everything is fine

What a weekend. I mean, I don't really know what else to say besides that. It started off great. Ashley and I spent some time together after having dated for a year. That was nice. We ate a whole cake in less than a day. But it was a damn good cake. Red velvet with cream cheese frosting. Like, damn . Does cake get any better than that? No, probably not. And then both of my mom's parents died. Nobody really saw that coming, so it's been a rough time trying to sort everything out amidst people being people (read: disgusting, selfish animals) and people being stupid (read: people). And then I got sick and had a great time waiting in the lobby of the St. David's Emergency Department. Nobody else was there for any obvious sort of medical emergency, and that made me really mad. I mean, I was sitting there convulsing for a few hours while Joe Moocher and Jane Addict toddled off to take up all the beds in the department. We are in for some trouble times, I think. B...

Not really the news I wanted to hear. It's just been one of those weeks. But it is not the time to be trifled with such things. It is the time for studying a lot. And worrying about everything.

There were a lot of things on my plate, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. It never gets to that point. Anything that comes my way is dealt with immediately. Maybe it's not attended to, but it's at least considered. I triage everything. But then, today, I mistakenly thought I had another chemistry lab write up due tomorrow that I had completely forgotten. And that was the straw. I just sort of shut down for a few minutes. Five, maybe ten. I just sat there and silently freaked out. It was a real "all systems: fuck" sort of thing. For a few minutes, I was convinced I wouldn't be able to do anything and that it was just all too much. For a few minutes, I was completely overwhelmed. And it was a bad feeling because I never am. I refuse to believe it's possible. So I kicked myself and got to work putting things in order and set up the rest of my night. Then, I was allowed to start chewing again. Which, admittedly, I do not like as much ...

The first memories that came to mind? Drinking Mr. Pibb in the office. Buying a Batman action figure and Batmobile toy set. Her housemate gifting me my first camera. The toys she gave us every time she came to visit that we never, ever played with. I don't really look back on any of these memories with any particular sentimentality. They are just things that happened in my life with no real emotional investment. In fact, I was more upset when I heard her dog had died. Which makes me feel kind of bad. I mean, I didn't share blood with the dog. But my mom was crying when she told me the dog died. She just sounded tired today. I'm not numb, I'm not detached. I'm just... unaffected. My grandmother died in her sleep and all I will do is shrug. I was watching life today on the Discovery Channel. Makes me want to go travel places and see things and take pictures of cool stuff. I want to go to the weird things in Venezuela and find the weirdo frogs. And I wa...

As a kid, I never really had a solid grasp on things that I should have. Concepts, I mean. Like weather. I used to wake up every morning and ask my mom what the weather would be like that day. "Is it going to be hot or cold today?" Meaning, would I be able to wear shorts and a t-shirt on a normal January day. Eventually, she told me to check the temperature by feeling the window. That didn't really help either. Also, I never really had a real good perception of time. And I still don't. Like, how the hell is spring break over already? It's basically time to go back to school and I haven't done absolutely nothing. I was supposed to do a bunch of chemistry lab stuff so I could be ahead and relax for a while. I was supposed to draw a bunch of comics so I could be ahead and relax for a while. I was supposed to do something--anything--scholastic and I have done absolutely nothing. It is terrible.

Man, it's kind of crazy how tiring it is when you spend the whole day sleeping. Like, damn. I could use a nap. But we'll see how all this stuff turns out. I'm not particularly riled up either way. If he says yes, then okay. If he says no, then okay. It really isn't that big of a deal. It really won't affect me all the much. Except, maybe my mom will try to be a nicer and maybe my dad will grow a little more distant and maybe my brother will keep on doing the dumb things he does regardless. But, I mean, you know; it's whatever. I'm going to take a trip this summer. I've decided. An epic trip. Some kind of awesome adventure. I really want to canoe the Colorado River all the way to the Gulf of Mexico. It's something I've been wanting to do for years, and I'm going to make it happen this summer. Somehow.

