Memoirs of a Gay Son
There is nothing to do. Well, that’s a little lie, but there are only so many times that I can watch Family Guy and the Simpsons on DVD without wanting to drill through my head from boredom. Everyone’s left for home and I’m left here to contemplate matters since my brain insists on working instead of shutting down, saving me from this bland, grey landscape.
I keep having these weird dreams about being a dolphin and giving seeds to the homeless. Last night’s dream was about being at a haunted inn with a friend of mine. We were trying to get away, but the government had the fields surrounding the inn rigged with explosives that measured human body heat. Humans are, according to my dream, the negative equivalent to chaos. So, my friend and I somehow got a can of chaos and smeared it on us, which then somehow allowed us to leave the inn. But we ended up crashing into a tree before we ever left the premises. Strangeness.
My gift for Steve is going to take longer to get here because of Hurricane Wilma or something ridiculous like that. I suppose that I shouldn’t be upset, being that it’s one of those act of God things and it’s out of everyone’s hands and people died… but I’m an American and I bitch about everything.
There is no alcohol on this campus. I have to suffer through this all while remaining stone sober when I really want to be stoned. There are about four people left in my building, none of whom I like. So I’ve been stuck in my room, listening to music, packing and repacking my suitcase for lack of anything else to do. The real horror of it all: My food is almost gone. I thought, for some inexplicable reason, that my father had sent me food that hadn’t yet spoiled. Overestimated once again. Instead of the cream-based soup expiring on March 4, 2006, it really went bad March 4, 2005. Yummers! I opened that can and nearly puked up the little bit of food that was in me. But I should be used to vomiting at college by now, I suppose…
I’ve cleaned my room an unnatural amount of times for someone without OCD. I’m now in the process of finding menial tasks to complete in order to keep my attention off of wanting to leave. I think that I’ll take advantage of no one being here to print out my cookbook and then I’ll take some hours to organize it… Yeah, that will take up some daylight. I also have to get Rita’s check from her mailbox.
Tomorrow we’re going grocery shopping before we go home after coming from Hamilton. The next morning, I’m going to cook and do laundry like a housewife. Imagine that! I’m going to eat like a bitch wolf in heat though when I get into Boston, and then I’m going to lay in our queen-sized bed and go to sleep. Ah! The joys of marital bliss! Sometimes I think that we’re speeding along the highway too quickly.
I’m going to feel really awkward this Christmas. I hate being poor. How much do you think my kidney would go for on the black market? Wait, if I could do that, I’d just use that for college. Whom am I kidding?!
I need to get the fuck out of here or else I’m going to kill the cleaning staff and use their entrails as scarves to stave off the cold! O_o;
I keep having these weird dreams about being a dolphin and giving seeds to the homeless. Last night’s dream was about being at a haunted inn with a friend of mine. We were trying to get away, but the government had the fields surrounding the inn rigged with explosives that measured human body heat. Humans are, according to my dream, the negative equivalent to chaos. So, my friend and I somehow got a can of chaos and smeared it on us, which then somehow allowed us to leave the inn. But we ended up crashing into a tree before we ever left the premises. Strangeness.
My gift for Steve is going to take longer to get here because of Hurricane Wilma or something ridiculous like that. I suppose that I shouldn’t be upset, being that it’s one of those act of God things and it’s out of everyone’s hands and people died… but I’m an American and I bitch about everything.
There is no alcohol on this campus. I have to suffer through this all while remaining stone sober when I really want to be stoned. There are about four people left in my building, none of whom I like. So I’ve been stuck in my room, listening to music, packing and repacking my suitcase for lack of anything else to do. The real horror of it all: My food is almost gone. I thought, for some inexplicable reason, that my father had sent me food that hadn’t yet spoiled. Overestimated once again. Instead of the cream-based soup expiring on March 4, 2006, it really went bad March 4, 2005. Yummers! I opened that can and nearly puked up the little bit of food that was in me. But I should be used to vomiting at college by now, I suppose…
I’ve cleaned my room an unnatural amount of times for someone without OCD. I’m now in the process of finding menial tasks to complete in order to keep my attention off of wanting to leave. I think that I’ll take advantage of no one being here to print out my cookbook and then I’ll take some hours to organize it… Yeah, that will take up some daylight. I also have to get Rita’s check from her mailbox.
Tomorrow we’re going grocery shopping before we go home after coming from Hamilton. The next morning, I’m going to cook and do laundry like a housewife. Imagine that! I’m going to eat like a bitch wolf in heat though when I get into Boston, and then I’m going to lay in our queen-sized bed and go to sleep. Ah! The joys of marital bliss! Sometimes I think that we’re speeding along the highway too quickly.
I’m going to feel really awkward this Christmas. I hate being poor. How much do you think my kidney would go for on the black market? Wait, if I could do that, I’d just use that for college. Whom am I kidding?!
I need to get the fuck out of here or else I’m going to kill the cleaning staff and use their entrails as scarves to stave off the cold! O_o;