It's been a lousy couple of days...

Workaday bullshit gnaws at the life of the introspect, right? Uh-huh. My thoughts today aren't too deep. For the last few, in fact, they've been pretty immediate: Og eat. Og urinate. Og find sleep. The caveman existence is for me. Shit, I might as well host a kegger. I've got a backwards baseball cap on my head right now.

Last night I got stranded at work with a dead battery. Left my lights on. The campus cop came by, tried to charge me up, told me I had a short. Campus cop shrugs and drives off after calling towing company. Towing company moron arrives. I watch in slack-jawed astonishment as he drives OVER two concrete parking stops to get to me, the truck bouncing wildly on its giant shocks, then rolls down his window and announces he's here to tow someone away. I inform towing chub that all I need is a damn jump. This seems to sink in, thankfully enough. He jumps my car, then informs me I have a shorted-out starter, and that my car will never start again until I get it fixed. Towing dork drives away.

Og smash.

The good news is, he was wrong. The car stills starts, oddly enough. I still gotta take it in, though.

Plus, there's moving. The girlfriend is now in the house. It's finally happened. We're shacked up. Holy bedlock. Shackles of domesticity. Yawning void of surburban couple-dom. I feel this strange urge to put on sensible shoes and look at flatware catalogs. It's all over; the beer posters on the wall, the wild nights of, uh... being alone in front of the computer... I don't have any wild bachelor life to give up, it seems. Big loss. Fact is, I'll probably still be here in front of this damn thing.

Pardon my wise-assness today. It's the mood I'm in. Did you know I was a Cancer? Whether or not you buy into that whole astrological schtick, the sign still fits my personality. Or maybe it's just schizophrenia.

You know, in addition to writing a journal for my art history course, and doing this goddamned thing, I have to write a journal for my drama class, too, for next week. To talk about how I "feel" about the last week. Well, I'll tell you how I "feel" about it, I feel like I'm spending too much time writing and not enough doing something to write about. Warning, this web.journal may be hazardous to your social life (if any). I also got to experience the bliss of listening to a bunch of fucked-up hat wearing, cookie-cutter personality, beer-chugging, Nike-shoe ad wearing, Comedumpster-listening vat clones (read: a select FEW of my drama classmates) drone on about how Swingtime Canteen was "patriotic bullshit", and "I like hated it, like, you know, because, like, you can't, like, understand it and shit... whatever". What deep, insightful criticisms will they come up with for the next play? I'm breathless with anticipation. Did they notice the sign on the door that said people with the IQs of lead bookends need not apply?

I'm a little bitter. I'm also a little tired. Being tired and hungry and generally psychotically angry at the world is a good signal never to leave your house; keep this in mind, kids. Also, don't go too long without eating, because the joy of having a hypoglycemic blackout while you're on the phone is one you could do without. Take up bungie-jumping instead.

All right, now I'm starting to feel like a movie critic who has nothing to say about the movie and is padding the review with clever non sequitirs, so I am done. I'm sorry if it sucked. It was the beat. The beat got to me. See you next time I have something to say.

D.

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