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Some Journal, I guess.
Really? For Real?
Yes, for real. I'm writing a GaiaJournal.

I hope nobody reads these things. I don't know why anyone would. But I AM about to attach my signature so that everyone can see my sweet wheels. That's right. I ride a purple possum. Can't wait to get a neon light for underneath and some sezzy hydraulics. I'm so cool.

Actually, I'm way too old for Gaia and I should stop coming here! But what a splendid timewaster!


Well, well, well
Look who's come crawling back: Me!!

A Poem to my Lost Lover.
Hey.
What is it, America?
What's happened to us?
We don't laugh like we used to.
Those were some good times we had...
You're always away, now.
Out on business
Some big to-do with Iraq.
Our old friends don't like us anymore.
You couldn't even be civil to France at dinner last week.
Is it that you're getting mean in your old age?
Is it a mid-life crisis?
Will you buy a shiny new red bomb?
Pick up an underage ally?
Quit your work at the UN?
You loved that place, America.
You built it with your own hands.
Doesn't it mean anything to you anymore?
America...
If you walk out that door today
I won't wait up.
And I might not open it again tomorrow.

You promised me.
You promised you wouldn't start seeing Church again.
But the things you've been saying lately...
You sound an awful lot like her.
How can you forbid your own daughter to marry?
Do you hate the neighbors because their God is dark?
Do you have to watch them all the time?
And watch your own children the same way?

The house needs repairs.
Grandma needs pills,
The kids go to school in a broken-down building
And you...
You cut the hours you work. Bought a boat.
Gave presents to all your best friends.
Well, we can't afford that!
You've got to stop!
We had so much money such a short time ago.
Where did it go?
It's not funny.

When I met you, years ago
You were cute. Like a lost puppy.
You didn't know where you were going,
But you knew what you wanted.
Freedom.
You fought because you were the underdog.
Now you fight because you love it.
You're a bully.
Your belly hangs over your belt
With that stupid brass buckle;
Don't you know how they snicker when you leave the room?
Nothing but a Good Old Boy, they say,
And past his prime.

A Day in the Life of Mostly Some Other College Students.
All right, kiddies, I've talked to some of you and asked what you'd like to see in a Journal. You responded that you would like to hear me talk about the sad and scraping melee that constitutes my existence, but that you’d like me to be merry and lighthearted about it. I am more than happy to oblige. So here goes.

I'm a college student, so obviously I basically spend my days making terrible decisions and then bitching about them the next day. Example. Every night, I decide that I don't need to get to sleep until about 2 AM, when I wake up at 8 the next morning to go to class. Needless to say, this is entirely stupid. My other favorite bad decision is to not study and spend all my time on Gaia or reading books. This results in fun-filled events like getting a 25% on my first Japanese grammar test. In case you don't appreciate the full import of an event like that, that is technically failing at failing. And of course, Japanese is my major, so if I fail...well. No need to discuss that.

Right now, I'm in a play about a repairman who falls in love with his sexy, perfect washing machine. Of course, I'm the washing machine. The play is going very well, and it gives me all kinds of lovely stories to tell, like the one I'm about to impart, which is about the repairman's new roommate. Seriously, this is at the very least a PG-13 story.

Okay, so the repairman, "Steve," lives in a double-room, but his roommate decided to move into a more social dorm. Steve got to live alone for two days, but by the third day, "Joe" arrived, dumping his stuff all over the floor in piles that, two weeks later, have yet to be even slightly moved or sorted. Joe isn't the worst roommate ever, even though he's pretty messy, but he's a little odd. He sleeps without sheets, just lying down on the plastic-covered mattress. Lately, it's been cold, so he throws a sheet on top of himself, but he's still sleeping on the plastic. Steve thought this was pretty odd, but not anything earth-shattering, so he kept on keepin' on. Then Steve met Joe's old roommate, "Eric."

Eric shook his head at Steve. "Oh, man, I feel sorry for you, dude," he informed Steve.

Steve got nervous. "What do you mean?" He had never heard the circumstances of his new roommate's relocation.

It turns out that Joe hadn't moved voluntarily. He had been ejected from Eric's room because of a variety of disturbing incidents. First of all, Joe liked to bring all kinds of girls home with him and...frolic with them in his roommate's bed. Obviously that is remarkably poor taste, but it goes on. One day, it seems that Joe was annoyed with Eric, or perhaps just in a strange mood, so he did something in the shower that I'm not going to mention in type, but I'm sure if you imagine the most disgusting thing you can do in a shower, you won't be far off.

Both Eric and Joe were removed from the room at one point while it was decontaminated. When the sanitation staff was finished, they mentioned to Eric, "Oh, and we got all the blood up, too." No one knows what dark secrets that little tidbit hints at. I'm not going to speculate.

So now Steve lives happily with Joe, hoping and praying that the sanctity of his bed will not be violated, that the shower will be sanitary, and that he won't get murdered in his sleep. My college experience is not nearly so exciting.

My Thoughts on Robots.


The Void
I have absolutely nothing relevant to say today, but fortunately, no one cares. Today I feel...disconnected. Sort of rock-like, in a way. I could sit on this chair at this computer forever, hurling words into the void.

Everything at the moment is frustrating to me: my progress in art, my performance in my classes...I can't even be bothered to pick up a good book. My mom wasn't even home when I called her today. If I don't make some friends soon, I can tell things will start sliding in a very bad direction. I pride myself on being so stable, on being the rock that never bothers anyone with teenage angst, but there has been a great weight battering at my door for a long time, and I'm afraid there are cracks forming.

Disgusting. In four meaningless posts this has become the same kind of whiny bore-fest as every other teenage weblog. sad I need to find something to succeed at today.

Are you people still here?
Alright, obviously for some reason you've come here, trying to catch my brains with the towel off, as it were. Don't you feel like an intellectual peeping Tom? Well, you should.

Generally, I think online journals are pretentious and ridiculous. So why am I keeping one? Unfortunately, my dear minions, even I am not immune to that human drive towards proving my own existence. Therefore I'm validated when others read something I've written, because if I've wasted even a minute of your time, I have effected you without even knowing you.

It's that age-old Chatterbox maxim: I annoy, therefore I am.

In any case, I have yet to be properly inspired to write a real, interesting, entertaining journal entry, so expect me to throw a whole lot more quiz-crap at you, so that you can marvel at my majesty and bask in my glory.

Another Quiz?
Yes, it is. This time I'm Jack Sparrow. If only I could merge the two into one, great, beautiful sword-wielding maniac, then my life would be complete! Bwahahahahar!

User Image - Blocked by "Display Image" Settings. Click to show.

Looks Like I'm O-Ren.
Well, I've taken a quiz, and it would appear that I am the lovely and dangerous O-Ren Ishii. This is possibly the best thing that's ever happened to me. I wish, though, that I were as hot as Lucy.

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Stabberwocky
Community Member
Stabberwocky
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