Quote of the night...

"'Masticate' makes me think of dinosaurs, and I don't know why." -Laura

On a side note... why does everyone hate me suddenly? Not everyone. But certain people I can't figure out, because it suddenly seems like they don't like me, and I have no idea why.

Twelve Page Paper is written. Outline started January 4, 2003, 8:28pm. First draft finished April 28, 2003, 12:57am. Four months. Not bad.

The irony of course is that I wanted to keep the characters down to a minimum. After Ordinary Life, it became apparent that scheduling scenes with tons of characters was very difficult. Ordinary Life had 11 speaking roles, this has 34. However, Scene 8.1 in Ordinary Life had six main characters in one scene, along with all the party scenes that had at least eight. I think the most I ever need per scene here is four, and that's like one time. That makes it easier.

Scheduling shouldn't be a problem, it might get complicated, however, if I can get Bruce Campbell for one scene.

No thinking anymore. No guesses. It's on.

I can't take this much longer. I'm 0-2. Today alone.

How is it that when shit goes so wrong, and you try to rationalize it one wreck at a time, with an open mind, that every rationalization you come up with is demolished by the next wreck. What did I do to deserve this? Seriously. I'm trying to keep an open mind. I'm trying to believe that everything happens for a reason, and I try to figure out that reason everytime that fate has kicked me in the stomach in the last couple years. And every theory I have is wiped out by the next swift kick.

I'm trying. I really am. I can't try much more.

I love my Select Comfort bed. This morning I discovered one of my favorite features. The deluxe firmness control system beeps when you first plug it in. Or when it thinks you've first plugged it in. I had to get up at ten this morning but the power went out at nine. And being that I was up late watching the Wild beat the Avs in OT of game 7, I could've slept until noon. However when the power came back on, the bed beeped, waking me up to realize that I had to reset my alarm clock, and helping me to avoid disaster. Thank you Select Comfort! You guys should all get a Select Comfort bed. Call me at the store, and if you buy one, and mention you read my blog, I'll throw in two free pillows.

It's Monday, August 6, 2001.

I think I finally snapped. Again. I think I finally realized that it's ok to get mad. That being upset doesn't mean you aren't thankful for the good things, so it's ok to be mad. And so I am mad. Very very mad. And it really feels good. To paraphrase Jack Nicholson in "Anger Management":

"There are two kinds of angry people. There are those who are externally angry, the man who screams at the cashier because they can't take his coupons. Then there are those who are internally angry, the cashier, who sits there and takes it day after day with a smile on her face until one day she brings an AK-47 to work."

Yesterday I did some stream of consciousness writing, because I haven't known how I felt in a long time. I thought maybe it would help. It did. I realized I am a really angry person. And I suppress all my negative feelings immediately, so the only time I don't smile is when I'm really sad and I can't figure out why. This is why. I take this all the time and I'm like a doormat for whoever wants to use me, and now I realize that I'm really not happy. I haven't been happy in four years. So I wrote this stuff and it was pages of suppressed rage just coming out of me and I don't even know where it all came from, and it kind of opened up a floodgate and I'm starting to feel a lot better, and I'm sure I'm going to be a bitch to be around for the next few days, but bear with me, because I'm cleaning out my closet.

Breathe, baby, breathe....

Well, let's see where we are now.

I talked to this girl named Stephanie yesterday. She works in the mall. I've seen her walk by for like the last month and she's really cute. So I finally talked to her, and I'm not exactly sure how it went. If I read really deep into it it may have not gone well. If I don't, it was ok.

It's the brightest bit of news I've had in a bit.

I don't know if she has a boyfriend or not. I'd assume she does. They all do.

I thought I'd feel good about this. I thought just finally working up the guts to go say hi would make me feel so much better. I feel worse.

Step one.

I don't understand this at all. I ask for help, and it's like the hand comes reaching out, and then as I grasp it, it suddenly pulls away. Twice now.

It's been four years. Four long years. I wonder how much longer I can keep this up.

It's here...

The beast has arrived...

GAMBIT

snowday

if i do, if i don't...

reappears/disappears

December 28th, 1997.

my brother's thirteenth birthday.

the day i told myself, "Nothing is impossible if you believe you can do it."

the day i learned sometimes it feels better to miss the basket than to not shoot at all.

((missing hurts your pride for a game.))

((not shooting makes you wonder for a lifetime.))

Going away for the weekend, back monday.

Happy birthday Krissy. This birthday message may be cheerier than last years. I hope you have a great day. Hope you rock the party that rocks the piniata. I wish I knew what that meant.

In other news, I can't sleep because there are at least a hundred thousand thoughts flying through my head, and I can't seem to focus on any one of them. I really hate this feeling, but I seem to ask for it a lot. I don't know what I want or where I'm headed in a certain part of my life, and while it isn't a huge deal, it's still a deal. Eh, whatever, I'll figure it out.

Anyways, happy birthday Krissy.

peace.

Cryptic. By design.

Nighthawks. By design.

It's me.

Start the car. The traffic is terrible when no one is moving.

The coffee is cold, untouched. Your hands won't get dirty if you never move them.

Serve the coffee. Spill the coffee. Wash your hands.

It's been snowing for years. Another cold front moving in.

Moving out.

Stay still. The traffic is terrible when no one is moving.

Parking cars parked. Traffic jam. Two way street. Travel stop. Stop.

Stop.

Apart from a nickel tip... the traffic. No noise. The water running over his hands dripping into the sink. Driving him crazy. Me. Driving me crazy.

Why am I here?

Why not.

Toss a smile in my direction. There's no noise. Outside there was no movement. Inside there was no movement. So quiet.

The world remains unaffected. Not for long. Not for long.

Dance on the counter. Spill the coffee. Wash your hands.

Time to start driving. The traffic is terrible when no one is moving.

Wow.