I Am

Which tarot card are you?

Alas, I am drained. I fell asleep for an hour or so with Larkin at my side, hand in hand. Seems I have an internal clock that'll wake me up when I need to send her home. My, what fun we had today! Rollerblading, and Starbucks, and running around in the backwoods. Ah. Another great day of summer. I instill fear into the hearts of coffee drinkers at Starbucks with my big long coat. I love you, Larkin. I'm going to sleep.

Sweet merciful smallpox-infested baby Jesus. It's 6:30 and I'm at Robert Newman's house, at a LAN party. I should probably sleep on the couch or something, but I'm afraid they'll pour curry in my hair or some shit. I can stay awake. I ate a bunch of ramen.

I'm sitting around in this kickass long black trenchcoat that Larkin bought me as an early birthday present- along with some sunglasses to replace my fucked up one, and a new messenger bag for when school starts. God! She spoils me so! I am dearly in love with Larkin. And not just because she gives great gifts. Can life get any better?

I actually won't mind getting back to school. I'm sort of looking forward to being in classes with people, (hopefully) being in Larkin's lunch, and singing in choir. I really hope I don't miss the damn region workshop. I'll be in Dallas on the tenth or something for my grandparents 50th wedding anniversary. I have to go to church with them. Ugh. I'm sure the fellowship of old baptist people will love me and my blue hair.

Moby - Porcelain

Go and listen to that.

I'm sitting around, waiting for Mr.Morris to come and get me to mow some lawns. He's supposed to need my help today. I want to go and make some money for pushing pieces of metal around. He got a new small mower too, so I imagine the drive on it will work, and it'll be easy as freakin pie. I want to buy one of those trenchcoats at army surplus.

I'm Not Dead

Well, I'm over my illness (save a cold sore on my lip and a few other little annoyances), and I'm out and about again, saving the world. Today, as I passed by a box of rollerblades my mum was selling on Ebay, a wave of nostalgia overtook me, and I wandered over to the hall closet to see if my own pair of skates still existed. Buried under about 200 totebags, umbrellas, and various pairs of boots, I found my pair of rollerblades, complete with size 8 boot and old worn-out wheels! Despite the small size, I fit into them quite snugly, having small feet for my gender and age, and proceeded to glide around the neighborhood for awhile.

Going back to my elementary school on rollerblades certainly brings back memories. Kevin Young, David Muzal and I used to play basketball on skates at the court behind Ehrhardt. Alas, the evil wrecking company bulldozed over a metric ton of my childhood, leaving a huge pile of concrete slab and dirt where once there was a nice, smooth surface for sportsplaying. Why the hell did they do that?

So, coming home, I played a bit of Counterstrike (the most unproductive thing EVER), replaced the wheels on the rollerblades with a set of 30 dollar 80A, 72mm wheels I found lying around, polished my new Schwinn Continental roadbike my parents found at a garage sale (it needs tires, tubes and a brake cable, but soon I will be like Lance fucking Armstrong), and read a bit of my brand new Satanic Bible.

Ah, Satanism. It seems to have always been my doctrine. One of the things Satan represents is Christianity's "seven deadly sins" (ex. lust, greed, pride). And you know why? Because every one of them leads to some form of pleasure! There's nothing wrong with lust! Lust is a religion in itself! What is greed besides wanting more stuff? The flesh isn't going to burn off your bones for eternity just for wanting some money. Being proud of yourself isn't going to invoke some holy wrath from above. Moral codes are bullshit. Ave Satanas! Join my dark grotto, fledgelings...

After another mile or two of rollerblading, I returned home to call Larkin and get myself out to Starbucks. I, the blue-haired khaki master, and Larkin, the cat-eared cutey sporting a new wig took the place (full of stoners and trendy, preppy people) by storm once again. Jeremy, Rob and Amy met up with us too. Much fun.

I feel good now that I'm not feverish and weak. I feel great. I cannot WAIT to fix up my new roadbike. I have long wanted to have something not nearly as cumbersome as a 21-speed mountain bike, complete with big chromali frame and rack. I shall glide across the pavement with the same type of bike as god himself!

Poetry.com has to have the greatest marketing scheme ever. They've sent me, like, five letters saying they want to publish my poetry in some anthology, record it onto CD, give me a big dumb trophy, etc. etc. Oh! And they want me to go to their conference in Washington, D.C.! Only 500.00$ registration! Damn them for trying to make me feel important! It's like that druggie movie where they say the old woman will be on TV! Is there more bullshit than that in anything in the world besides politics and organized religion?

In conclusion: TURTLE!

Gah. I woke up at seven. Well, actually, I'd been awake for four hours or so, lying in bed in a rejuvinative state, and simply chose to get out of bed and go take some pills at seven. Last night I thought I felt almost completely better. I think my symptoms decided to wear off for awhile so I could eat something, but it's good to know I won't die of starvation now. I'm getting better. I've still got the sore throat, swollen lymph nodes, and that godawful split lip which is very slowly healing, but I think most of my fever, my headache, dizziness and whatnot is gone. I want to see Larkin today. I can't wait.

Wow. I expected the antibiotics I've been on to help me out, but I didn't expect to feel so much better before I wake up tomorrow, or the next day for that matter. Like, 20 minutes ago, I sprang out of bed, sore throat, some stiffness, and headache cured, and possessed a hunger equal to that of a pot-smoking grizzly bear. I have, after all, not eaten much of anything in days, and now my body decided I need to fix that. Mmm. Muffins.