It was, admittedly, not the best camping trip I've ever taken. But despite people being unnecessarily tense in the beginning, I was pretty damn excited to be going out somewhere. After following some questionable directions and almost missing an exciting turn, we made it to Lost Maples. Which was actually a pretty nice place. The trail to the campsite wasn't difficult or particularly long and the creek that weaved across it was a welcome change from the usual sight of bicyclists weaving across sidewalks in front of you. There were some cliff faces that ran along the length of the trail and, really for the first time in a while that I can remember, I could hear the birds chirping and singing in the trees around us and the frogs making frog noises down by the pond. Even though we were dragging an absurdly heavy wagon and a deluxe wooden edition of Scrabble and too many things in general and camping completely surrounded by other people, it was nice to finally be getting out i...

All I ever think about these days is how much I have to/want to study. I hope that's not how I have a good time, now. Would I rather go hang out with peeps or would I rather sit in and study? It is a difficult question to answer. Just a couple more days and then I can focus all my energy on the next greatest idea I've ever had: iconic detectives and sharks.

I don't know what the deal is, but I always get bored with whatever it is I'm doing while I'm doing it. So the endings of my stories always end up fizzling out. It's not for a lack of enthusiasm, though. Well, it is. I just get bored and move on to the next thing. Maybe it's some sort of self-sabotage where I stop myself from finishing something good because I don't actually want to achieve anything. That doesn't bother me as much as it should, I guess. But look at this; this is garbage. I think, really that I just need a break. Camping will be a good time to just unwind. And reflect. It blows my mind to think about what was happening an entire year ago. How different things were.

I tried--I really tried--my best to keep an open mind about the whole ordeal. I mean, every piece of literature he sent to us about it desperately begged us to be very patient and understanding and, well, open-minded. But I will very eagerly admit that it was difficult. "Welcome to, ah, Sun-Do meditation exercise!" He would say, very cheerfully. And so it went every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for three weeks. People asked where I was going and I explained that I was going to waste an hour and a half doing nothing. Sun-Do is, apparently, some sort of Korean meditative breathing exercise. It involves stretching, yoga, some light cardiovascular activity, and--obviously--breathing. Focused, rhythmic breathing set to a chant that I do not know. When we finished filling out our comments forms on the last day, he called us in to impart some final words of wisdom. "I just have two things to say," he said. "One: it is, ah, recommended that you practice Sun-Do th...

Wow, is it really Saturday already? The days go by so quickly now, it's kind of upsetting. There just aren't enough hours in the day to do enough of anything that would matter. It's not going to be a particularly fun weekend and it'll be an even less fun week what with all the tests and labs and reports being due. I mean, I guess it's cool to get totally fucked over with assignments and responsibilities leading straight into spring break. We are college students after all. But couldn't we have gotten an organic chemistry test in there too so there would be at least one fun thing going on this week? Yes, I really enjoy things related to organic chemistry. Spring break is going to be pretty fun, I hope. I'm not really looking forward to it yet because I have so much I need to worry about first. I'm already starting to feel much better during the brief moments I spend walking around outside in the beautiful weather and I'm looking forward to sta...

She got me, and she got me good. It was over before I realized it had happened at all, and even then it took me a bit to process it. We had been doing chemistry homework and talking about things like stuff. "I loved physics in high school," I said. "How come you aren't a physics major, then?" She asked. "Well, I didn't love it that much." I replied. "Besides, my dad was a physics major and I don't want to have one of those follow in his footsteps kind of things going on. I want to do my own thing, something I really love." "So is that why you're a music major?" She asked. "Yeah!" I replied excitedly. Fractured images of sheet music and hazy memories of playing some kind of instrument flashed with every blink I took. "Because I love it so much!" And, for a moment, I was a music major. I was a music major and I was, well, ecstatic that I had been for my entire collegiate career. But then...

