I get around to this thing sometimes
So, yeah. I'm still alive. Went to Charleston for a while. Got back. Successfully moved into my new apartment with Tim and James. Band camp is almost over (thankfully). The Thunderbird has internal bleeding of a non-safe driving type, so I am piloting the OLDsmobile. Been weirdly tired lately. All this and maybe more in paragraphs to come!
Charleston: "What did you do there?" you might ask. "Why did you go?" you might also say. "When the hell did this happen?" is also a possible question candidate. Well, here are your answers. In reverse order.
First week of August.
Mission trip, because Whittington never called me about helping with band camp.
Worked on a Habitat House. I tore down terribly-installed facia boarding and put some good facia in it's place (in other words, sat on a roof in Charleston in the middle of the day in the middle of a heat wave (in other words, fried)), laid down a vapor barrier in the crawl space (crawled around in dirt spreading out plastic (layed in a sauna)), cleaned a stretch of beach (picked up nine trillion cigarette butts, remnants of long dead towels, and other various things (made no difference in the coastal ecology). Also, I found out I can play decent foozball.
Got back.
Packed a bedroom into the Thunderbird and made my way up here a little more than a week ago. I got here half an hour after the front office closed, so I slept on the couch while my stuf sat in a large pile in front of my soon-to-be door. Moved it all in the next day and dealt with Tim and James' parents (NEVER shut up). Unpacked. Started organizing (still in progress).
Band Camp: The new percussion instructor decided we didn't need nine bass drums, cut us down to six. Spend more time than necessary at band camp. Just one more day of it until class.
Thunderbird (RIP?): We had a long break one day during band camp, so I decide that I'll go out and get my textbooks. About a quarter mile down the road, I stop at a stop light. The emmense cloud of steam following me didn't. It smelled like dishwashing detergant. Naturally, I am perturbed by this turn of events so I pull into the nearest gas station, make a few phonecalls (my phone almost died from overexertion (it was like someone yanking me out of bed and forcing me to run a marathon)), and get it towed to a garage. It is still debatable as to whether it will be fixed or not. (Not so detailed list of brokenness: cracked intake manifold, blown head gasket, very poor seals, various ruined sensors, empty radiator). This was Tuesday. Saturday, Dad brings up the Oldsmobile. I detest this car with great detestability. But it's all I got right now.
I've just been plain lethargic as of late. Even when I feel energized, it's like my body says "fuck doing stuff, lemme sit here." I don't know what's up.
I really don't have anything important to say. This just seemed like the right thing to do at this point in time.
I have nice neighbors across the hall. We lucked out and got neighbors that are amused by T&J and not completely thrown off by them. Good fortune rocks.
Speaking of good fortune, I have had good luck with the radio lately. I've bben hearing some of the greatest songs ever and some songs that I never thought would ever be on the radio (Theme from Beverly Hills Cop!?). It's been pretty cool.
And for the pre-close close, I ask this: If no news is good news, the what is it called when you receive good news? I think it should be shibby news. Shibby is a word that should never have died out of pop culture.
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Plain Quote: "Think much, speak little, write less." -French Proverb
David Quote: "The Macho Man Randy Savage did rap? What the fuck?"
Last Consumables: Food - chicken nuggets -- Drink - Tea
Emotional Charger: My stupid lazy body. This lethargy has got to go. IT'S GAMETIME!
Debacle de 100: He just sat there. His expression was blank and he was immobile. Through the hustle and bustle around him he remained constant. It was like he was lost behind his blank eyes and couldn't find a way out. Scarcely beathing and staring at nothing, he just sat there and let the world flow around him.
Charleston: "What did you do there?" you might ask. "Why did you go?" you might also say. "When the hell did this happen?" is also a possible question candidate. Well, here are your answers. In reverse order.
First week of August.
Mission trip, because Whittington never called me about helping with band camp.
Worked on a Habitat House. I tore down terribly-installed facia boarding and put some good facia in it's place (in other words, sat on a roof in Charleston in the middle of the day in the middle of a heat wave (in other words, fried)), laid down a vapor barrier in the crawl space (crawled around in dirt spreading out plastic (layed in a sauna)), cleaned a stretch of beach (picked up nine trillion cigarette butts, remnants of long dead towels, and other various things (made no difference in the coastal ecology). Also, I found out I can play decent foozball.
Got back.
Packed a bedroom into the Thunderbird and made my way up here a little more than a week ago. I got here half an hour after the front office closed, so I slept on the couch while my stuf sat in a large pile in front of my soon-to-be door. Moved it all in the next day and dealt with Tim and James' parents (NEVER shut up). Unpacked. Started organizing (still in progress).
Band Camp: The new percussion instructor decided we didn't need nine bass drums, cut us down to six. Spend more time than necessary at band camp. Just one more day of it until class.
Thunderbird (RIP?): We had a long break one day during band camp, so I decide that I'll go out and get my textbooks. About a quarter mile down the road, I stop at a stop light. The emmense cloud of steam following me didn't. It smelled like dishwashing detergant. Naturally, I am perturbed by this turn of events so I pull into the nearest gas station, make a few phonecalls (my phone almost died from overexertion (it was like someone yanking me out of bed and forcing me to run a marathon)), and get it towed to a garage. It is still debatable as to whether it will be fixed or not. (Not so detailed list of brokenness: cracked intake manifold, blown head gasket, very poor seals, various ruined sensors, empty radiator). This was Tuesday. Saturday, Dad brings up the Oldsmobile. I detest this car with great detestability. But it's all I got right now.
I've just been plain lethargic as of late. Even when I feel energized, it's like my body says "fuck doing stuff, lemme sit here." I don't know what's up.
I really don't have anything important to say. This just seemed like the right thing to do at this point in time.
I have nice neighbors across the hall. We lucked out and got neighbors that are amused by T&J and not completely thrown off by them. Good fortune rocks.
Speaking of good fortune, I have had good luck with the radio lately. I've bben hearing some of the greatest songs ever and some songs that I never thought would ever be on the radio (Theme from Beverly Hills Cop!?). It's been pretty cool.
And for the pre-close close, I ask this: If no news is good news, the what is it called when you receive good news? I think it should be shibby news. Shibby is a word that should never have died out of pop culture.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Plain Quote: "Think much, speak little, write less." -French Proverb
David Quote: "The Macho Man Randy Savage did rap? What the fuck?"
Last Consumables: Food - chicken nuggets -- Drink - Tea
Emotional Charger: My stupid lazy body. This lethargy has got to go. IT'S GAMETIME!
Debacle de 100: He just sat there. His expression was blank and he was immobile. Through the hustle and bustle around him he remained constant. It was like he was lost behind his blank eyes and couldn't find a way out. Scarcely beathing and staring at nothing, he just sat there and let the world flow around him.