads this, but Christopher got a girls number... Which is a silly social achievement, but it's good. I don't know.. This is probably not appropriate at all and is in all likeliness going to start a long conversation between him and I, but I have a bunch of weird thoughts on the subject, and this is for me.
It's a silly little thing. BUT, I'm so glad for him. I know that I fuss too much over him getting hurt feelings, I know that I've always treated him with kid gloves, and that was never fair. But I always worried that he was more hurt than he let on. That he wasn't just calling to check in, but for some kind of stabilization. Which I guess I do too, and it's totally okay. But that's not really what this was all about. I'm so happy for him. He's interacting with the world around him. He's participating. He gave someone out there the chance to reject him. Which not something I can do. Go him. But any way. Fuck my self importance, right? Rather than tell all of my friends that he deserved a pat on the back, or anything resembling respectful or healthy I chant on about how I'm no longer emotionally liable. Was I ever? Seriously? The fella has been around a little while without any of my help, so what a cock am I? I do suck, severely. I know. But still. I'm glad. He's healthier than I am, no duh.. And it's nice to see it again.
And to think it only required my pulling my head out of the orifice in which it was stuck.
All of this occurred to me while I coasted through the stoplight on Martin. Ephren died under the over pass and I felt like such a jackass. I knew I was low on gas, I was watching the odometer, except that quick drive home. I wasn't thinking about it. I was thinking about being a Host/Servant, I was thinking about Zach Mandeville, I was thinking about Austen, I was thinking about half Peurto Rican, half Polish women who read Hunter S Thompsen. And Ephren got fed up. I wrote a note saying "ran out of gas. will be back in two seconds. please don't give me a ticket" and called my mom to tell her what happened and then this little sports car pulled up. The guy ran my little can to Safeway and filled it up for me. I sat and waited it a bit. He came back, I put the gas in my car. Then drove home. Thanks, Kyle.