It was a typical day in MUS 307 . A typical day where nobody pays attention to anything the professor talks about. A day where people play shitty flash games instead of take notes. A day where people sit and refresh their Facebook newsfeed instead of follow the slides. A day where people roll their eyes and go to sleep instead of listen to the music examples. A day where people get up and leave ten minutes before lecture ends instead of having the God damn decency to stay the whole time and pretend to be interested. I mean, if you're going to be so unaffected by the music we're studying in class then why the fuck did you take the class in the first place? Fuck it makes me mad. And I haven't even started talking about that fucker who sits in the back and tries to whistle along with every song that gets played in class. Alright, dude, we get it: you are just too cool and you know everything about jazz, ever. You know every standard ever written and everybody's so...

I had so many things I wanted to do this weekend. The most important thing was to backup everything I needed on my computer so I could format and install actual Windows 7 and not just pretend Windows 7. I remember what happened last time I ignored the "you have X hours until your copy expires" and it was horrible. In preparation for the whole system maneuver, I was going to draw up a queue of comics to send in for the week just in case something went wrong. And organize everything I was transferring, deleting what I never used or looked at to regain some space since I'm such a horrible hoarder. Instead, I have 10 hours until my copy expires and I'm just now getting started on this stuff. Obviously I got a decent start on this. But I guess whatever happens this week will be well deserved, considering how much effort I actually put into this--and considering how much I should have. It was a weekend well spent, though. Some silliness, some assholery, and some pret...

I'm just so tired. And ready for spring break. I just want to step back from all these assignments and tests and things that need studying. I need that moment of liberation. That feeling of freedom that comes with being outside for a few days. I just need to feel a little unbound. I'm feeling a bit snubbed as it is now. There's just so much to have hanging over my head.

Well, now we're getting things back together. But it'll take more than this. I mean, this could be better.

I am really tired of living with or near people. I hate having a roommate. I hate coming home after a long day to sulk in my room only to find myself in the company of a noisy person who likes to watch sports talk shows with the volume too high. I hate living next to people that can use my bathroom. I came back to the dorms this weekend to find my sink covered in hair from somebody shaving and knocking the razor in it. It was black hair. I didn't shave and my roommate doesn't have black hair. These are people who seem to have no problem peeing on the toilet seat and leaving it like that. They are animals and I hate them. But, regardless of my unrivaled hatred for the subhuman cretins with whom I involuntarily share my living space, I pledge not to do anything aside from be passive aggressive. I won't put bleach in their contact solution, I won't secretly take chemicals from the lab and mix it into their mouthwash, I won't put my bodily fluids on their person...

My brother got suspended from school for fighting. Some kid spent the year bullying him and his friends and the teachers didn't do anything. He followed him into the bathroom where they exchanged unpleasant words and he started hitting David. And David went off on him. So did his friend, when David told him what happened. Just got up from the lunch table, went into the bathroom, and hit him so hard he cried. Put some solid hits on a bully. I mean, yeah, David lost his cool, but the guy had already hit him twice. Twice. Once is grounds for overwhelming response in my book. And aside from that being a great story about your buddies getting emotional and backing you up when something happens, it's a pretty good story about a jackass getting his ass beat like he deserves. I was proud of my brother for doing that. Violence is certainly not the best method of resolving conflicts, but damn is it satisfying when used. I mean, how do you stop a bully from bullying? Asking pol...

Man, I need to work on these backgrounds. They are lacking. Also I need to, you know, study the hell out of this chemistry. And geology.

I'm starting to push the character designs for these character. I hope I'm ready to keep up with it. It'll be a pretty big commitment to draw them as not stick figures. And pretty soon I'll being drawing them less and less like the cartoons I love so dearly and more like realistic drawings because I can't help but obsess over the things I do. I want to be better. I just can't get comfortable with where I am. It's like that with a lot of things, I guess. I'm just about ready for this week to be over.

