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Last night I told someone I was falling in love with her. She took it very well, considering past responses. It was my roommate’s 21st and things were out of hand everywhere but the back porch, where things were fantastic. We were spared only by a hair’s breadth and boxer shorts from the wrath of one Dr. Elephantus. All of me is tired, my back and neck are sore. I can’t work and sleep is getting to be overrated. Am I depressed? I’m not unhappy, I’m just slowing to a crawl. That’s probably why they don’t call it Clinical Unhappiness.
So today I was watching the Muppet Christmas Carol with Beth and I noticed that even through the powderpuff, history-via-Disney (Note to all: Disney is EVIL), the radical political agenda of Charles Dickens shines right through. In fact it's pretty hard to miss. It made me really happy. Right now I'm in an unbearably warm computer lab- I have to be in order to design my stupid personal web page for my English class. Never has time been more hopelessly devoured for the sake of a so-called general education. What's worse, they told me to use Front Page. It sucks.
Things I hate: When swell people have awful friends and vice versa. Calling our people in the desert chasing terrorists and supporting one extremist faction over another "war." The pitifully short half-life of patriotism in America and sports enthusiasm in State College. The live wires on my range in my kitchen. Heartburn. When people accuse me of being selfish, thoughtless, or unemotional. Literalism with respect to religious texts. The claim that our educational system works to include, not categorize and exclude. People's automatic dislike for my made up words. Whichever bastard scavenger tried to steal trapani's penguin shaker. WWJD bracelets.
Things I like: Making up words to fit a situation. Sex. The roommate of that bastard who stole trapani's penguin shaker's- he returned it! Waking up next to Beth. The Theory of Evolution. Heme oxygenase (Both isoforms). Leftists. My jobs. When good friends lose their virginity some cool way. Good teachers. Smart people. My feisty summer roommate's antics. That Dennis Powell's style is all over anything he does, from his writing, to his labwork, to his bass playing. Big drinkin' Thursday. Spontaneous music. The people who, no matter what you say about them, have got my back. Yelling "Get Fucked."
It sucks when you're right about yourself because you can't say, "I told you so." In so many words, "I crashed this afternoon." I knew it was coming- I'm despondent, unemotional and weighed down with a lot of work I just don't want to do. That's not new, though. What sucks is that I fell to pieces right in front of Beth, for reasons I can't even explain to myself let alone to her. Nothing works right now and that has to change before finals. I just want five days, to finish up everything. Then it's home to Dysfunction Junction!
Tonight’s the night that all good little boys and girls go to bed early, for fear of angering their parents before such a special day. For tomorrow is Scotchmas, the big drinkingest day of the year! If you’re a good little boy or girl, Cutty Claus will bring you a fifth of Johnnie Walker. If you’ve been a naughty co-ed , you will find Banker’s Club in your cabinet.
Once when I was a lad, I crept down to my father’s liquor cabinet late one Scotchmas Eve. Sure enough there was old Cutty Claus himself, stocking my cabinets with cheer...
I clumsily rubbed my eyes in disbelief and tiredness. The jolly old hobo, decked head to toe in army surplus, stocked my father's liquor cabinet with choice whiskeys and fine London gins. After a moment, old Cutty Claus looked up from his work and smiled. He gave his soup-stained beard a tug and put a grubby finger to his mouth to quiet me. Then with a wink, he trotted past me out my front door. As he stumbled into his El Camino and drove away, I could hear his cries, "Merry Scotchmas to all, and to all a good night!"
If you ignore how I felt from midnight onward, the Scotchmas party was excellent. I had fun, but I just wanted to go upstairs with Beth. Next time, I’m putting “Have other plans for later!” in my invitations.
This morning she left rather early, leaving me to shower and lounge around by myself. Not so bad, but again, things I’d rather be doing and things I should be doing- ligating those fussy fragments or cleaning my house. Tonight, I want a nice dinner/movie date, but I shouldn’t go out until all my work in lab is done. That’s no good.
Yesterday in lab, I spent a lot of time on line instead of studying. I also dropped something loaded with a hazardous chemical and then got some on my pants while I was cleaning up. Fuck.
I talked to my mom for a little while, and that just depressed me. As a family, we suck. It’s not our fault, I don’t think, but we just haven’t been doing family stuff for a long time. It’s going to be weird to do it again.
This afternoon, I think I shall drink scotch as I do dishes. Scotch always keeps me sharp.
Finals week. How I know: Beth was up all night and I slept in. Two tests. One will be easy; Immunology will take what little disipline I have left to prepare- we’ll see. I just want to go home and sleep it off, wake up with my degree. I think my subconscious could pass statistics.
THE BOY WHO SLEPT THROUGH HIS LAST SEMESTER
When mild-mannered Matt Sandel was struck by a lightning bolt he became, Naptar, The Boy Who slept While He Studied! Untouched by tests, he continued to get the grades without leaving La-La land.
