We've come a long way, baby
Rereading old, old, old entries because it's 3am on a Saturday morning and I have indigestion:
"Christopher told me that Skittles (the kid who tried to shoot Gale's hat off with a BB gun) is in boot camp now. And Andy Smoot is the closest thing that Bexley's ever had to a "real punk." In his case that's a bad thing.
Take a hacky sack with me.
I gave up on math, I won't need it where I'm going.
The universe is making me euphoric."
Um, what? It's amazing the things I write and imagine will always be somewhere, at least accesible, in the back of my mind... that turn out to be forgotten as soon as four years' time has passed. Wonder what was happening to Skittles in May, 2005; wonder what he did that day when he tried to shoot the hat off some random sophomore's boyfriend's head, wonder how many kids that now I'm friends with he was hanging out with that day, smoking herb with, laughing his ass off with. And wonder what the fuck we were doing that day that involved Skittles... and Larry, Larry was totally there, it's so fucking vague... sounds interesting, I laughed about it and treasured it and loved him so much, loved what silly things happened so much, loved that someone like Skittles would try to shoot the hat off someone like Gale's head.... Also, he never went to boot camp, did he? What? Did he?
Andy Smoot is, indeed, the closest thing Bexley has ever had to a real punk, though he's the most gentlemanly punk I've ever met (admittedly, I've met very few). He told me last time I spent the night how much my brother hates him for "being a punk." Apparently this was true four years ago, too.
I don't think I did take a hacky sack foot bag (thanks, Squeak) with me, but Chris Grace and Julian and I kicked it enough that I almost didn't hold them back every fucking time.
I gave up on math because high school math blew; turned out I did need it where I went, and especially where I ended up. And now I just miss it.
The universe still makes me euphoric... constantly. I'm depressed as shit, but goddamn am I jubilantly euphoric and giddily hysterical every moment of the day. Sometimes I honestly can't stop myself from tap dancing. I fucking love this world, and I miss my old self so much that it hurts, I miss getting new experiences so much that I want to puke, I miss the first times so much I almost want to kill myself.
"Christopher told me that Skittles (the kid who tried to shoot Gale's hat off with a BB gun) is in boot camp now. And Andy Smoot is the closest thing that Bexley's ever had to a "real punk." In his case that's a bad thing.
Take a hacky sack with me.
I gave up on math, I won't need it where I'm going.
The universe is making me euphoric."
Um, what? It's amazing the things I write and imagine will always be somewhere, at least accesible, in the back of my mind... that turn out to be forgotten as soon as four years' time has passed. Wonder what was happening to Skittles in May, 2005; wonder what he did that day when he tried to shoot the hat off some random sophomore's boyfriend's head, wonder how many kids that now I'm friends with he was hanging out with that day, smoking herb with, laughing his ass off with. And wonder what the fuck we were doing that day that involved Skittles... and Larry, Larry was totally there, it's so fucking vague... sounds interesting, I laughed about it and treasured it and loved him so much, loved what silly things happened so much, loved that someone like Skittles would try to shoot the hat off someone like Gale's head.... Also, he never went to boot camp, did he? What? Did he?
Andy Smoot is, indeed, the closest thing Bexley has ever had to a real punk, though he's the most gentlemanly punk I've ever met (admittedly, I've met very few). He told me last time I spent the night how much my brother hates him for "being a punk." Apparently this was true four years ago, too.
I don't think I did take a hacky sack foot bag (thanks, Squeak) with me, but Chris Grace and Julian and I kicked it enough that I almost didn't hold them back every fucking time.
I gave up on math because high school math blew; turned out I did need it where I went, and especially where I ended up. And now I just miss it.
The universe still makes me euphoric... constantly. I'm depressed as shit, but goddamn am I jubilantly euphoric and giddily hysterical every moment of the day. Sometimes I honestly can't stop myself from tap dancing. I fucking love this world, and I miss my old self so much that it hurts, I miss getting new experiences so much that I want to puke, I miss the first times so much I almost want to kill myself.