I don't think I got enough done this weekend. Well, I mean, I know I didn't. Otherwise I wouldn't be scrambling to do things now. This week is just not going to be good. Just things and things and things to worry about. And do. Sort of do. Days to limp through. This weekend went pretty well, I think. The song even came through at the last second. A little up and down in the week leading up to it, but those things happen. And honestly, it doesn't really bother me all that much. People are different and like different things, and that's okay. It's better that way, I think. It keeps things interesting. We have different lives to live and, for the most part, it's better to keep it that way. Talking--or, rather, not talking--to the oral surgeon about when I can chew again was a little disheartening. I was really looking forward to eating normally again in a month, but the next appointment is almost at the end of March. After spring break. I guess...

My head is spinning with thoughts. It's just, you know. I'm totally finished with boy & robot . Time to start doing emergency medicine again, I guess.

The sleep doctor told me I might be narcoleptic. Then he gave me some pills to take in the mornings so that I'd feel awesome. So I guess we'll see how that goes. Fingers crossed. I don't know how I feel about potentially being narcoleptic. Well, I mean, besides tired. I restarted my zombie story and I think it's going quite well. Better than before. And before that. And before that.

I think I'm tired of being here. I want to go home. I'm tired of having a roommate constantly sniffling and cackling six feet away from me. I'm tired of drunken neighbors pinballing down the hallway. I'm tired of hearing suitemates shoot urine into the toilet like well pumped Super Soaker. I'm tired of the doors slamming and the chairs scooting and the fire alarms and seeing people everywhere. And all the noise, noise, noise, noise. I think I really just need to recharge outside. Go out and reconnect with the Earth. Have an adventure.

I used to hear the people above me having sex all the time. It was very noisy. The bed was noisy. She was noisy. The people banging on their door telling them to be quiet were noisy. The chair they somehow incorporated into it was noisy. It was funny at first, bearing accidental witness to what should've been a private moment, but then it became annoying. And then it became just another thing that you blocked out. Then they started fighting all the time. It was very noisy. He was noisy. The things he threw were noisy. The things he hit were noisy. The door slamming shut behind her was noisy. Her footsteps as she ran from the room were noisy. And then he would throw and hit more things. And then it would get quiet again. Just another thing you blocked out. It makes me wonder, though. About how much people really know about us. About our lives and the people in them. How much they know without letting on. I heard a faceless, nameless relationship fall apart through...

I feel really bad for not having accomplished anything this weekend. Especially since, I mean, you know, I had a lot of stuff to do. But what can I do now? Besides complain and feel bad, I guess. I really need to bunker in and get serious about school again. I just can't get out of this man I really don't care mind set. It is no good. But we played music today, and it was a good time. I played saxophone, and that felt really good. Even though nobody could hear it. It was legit--for the 10 minutes I managed to play it. I need to build my chops back up. Once upon a time I could wail on that for hours. Now I'm reduced to mere minutes. And I won't be satisfied until once upon a time is right now because I fucking love playing that horn. I also need to write some lyrics and music. Working with these dudes on their songs and writing things with them is pretty nice, but I need my absolute creative freedom. I've got a style and a vision I need to work toward....

I have a demon inside me and its name is adventure. It constantly aches and calls for more. I just need to do things. To go places, see things, meet people. New things, always new things. Only new things. It's not a want or a desire--it's a need. I need to get out there. I need that thrill. Taylor and I used to sneak out of gym class early. It's not like we skipped class, we just left a couple minutes before class got dismissed. I mean, we would've just sat on the floor otherwise. But it was a rush. Waiting for the coast to be clear and walking out the back door and around the school right before the bell rang. It was an adventure every day--how smooth could the operation go? And then one day we got caught. We ran right into Coach. "Why?" He asked me. He wanted me to blame Taylor. He never liked Taylor. "Because it was fun," I said. And I like adventures.