One teacher remarked.
Immunology: the study of the structure and function of the immune system from the molecular level all the way up to the organismal level. It is an interesting topic, which is very appealing to my biology student side. Yet when I sit down to study it, checking my email once every ten minutes seems more important.
Evolution is a science that I wanted to study for my whole life at one point in time. It sounds like it would be interesting. But when I tried molecular evolution, it was boring. The class I take on it is boring, too.
Imagine a world like ours in every other way, except one: Tim Merz never saw the light of day. Mind you, it’s not that he never existed; it’s just that in his first weeks of life in the womb, he got sloppy.
Besides being bad for street cred later in life, laziness can be disastrous for a zygote. Tim forgot to latch on to mommy’s uterus. Unnoticed, he washed away unnoticed in a menstrual malestrom.
I did try to warn him, though.
: Yipes Timmy, better hold on!
AutoResponse from ZygoteMerz37
: I am away from the uterine walls right now.
Happy birthday to my mom and Ted Nugent. 12/13/48.
Ken Mickles would be the first to admit that he wasn’t the luckiest man on the face of the earth, but that would be a lie. Since his start on www.100words.net, his rise to success has been meteoric. November’s gripping drama, “I’m going to kill Dan Piasecki”, had already given way to a book, Hollywood, and porno movie deal.
Ken had already passed through the three phases of fame: thirtysomething and still in leather, middle-aged and frank about his alcoholism and waning libido, to unrepentant millionaire in a warm up suit.
Even in Bizarro world, some things remain the same. For example, I still consumed 40 oz. of beer within 20 minutes of getting home from my last final, and I still went to see Ocean’s 11 so drunk I was cackling. Steve was still there to feed me rum throughout. We still played chess until 11, at which point we went to a bar. To my surprise, I was still served, while Steve was made to leave. I still went home to pass out on my chair, where my roommates buried me in crumpled newspapers. It goes to show you.
Back for one day to the real world- this semester was great personwise, but mediocre schoolwise. I mean if you look at my transcript, it just looks like classes have gotten harder for me. They haven’t. The transcript also doesn’t show that I can barely work anymore, and this is what I want to spend my life doing. I don’t like the looks of that.
Home again with the family. I don’t even want to think about how this is gonna go. I’ve penciled in a break where I can be at state college, hopefully. I think my mom understands.
You know, everything in your life takes on a much more subdued flavor when you have a stabbing pain in your ear. My predisposal to opportunistic infections due to a blockage of the Eustachian tube has granted me the occasional moment of Zen torture.
Last night, this earache granted me an opportunity to start reading the book by the guy who shot Oprah down.
is fucking good.
I think he also beat me to my idea of the retelling of the American myth on a grander scale. Meanwhile my brother racks up the points on
Grand Theft Auto…
“As the youngest CEO of any major corporation, I turned Borders Books and Music into a profitable work of ART. It is less a peddler of knowledge and more a
about humanity, morality, and the cultural currency of pseudo-Mexican fast food.
“You may ask
I did it. But that would be the wrong question.
Would be more like it. Was it my vision? Was it just an absurdist masterpiece? Well, the real answer is that I’m missing something from my life. Something BIG. Passion for brutally honest film criticism.”
~Bizarro Dave Lyman, CEO, TimeBots Inc.
Yesterday was a day of 14 year old decadence: violent video games and books. A trip to the doctor landed me some ass kicking decongestants and some new antibiotic. It’s working like a charm so far.
Currently, I am annoyed by two things: when realtors call I may have as little as 20 minutes to jet out of my house. Secondly, I still don’t want to do anything I have to, like laundry and assigning homework for the class I’m grading next semester. This is important, and I’m inadvertently blowing it off. My only hope may be magic helper gnomes.
My sister was out for the evening, my brother was upstairs, presumably screwing around on the Internet or doing homework. I was finishing my book.
My mother was decorating the tree. Alone. It’s gestures like these that I will never understand. I’m lost. She said she wanted to do things as a family yet… she is decorating the tree alone. Everybody’s got a different idea about family, and I bet mine’s a little stilted, having never really seen a functional one except on TV. But I still get the feeling that I live in a movie with a crappy ending.
Juvenile, surreal, unrealistic, unfounded, uncoupled, tutorial, circus and beer, friends and foes, frogs and reagents, more conservative than it pretends to be (full of hope for a future I dread). 3+ hours from home is not far enough, I need to be in another state at least (on an island?)
Tired trodden beaten down ground. Every lessen has been memorized or overturned, every story has an ending or is thrown away. Nothing here matters not because it isn’t real but because it is done forgettable or escapable. Get me away from here, there’s nothing left.
PERFECT FOR THE MAN WHO WANTS NOTHING
Take all of it, all of our dignities, all of our senses of selves and ablate them. Put us in a world of dopamine gumdrops and serotonin sodas. Tickle our hypothalmic tangles til we giggle, take our worth and make them measure up to our expectations.
