This is the worst journal entry ever made.
This is possibly the slowest moving week of my life. After tomorrow I'm home-free! Wee!
I can't wait until Thanksgiving. I'm hungry.
Somebody think of a paper topic for me. Please. I need one for tomorrow. Something along the lines of "How the scientist's personality effects his/her findings" or "How the perspective of the reporter influences or views" or "How individuals interconnect while trying to give meaning to their lives". Ick.
Jeff is still job hunting. Best Buy isn't good enough for someone with a CE degree. I would love it if he could find one, it would make him so happy, and he won't complain anymore.
An excerpt from a convo Jeff and I had earlier:
crakk boyy: JOB REQUIREMENTS:
****MUST have experience in with one of these areas for this position: gun, weapon, armor, armament, artillery, and/or fire control****
crakk boyy: wtf?
KimberlyES15: OMG
crakk boyy: i saw a gun once....
KimberlyES15: hahaha
crakk boyy: does that count?
crakk boyy: i stabbed a kid with a pencil too
My dad made me shoot a hand gun one day; my Nana's, in fact. The very one she said she wanted to kill herself with so many times when she realized that alzhiemers had stolen her life from her and all her memories. I hated it. And at that moment I hated my Dad for it. I feel nauseous just thinking about it.
Guns make me so uneasy. I hate being in the same room as a cop because all I do is stare at him/her contemplating the fact that they are the only people in my vicinity in possession of a loaded weapon. Maybe I'm just neurotic?
Mhm. I love my brain, and all the knowledge it possesses. It's processes- conscious and subconscious. It amazes me just how much knowledge fits in there. Just looking around my room I see all sorts of junk but I can name each piece of it describe its characteristics and its uses. It's all in there filed away; everything we know and everything we are. "The brain, after all, is the Seat of the Soul, the Big Enchilada of Consciousness, the organ of Me-ness." I can't imagine losing that.
My alarm clock is a piece of shit. Not only did it not go off this morning, I can always tell when someone is going to call me because it goes nuts and hums just before the phone rings. Actually, I think aliens are trying to communicate with me- "Signs" style.
Graham Hess: Its just static, Morgan. Frequency.
[Weird noises come from the baby monitor]
Morgan: It's a code.
So, Wednesday night is the 2nd most popular night of the year to go to the bar. Sweet. Who's up for it? I'll be in good ol' 'Trose.
I wonder if Abe is still having people over? Abe? Are you? Are you reading this? hah. hm. Anybody?
I can't wait until Thanksgiving. I'm hungry.
Somebody think of a paper topic for me. Please. I need one for tomorrow. Something along the lines of "How the scientist's personality effects his/her findings" or "How the perspective of the reporter influences or views" or "How individuals interconnect while trying to give meaning to their lives". Ick.
Jeff is still job hunting. Best Buy isn't good enough for someone with a CE degree. I would love it if he could find one, it would make him so happy, and he won't complain anymore.
An excerpt from a convo Jeff and I had earlier:
crakk boyy: JOB REQUIREMENTS:
****MUST have experience in with one of these areas for this position: gun, weapon, armor, armament, artillery, and/or fire control****
crakk boyy: wtf?
KimberlyES15: OMG
crakk boyy: i saw a gun once....
KimberlyES15: hahaha
crakk boyy: does that count?
crakk boyy: i stabbed a kid with a pencil too
My dad made me shoot a hand gun one day; my Nana's, in fact. The very one she said she wanted to kill herself with so many times when she realized that alzhiemers had stolen her life from her and all her memories. I hated it. And at that moment I hated my Dad for it. I feel nauseous just thinking about it.
Guns make me so uneasy. I hate being in the same room as a cop because all I do is stare at him/her contemplating the fact that they are the only people in my vicinity in possession of a loaded weapon. Maybe I'm just neurotic?
Mhm. I love my brain, and all the knowledge it possesses. It's processes- conscious and subconscious. It amazes me just how much knowledge fits in there. Just looking around my room I see all sorts of junk but I can name each piece of it describe its characteristics and its uses. It's all in there filed away; everything we know and everything we are. "The brain, after all, is the Seat of the Soul, the Big Enchilada of Consciousness, the organ of Me-ness." I can't imagine losing that.
My alarm clock is a piece of shit. Not only did it not go off this morning, I can always tell when someone is going to call me because it goes nuts and hums just before the phone rings. Actually, I think aliens are trying to communicate with me- "Signs" style.
Graham Hess: Its just static, Morgan. Frequency.
[Weird noises come from the baby monitor]
Morgan: It's a code.
So, Wednesday night is the 2nd most popular night of the year to go to the bar. Sweet. Who's up for it? I'll be in good ol' 'Trose.
I wonder if Abe is still having people over? Abe? Are you? Are you reading this? hah. hm. Anybody?