I was really excited to get a text about jamming this Friday. Even if it's only for a couple of hours, jamming is jamming. And jamming is something I don't do enough. We grabbed an old organ this past weekend. It's pretty exciting. It has to be at least 30 years old, and it's so much fun to play. I'm trying to write some lyrics to a song by Friday. Even though everybody is pretty chill, I still feel like I have something to prove to them. They certainly don't need another guitar and I'm too out of shape on saxophone to play for two hours. But I guess we'll see how it goes. I really need to figure out what's going on with my head. I'm having trouble remembering things. Not just assignments and thoughts, but things that I do. Earlier I forgot that I had already gone to the bathroom. If I don't write things on sticky notes or on my arm then I'll forget them entirely. I feel fuzzy in the head. And my roommate is sick and I am goi...

It feels like it's been a long weekend, but it really hasn't. I really wasted this weekend by having a pretty good time. I didn't get anything done that I needed to. So I guess I'll deal with those consequences here pretty soon. Tomorrow is going to be miserable. Get my lab things, do my lab things, do more chemistry, and on and on and on. This semester is about to spiral out of control, and it just started. Deep breath. A friend of mine found this thing called Wordle , which takes things and does things with them and makes pictures. Out of words. The words that appear most commonly. And the size of the words is related to how often they appear. Blah blah blah. But it made a pretty interesting picture. But then I did it and couldn't figure out how to save the picture so you get this: Why the hell is 'butter' so big?

If I don't get to shower in the morning, I end up being groggy and grumpy the rest of the day. I mean, groggier and grumpier than normal. It just throws me off. I am absolutely a creature of habit and routine. I need to shower in the morning. It's critical. Like brushing my teeth, hitting the snooze button twice, or applying three strokes of deodorant per armpit. These are all things I need to do every morning. Speaking of armpits, I kind of want to shave them again. It was pretty nice. I've been thinking about this boy & robot comic quite a bit the last couple of days. I know exactly what I want to do with it, not just overall but specifically per comic and panel. It's the first time I've felt confident with how things were going to go, and it's weird. It's weird to know how everything is going to go. Everything else has been pretty loose. Do some things and sort of end up somewhere. Fill the space between here and there with stuff. But n...

There is something depressing about going from a word count of over 20,000 to a word count of under 100, but I can't quite put my finger on it. On the keyboard, I mean. It's so hard to write. I just feel so uninspired. I feel unprepared to be writing this thing, even though I've been doing so much research and planning this last month. I want this to be perfect--I refuse to settle for anything less. But, I'm writing it and that's all that really matters.

I always feel so bad when I eat pancakes and don't use all of the butter they give me in the little butter cup. I mean, I certainly don't need that much butter and I know that eating that much butter is just a horrible idea, but they gave me all that butter. And if I don't use all of it, they'll just throw it away. They won't give it to somebody else. I can't waste the butter! So I put all of the butter on my pancakes so they end up oversaturated with butter. But damn do I love eating pancakes. I set up a year-long schedule for writing my zombie story today. I just need to accomplish something with that. I thought about it. After a year of 'working' on it I ended up with 40 or so pages. A year . And now I'm at zero pages. That's horrible progress, and I feel utterly disappointed in myself because of it. So no more spinning my wheels. I can think and talk about this project forever, but it's time to really get serious about it. I...

I don't really know what the deal is, but I've been feeling a little emotional these last couple of days. Like I just need to sit down and have a good cry. Have a good, manly cry. I start to tear up when I think about the comic story I'm working on right now. When I think of the dachshund I won't see again. When I think of the sad things I normally think about but am not usually bothered by. Maybe it's just that time of month. I'd rent Batman: The Animated Series and cry it out over a couple choice episodes, but I don't really have the time or the will to go all the way to the library. I will soldier on, I suppose. I'm working on not bottling things up. Because that usually doesn't end well. Just have to remember to, you know, talk things out. It's tough. I think I need to take a break from saxophone. The weird feeling of my suture sites vibrating while playing has elevated to feeling my suture sites all the time, which is not somethi...