You shouldn’t give us new brains. You should get us with our guards down and fix us. Make it so I can work again, so I don’t cut corners or sleep through classes. Keep me awake. Keep me alive. Keep me unafraid.
Or buy me a dog.
What do you care if my shirt length seems unbelievable? You don’t even know that I have found genes.
What do you care the she failed her first math class? I don’t think you know her friends names.
Why don’t you take him out like you promised? He’s all you have left.
Why don’t you give me some respect? I worked hard for this.
Don’t you know what it’s like? They’ll take you for all you’re worth.
Will you give me a break? I’m alone out here.
I hardly think about you anymore. You’re half of me, and you’re forgotten.
Christmas is the only time of year that we’re told how to feel. It’s the only time of year that we’re instructed to “share”, “feel” or “be involved in” in any personal way.
It’s the one time of year where sharing = spending.
For some people, a lot of otherwise good people, exchange of capital is neither gratifying nor empowering.
Is it any wonder this is the peak season for depression? This is the only time of year where you aren’t just troubled, you’re a deviant and an outlier. You’ve failed to keep up a tradition. You hate Christmas! Scrooge!
When I was 10, I had to close my eyes and pretend to sleep the night before Christmas. When I was 12, I would usually wake up early, and toss and turn. When I was 14, I was still willing to get up at 8 am with my little brother. By 16, it was just disappointing; nothing I wanted lived up to expectations.
Now everything I ask for is disappointing. Sweaters, socks, books… the sum of these is not a Super Nintendo game on the excitement scale. I should have asked for the ability to play piano like Thelonius Monk.
My Family: Christmas this year will be difficult.
Me: Yeah, do you hear that id? Even is Christmas is not up to our expectations, that’s true for everybody else in the family too. We just have to play it cool.
Id: Oh yeah, well maybe you’d enjoy Christmas tethered to a boulder at the bottom of the emotional ocean! See you in hell, happiness.
Happiness: Oh fuck. It won’t be a very good Christmas without me!
TheGhostOfZygoteMerz: It sure won’t, guys!
Ego: That’s just ridiculous. I won’t have it! It’s trite on a dozen levels.
All: Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown!
I know my dog is weird. But apparently, she can also turn invisible or teleport or something. Like recently, my dog will just appear out of nowhere, with her food bowl. Now this is not by any means extraordinary, I mean dogs can carry food bowls in there mouth. What gets me, is that she can carry it FULL up a flight of stairs and into a room. You don’t even notice she or the food bowl is there til she starts munching. Then when you look at her, she scowls like you just ruined the mood and walks away.
Today I didn’t want to do anything but meet a violent death.
Maybe the smell in the car was a fuel leak, maybe it’ll catch a spark (KAPOW). Maybe not. I don’t think I want to do anything for New Year’s or afterwards. Currently I find myself content not thinking about anything.
It just occurred to me. I will allow my life to be filmed, if the game show people will rig it for me. I’ll be the next Survivor (bigger?). I have to tone down the swearing and complaints with the status quo, I think. But, we’ll see profits.
For the first time in 4 years, I played video games today until my eyes dried out. Now I remember why I didn’t read books as much in high school. I say with full authority that you haven’t lived until you haul through town in a sports car with the FBI chasing you.
Tomorrow is Christmas II and I’m happy to get it over with. It will most likely be another day full of gift certificates and awkward pauses. It’s funny in the sad way to see it dawn on everybody: just because we are related doesn’t mean we're family.
I think most things we encounter could probably be divided into two things: cigarettes and vitamins. Little things that may make a little difference one way or another, granted, but one cigarette will not give you cancer, nor will one Flintstones save you from scurvy on your transatlantic voyage.
I think I have conceived of this definition to sum up my two weeks at home. I guess you could say I’m on my third carton. There’s just a lot of stuff around here that given the choice, I’d rather not deal with. Problems like these make me want to smoke.
So I think New Years’ has caught me unprepared. My resolution to be back in State College before the new year will most likely go, ummm, unresolved. The ride I was thinking of left to early today, and my mom’s car is busted. As of 2 p.m. tomorrow I will officially make other plans.
Other than feeling kind of stupid, I really don’t know how to react to this. I guess it’s bad news, but I’m not really sure. I don’t know if I want any big plans tomorrow. I’m sort of tired of big plans.
Never mind: ride found.
Definition: Snark 1.
. Any act performed with apparent intentions that differ from actual intentions. Ex. Sarcasm.
By Harrisburg, we both knew and admitted the voyage was a huge snark, and I suspect that’s why we took the prescribed antidote to snarking: more candy than you should ever have in a day, consumed in less than 30 minutes. The idea of even drinking was not appealing by the time we wheeled into state college.
For the first time in years, I’m certain I’m at the wrong place for a holiday. I really just want to be with Beth.
The Tip Jar