Raw Broccoli
This is what eating a tree would taste like. I'm avoiding my homework. I've got some of it done, but I just don't want to continue. I want to finish, but I don't want to continue. I hope that makes sense. It's staring at me....burning a hole in the back of my leg. 'Work on me!! You have to!! or you'll FAIL!!!' I hear it calling softly. Mardi Gras is this weekend, I'm excited about that. I guess. I don't know. I'm not as psyched about getting incredibly drunk.....in another city. The feeling's the same, only the places have changed. I'm more likely to throw my shirt over my head when I'm drunk. Reflecting back, I recall the eight cameras that surrounded Sarah and me last year, their operators yelling they're running out of memory, my chest is probably going to end up somewhere on the internet again. And the beads. The useless, plastic beads people throw as you scramble like a fat man after a german chocolate cake to gather as many strings of painted plastic balls on a string as you possibly can. Mardi Gras. Tits, booze, beads. How could you say no?