Maybe it was a display of my awesome resolve and passion. Or a testament to my seemingly infinite talent. Or a verification of the wonders of surgical science. Or, I suppose, a mix of all of them. I'd like to think it was just me being normal, which is, of course, to say totally badass. But I played the saxophone today for the first time after the surgery. I mean really played it. It took a little bit to get used to the feeling of my sutures vibrating and to fix my embouchure, but when I did it was, simply, the best. I was hitting clear notes, pulling off some nice vibrato, and had a surprisingly good range. Everything just fits right. It feels proper now. The most surprising thing was how easy it was. Even though my lips and too much of my mouth are numb, it was easier to play saxophone today than it was pre-surgery. It's like, what? But I'm excited.

The man's name was Scott Alan McDowell. He offered a choice between a handful of change or two cigarettes. I gave him two more cigarettes instead. He told me not to forget him, so I won't. I mean, how easily can you forget a reasonably crazy dude you talk to on the street for, like, an hour? He said a lot of bizarre things, and maybe all he wanted was to buy another drink, but there was something else that drove him to where he was. "My brother graduated when he was 19," he said. "And I wasn't there to see it." He seemed genuinely upset by the statement. "Where were you?" I asked. He looked at me sideways. "I wasn't there." The lesson I ended up taking away from the experience is that we just don't appreciate what we have. Even when it's gone. Scott Alan McDowell from Maryland seemed to have made a few mistakes that lost him things that were dear to him and never fixed them. Maybe that's a dramatic interp...

I watched the class trickle in around me. Everybody was represented. The sorority girl with her Nike shorts and fleece North Face jacket. The frat boy with his boots, flamboyantly colored Polo button up, and camouflage cap. The nerdy Asian with his cutoff gloves, spiked black hair, and black military cap pulled over his eyes. The band nerds who still wear their high school band shirts. The hipster art girl with her over-sized flannel shirt and bandana-bound hair. The music major snob who's only taking the class to look smart. The asshole who sits in the back and judges everyone as they walk in. It was a diverse group of eccentric anybodies all crammed into a small concert hall and lead by a too cool professor with bed head and cargo pants. It was the kind of group you could just disappear in. And I felt right at home, even though nobody else seemed interested in the class. But it's so stupid that such strong feelings can precipitate from just one song. Sixty seconds...

Well, I guess this is it. It's the last night before classes officially start, even though I only officially have one class. And it's not even a real class. But, you know, whatever. It's the idea of it. No more messing around. Break's over. Time to bunker back down and really push it. My goal for the semester: master time management! Honestly, I do not foresee success in that department. But hey, who knows, right? Or, I mean, who cares? Not this guy. Not terribly, at least. Things will work out. They usually do. In fact, I have such a good feeling about this semester that I'm going to take that doctor up on his suggestion. So let's see what happens tomorrow.

"As far as I can tell," the doctor said. "There is nothing wrong physiologically. So our next step is go ahead and talk to those people--the psychologists and doing the sleep study. But in the mean time, I'm going to give you some samples for you to try and experiment with. And keep in mind that I'm doing this reluctantly, but these helped me when I needed it." And he sent me on my way. "I am not a big fan of medication," he told me as he leaned back in his chair. "And I don't know if you have a predisposition to develop addictions to medications--that certainly seems to run in the family. But I think there are other options to pursue in this thing. Other ways of figuring it out." It makes me wonder, as I sit here with these samples lined up on my desk, what my end goal really was with all of this. Do I really want to figure things out and fix them for real or do I just want the crutch? Do I just want to point at myself and ...

