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September 23, 2003
I read a slew of journals throughout the day, just checking in and reading what other people think about or what crappy thing they had to encounter or whatever.
One thing I noticed about their entries vs. my entries is that most of them have a point.
I do not.
So I got to thinking, what could I write in here, each day, that would give me a point? I came up with nothing. Sometimes I like not having a point.
I don't think in big, long, drawn-out paragraphs where one sentence flows effortlessly into another ending with a really nice moral or feeling of the day. Nope. My thinking goes more like
"What do I have to do today? I'm hungry. What day is it? Oh man I love this song. (singing)And fighting time so hard I pray that this moment lasts forever. And will the world stay standing still at least for me. The whole world should listen to VNV Nation. Where's my pen? Shit I have a lot of writing to do. What's on cnn.com. Oh I haven't been to Court Tv.com in a long time. What's on TV tonight? Do I watch the O.C. or the fucking season finale of Paradise Hotel. Shit. What time is it on anyway? It's my grandma's birthday. I have to go there tomorrow. I wish I could go to City Club right now. Why don't they make clubs during the day so that I can go on my lunch break instead of when I'm too tired on Friday night. I'm old. Man, that salsa bagel was awesome. God damn it I hate linen shirts. Fucking wrinkly shit. man I love this song. What time is it. Who the hell is that guy in the hallway. I should go loot that other office for stuff for my desk. (singing) Each day shall end as it begins and though you're far away from me I know in darkness I will find you giving up inside like me. Fuck.
So, I'm sorry I don't have a moral. I'm sorry I don't write all floofly with flowing words making you laugh and cry while you rapidly click that button to nominate me for a webby. I just write how I think and that's all jumbled up and strange. I'm just keepin it real, yo.
posted at 9:23 AM
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September 18, 2003
I wonder if Lance Armstrong's favorite song is Bicycle by Queen. I bet you he listens to it on repeat when he's training.
"All I want to do is Bicycle! Bicycle! I want to ride my Bi-cyc-le! I want to ride my Bike!"
I swear to god I contemplated this fact for about 40 minutes this morning while trying to write a cheesy brochure for a builder who is proud of his "quality work". Bor-Ing.
Do you think it is, though?
If I were him, you can bet your bottom dollar it would be my fucking THEME SONG. I'd have them play it on the loudspeakers at the Tour De France, those fuckers.
I'd point my finger and say "play my song!!" and I'd make the entire country join in a sing-a-long in ode to bicycles.
Cos he's certainly not going to sing about cancer. That's just wrong.
posted at 3:04 PM
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September 16, 2003
It's been a long couple of weeks.
I'm back to work again. The unemployment pendulum swings the other way today.
I've been at a loss as for what to write. It's difficult because I haven't felt like much of anything. That's actually not true. I've felt like rehashing the same bullshit I bitch about (or have been bitching about) for the past two months.
I'm depressed. I'm moody. I'm broke. Whine. I just don't want to talk about that anymore but unfortunately that leaves me with nothing to talk about.
That's sort of a pain in the ass...when you realize that saying "if you don't have anything nice to say...." is ringing true. I guess I can't say anything at all.
My 10 year class reunion is coming up. How's that for fucked up. I'm alternating between "No fucking way I'm going to spend time with people I really could care less about" and "It would be neat to see what a couple of people are up to." I think it really boils down to I am unable to keep up small talk for more than 5 minutes. "Yeah, so..........................................yeah." is about as good as it gets for me. I'm not one of those salespeople who can go around chit-chatting and conversing with people like it's their birthday. I would rather get loaded and dance. Or, rather, I would hope that my reuinion is like Grosse Point Blank. Wouldn't that be the better of the two options?
Ultimately, I just don't want to see a bunch of people I'm still pissed at. (Even after all these years).
My high school "sweetheart" (aka "fucking dick") dumped me and our "friends" dumped me too. Some friends. Why would I care to see those guys again?
Why am I fretting over this so much?
I wish I could have lost about 50 pounds and really moved to California to be friends with Clive Barker like I predicted when I graduated. "In ten years, I will have moved to California, become a published screenwriter and have become best friends with Clive Barker."
So much for high school dreams.
Though, now, I would never want to move to California. I don't think I could handle it. It's too much for my fragile little mind.
At any rate, some good news: for my birthday I received a gift of a tattoo. That's right. I can walk right into my tattoo place, XS Tattoo and tell Mark "put that shit on my arm right now, bitch." and he will.
How much does this make me happy?
About ten billion pounds of happy.
Now, to narrow down the decisions. Praying mantis in stained glass or Clive Barker cats dancing on my arm?
Why can't I get both?
Truth be told if I could have my way, I'd have a half sleeve of stuff that means something to me. Cats, Clive Barker, Mantis....
And you can bet your ass there'd be a sloth on that arm.
posted at 11:36 AM
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September 14, 2003
posted at 9:39 PM
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September 04, 2003
The design is still being an asshole but I can't be bothered right now.
I'm in a furious mood. I'm tired of not getting paid by my employers. I'm tired of getting laid off every other week because they can't afford to pay their creative staff.
I'm just angry of getting taken advantage of.
In all aspects of my life.
Is it true that victims are the only ones who cry about being taken advantage of? Why is it such a bad thing to be a victim anyway?
I'm so incoherent I can't write and I'm not sure I even want to any more.
I don't want to write novels. Everyone wants to write the great american novel. I don't anymore. I don't want to do shit.
Did anyone else go see Iggy Pop?
How much do I love the Von Bondies? This much (--------------------)
Man, I'm furious. I'm not even fast and furious. Just furious.
My brother's birthday is in 3 days and I have a dollar to my name. Here B. here's my last dollar.
My birthday is in 10 days. I won't be getting shit.
FURIOUS.
posted at 1:05 PM
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