I just listened to the Pogues's Red Roses for Me album. And it reminded me...of one night when Eric and I drove around listening to it. I had just gotten my license and I was driving my mom's minivan and I would gun it every chance I got. And we went on all the back roads, and I would ask him whether he thought a certain song was a traditional song or an original one, and he always seemed to get it wrong. And I just I thought that I was going to be doing that a lot...driving around and listening to whole albums with a friend.

It's funny how such a memory gets attached to music, and how vividly the memory returns..

But then again, that's why I believe constantly getting new music is a necessity. It captures the times and feelings of your life..

A girl passed me today. We were going opposite directions. She passed me, and I got a huge whiff of something.

She smelled like celery...

All I feel is a dry sense of dread.

Today is a cloudy, drab day. Relatively normal. But to my eyes there looks to be a thin layer of fog floating throughout the air. A thin layer of fog soaking and muddying up the air. But I don't think anyone else notices it, it's just me and my present state of mind.

Who is making my decisions for me? I don't even know. It's surely not me, because what I decided would be different. But who is controlling me, who is making these decisions??

Did I ever tell you I once made two brothers realize they wipe their asses the same way?

They did some weird foldy thing.

But yeah, that's me. I can make brothers realize the wipe their butts in the same manner.

It kind of bothers me when people walk with their head up but with their eyes fixed on the ground.

Why can't you just walk with your head down, instead of making people distant from you think that you are looking at them??

I feel sometimes that when I'm just going to grow up to be an alcoholic...

and I don't want that.

I like dangling my feet over the edge of the my bed at night. I can lie on my stomach and sporadically bob my feet up and down, and it is quite pleasurable, it is.

There are some shirts of mine that whenever I wear them, I feel all icky and my day goes bad.

I wish there was a place I could go to simultaneously experience really really hot, and really really cold. Because whenever it’s really really hot, I dream of really really cold with fondness.

But I always seem to forget the numb hands of winter.

You know when people say "oh, that scared the SHIT out of me?"

Is the word "shit" just to intensify the phrase? Or are people personifying "shit" by saying it got scared and went out, i.e. they pooped their pants?

I was wondering if, say, you had to go to the bathroom a bunch. And you went into the bathroom, and only peed half the amount.

Would you still have to go to the bathroom after that?


My intellect says no, but my emotions say yes.

A girl asked me yesterday why I was sitting by myself at lunch.

I don't know, do you want a whole evaluation of my psyche while you are at it?

Do you ever say things or do things…that after the fact, you find out you did, and you have no memory or recollection of doing it, and your logic tells you that you wouldn’t do that, that isn’t something you would do?

It makes you wonder just what is controlling you…

Do you ever look at yourself from outside yourself, and see that you’re changing? There’s nothing you can even do about it; it’s inevitable. But you’re changing.

This kid the other day in my class...he was called on to read a little passage. And he started reading, and you know when you have those things in the back of your throat? That make your throat all raspy? Well this kid, right at that time, was experiencing this phenomenon. But instead of clearing out his throat--which would have taken all of 5 seconds--well, instead he just continued on reading, marred by this vocal flaw. And he read the passage, the whole time his voice just a shade below normal level, just a titch off-key. And oh, it was noticeable.

Then, after he was finished, he tried to silently cough, he tried to covertly clear his throat..


I think this kid should approach the whole situation a little differently next time.

I think losing something is one of my premium sources of odium. And by something I mean objects.

I absolutely loathe losing things, because it drives me crazy. It leaves me with so much doubt, so much uncertainty. And then I'm supposed to just accept...that I'll never ever know the truth of where the object really went.

And how the hell am I supposed to do that?

I like the room I'm in right now.

It's down the hall from the main room, where the pool table and other games are. And it's far enough away where the more high-pitched sounds don't travel to. Thus, I can't hear the voices, all I can hear is the occasion cracking of the pool balls crashing into each other.

And it's like.... there's people playing pool, but words, senseless prattle; there's no use for any of that. There just playing pool, nothing more.

Sometimes I don’t care for dreams, because the emotions, the hurt, is just so real.