It was a little weird at first, to meet people who were already so comfortable with a stranger wandering in. But it was very relaxing. I felt alright. There was no, you're an outsider. It was more like, let's just make some music. And I like that. So we jammed. And it was fantastic. I just hope it sticks. I hope we keep doing it. Or, rather, I hope I get to keep doing it. Cool people, good tunes, good times. Those kinds of things tend not to last. Good ones, I mean. But, I mean, you know. You take what you can get. Back to writing.

Don't get me wrong. I want to play some music. I desperately want to play some music. I desperately want to play some fucking music. I want to sink into a couch with my feet kicked up, a cigarette hanging from my lips, and a guitar across my lap. I want to shake feverishly as I scream into the mic to hear myself over the other instruments. I want to jam into the wee hours of the morning until my fingers bleed, my voice disappears, and I can't hear anymore. But things just don't work out, and it frustrates me to no end. It's right there. It's so close. But I just can't get out there with these guys and it makes me feel bad. Disappointing for them I'm sure. The dude's my friend and it's like, yeah! It's so exciting and then the next day, there's no car, the timing doesn't work out. It's just bad. It's just... I just live here with these people. In borrowed space under a roof that isn't mine. So I'm stuck goin...

Well, that's it. It's all gone. Every sentence, every word. I'm back at the very beginning. Where I was two years ago. Almost fifty pages--wiped clean. So now I get to start over. Rebuild from scratch. Frustrating, disheartening, but also strangely encouraging. It's going to be better this time. And who knows? Maybe I'll have to do it again. But I didn't have the characters right. They were missing something, which was why I kept running into all of those blocks. The awkward conversations, the asinine side adventures. And I finally realized it. So now I get to fix them all up. I've remade the characters in my head, which helps. Now I just need to play through and figure out how the story is going to go, again. Awesome.

"You need to be stronger." She said as we pulled away from the traffic light. "You whine too much when you get sick. You have some problems sleeping and suddenly you want to go see a doctor about it? I haven't gotten a good night of sleep this week. Do you think your dad sleeps well every night? Come on here, Gabriel. You won't sleep well every night." I sighed and looked out the window. "I know, I know," she said. "You don't want to hear it. You never want to hear it. If seeing a doctor is what you really need, then we'll do it." I shouldn't have brought it up at all, I guess. I'm just such a, you know, bad son--and weak person--for asking for help when things get out of hand. And how dare I bring up a longstanding problem again . I mean, who am I to try to get my problems fixed? "You know about Alfred Hitchcock?" He asked. I glanced up at him. "Yes, I know about Alfred Hitchcock." ...

I have always wondered what drives people to abbreviate everything. I experimented briefly with unnecessary abbreviations back in sixth or seventh grade and quit because it was too much of a perversion of written language. What makes it so attractive? I mean with extraordinarily great effort I guess that I could understand someone doing it in a text message, but not online. It's a damn computer. There's a big fucking keyboard attached to it. It doesn't take that much more time to type things out. To spell things properly. I feel guilty and dirty and wrong doing it any other way. Wut do u gain from typing--I can't even fucking do it. I have no idea how to write in such a simplistic way. I cannot consciously misspell or otherwise butcher words. I just have too much cranial horsepower. The worst part is that so few people see anything wrong with this. "Oh it's okay," they say. "We can write properly when we need to. It's not all that h...

Time is a delicate thing. It takes some serious mental horsepower to make any kind of coherent sense out of it. It's really not straightforward at all. I can remember days that felt longer than a week. Hours that seemed longer than a decade. A year, truthfully, doesn't seem all that long. A year goes by just like that. Blink and it goes by. A year. Hell, I've seen twenty of them. But it is a long time. A lot changes during that time. Things change. Situations change. People change. I'd like to think that people don't change, but they do. And it's nice to see how much we change over time. How much we grow up. Mature. It's all for the better. I'm glad I've changed. So I guess we'll see what things are like in another year. But in the mean time: “I killed a man, Charles. I killed a man when I was looking for you.” Isaac cut him off. “I got this—,” he pointed to his bruised eye, “—and shot him in the head...