headache.

i have one.

Communications Studies

Im sitting in my Comm class, a medium-sized auditorium dedicated to psychology and communications lectures - a giant poster of the periodic table tacked onto the north facing wall. The room slopes upwards toward the back of the classroom... we sit in mustard-yellow chairs (the kind that have the pull-out desk on their sides) and theres hardly, if any, elbow space between these seats. Im not sure if its a student or a teacher... who is seated in my row, on the opposite side of the room, and being overly-exciting with the professor. Laughing a little too hard. Giggling too much. She's blonde and very OC. She seems to take quite an interest in gender studies ... the type that happens under the sheets after a first, emotionally constricted date night out. She's trying way too hard to make an impression on this guy. Why is this teacher so goddamn good-looking??
Im waiting to have the classroom fill up - the volume of conversations picks up every minute. The more people come in, the louder it gets. I can hear the typical "Oh my god!" scream from the girls who partied too hard last night. The usual "when is the test?" Class starts in 6 minutes, and i cant wait until im walking out of here.

I need a change of pace. Life is way too typical.

archaic and tired

I’m sitting here with way too many thoughts running through my head - typical of a slow night, just out of the shower and my hands are terrifically dry from the soap I’m using. There’s a Citronella candle burning in the opposite corner of my room (isn’t Citronella only supposed to burn outside to kill mosquitoes?), and the yellow reflections from the candle’s surrounding glass jar impatiently wrinkle the surface on my walls. I can hear Mayer in the background… Gravity… such a fucking good song. But, of course, most of his voice is drowned out by the droning uproar going on inside under all this goddamned hair.
I’m actually pretty sure Citronella is only supposed to be used outside. Something about the way the candle burns… too thick to be dispelled modestly inside the home. At this point, I figure that my shit cant possible get any more clouded. Fuck mosquitoes. Fuck cobwebs and dust and this excess amount of shit clogging my air (figuratively speaking. I already blew out the real candle anyway)… There is a division of thought inside my head that keeps preventing me from being overly careless or carefree for that matter, especially under circumstances like this. I (try to) keep that solace of autonomy locked up in a cobweb-y corner of past recollections, behind boxes of nostalgic compensation and futility, titled “Shit”. There are rows of rows of these ideological manifestations - old love(r)s, great restaurants, high school rumors, too-tight jeans, parking tickets, etc, that remind me exactly what to enjoy, what to avoid, and most importantly, what to let go of. The problem with titling each of these thematic tribulations is that I begin to develop a sense of subjectivity: this is a really classy way of saying that I become too fucking sensitive and wary of everything.
Another over-sophistication of my behavior: I like the word Indolence. It makes my laziness sound tres tres chic.

Jesus it feels good to write like this once in a while.
There really is no point in running away from any one thing. Fuck its cold right now. Hoping this racket wont keep me up tonight. I wish I could just empty everything out. Just like the avant-garde old days. Slap a leech on your temple… suck all these fucking thoughts out of my head. Please!

officially tuesday

The problem with writing just for the sake of writing something… is that you usually end up talking about nothing, diddly-squat, nada, zip, zero: shit. So in thematic proportion to that oh-so-lovely introductory sentence, let me bore your intellectually-emaciated mind (oh shit) with absolutely everything that has to do with absolutely nothing.
My elbow is hurting from writing on my laptop at an awkward angle.
Im not sure why my stomach is making such loud noises.
I love my dog.
My arms are cold.
Where is the wire for my jars, I need that for tomorrow.
Fuck school.
Fuck walking to class.
I just had some pretty great sex about an hour ago.
Cinnamon.
I need a new bra.
Im tired.
Sex,
Sex,
Sex.

I’ll ramble until daybreak
To be successful (by which I mean either emotionally, physically, mentally, or whichever other dimension of living you wish to approach) there is a certain skill that must be mastered - frugality. And I mean this in each and every dimension possible.
I am tired of dealing with misconceptions.
Will somebody please change the motherfucking channel?

You hit a fork in the road,
And try to walk between, in the middle
God knows you aint a camper.
But baby please, look,
After one day
Two.
Those paths diverge
You’re gonna lose sight of both roads
End up so goddamn alone
And all you’ll have
Are those stains on your shirt
From those dirty dirty hands.
And God knows you aint a camper babe.

another boring day

woke up, went to an estate sale (amazingly, a rather decent one) bought a cool typewriter, an old dress, two candles, an old super 8 film camera and went back home to do nothing. i then proceeded to attempt cleaning my room while trying to not think too much about the events that have happened within the past 24 hours. got a ridiculous call on my cell phone around 5pm. didnt answer. starting watching top gun until lauryl came over. we are now going out to party in los angeles, dressed in red, both ridiculously overdone in makeup, hopefully planning on getting laid. no im just kidding. we're renting a movie from blockbuster and watching it at my house.

my room is a mess. i need to clean my fish's water. k bye.

what?

i seriously need some goddamn space.
a good kick in the head.
and then maybe a good week or two to chill the fuck out.