This is a chronicle of interesting times

Probably not interesting to anyone or anything else. Sitting on an html island, typically unlinked to the outside world. Dave's playing the guitar, I'm typing & playing it cool, pretending not to be at all moved, which is impossible since his playing and singing is my supreme weakness, infallible no matter what my willpower. Ach. With nightfall comes this sadness, I don't know, like heavy curtains over any light my heart held during the day. I feel like crying, like lashing out, like sleeping, like dancing. I'm not all sad, that's just the most suprising emotion. Maybe I'm secretly trying to be manic-depressive. . . how glamorous. I think I'm just at that stage between one plateau and the next, when everything is changing. I'm hoping for this mood to stop BEFORE the holidays. For alot of reasons, but the main idea being that holidays are usually depressing enough without friends. So who knows what they'd be like, like this. I've been happy all day, though, almost manic in a sense. Yeah, whatever. What's missing here? What is the key to getting out of this box? I don't know. I just don't know.

Oh, I forgot to mention. Had another dream last night. In this one, I was picking up all my friends from junior high in a charter bus, and we went to buy cloths for some special dance happening soon. I don't know what to think of this either. I miss them, sometimes, but mostly just wonder what they're doing now; I wonder how they're doing now. Maybe that's all these dreams really are, but strangeness indeed.

Piss. Piss. Piss

Being depressed, as a rule, is no fun. So let's just say I'm not having any fun. Ok, maybe a little fun. Sam is extolling the literary virtues of Godzilla Movie plots. He should be writing a paper. I'm glad to help folks procrastinate. I don't know quite what to think of today, or this week, or this season for that matter. What a crappy time it's been, peppered with some good stuff, yes, but on the whole it averages out to crappy. Dave thinks I'm lonely--and maybe I am. I really don't know. I just don't have alot other than him to live for, day to day. No good active hobbies. . .exactly what can one do in this place? I feel with out direction and motivation, and at the same time a gnawing desire to be doing something or nap. Not bad, per se, more like nothing good happening, nothing to really look forward to. . .sigh. Not much I could share here. It's just me feeling unlovely. Which will suck when I'm older since any lovliness I might think I have will be fading. Right now I like to think I'm just too depressed to feel good. Yes, I think that's it.

I spent most of this morning dreaming of things stranger than anything I would have randomly guessed I'd dream about, which frankly isn't saying much of anything at all.

Did you ever have those silly compatibility tests in highschool? You know, the fundraisers somebody ran in which you answered some questions on a fill-in-the-bubble sheet regarding if you were a morning person, or a neat-freak, or enjoyed sports, liked to be "trendy." The tests everyone took, even the folks who weren't single--just for "fun" they'd say. . . hell I'd say it too! Ach, they were silly things, that calculated your compatibility with other people in your highschool based on how many answers you had in common. I never was matched with someone over 70%. ONCE I even got a girl on my list--the lists were typically encouraging strictly hetero pairings. . ..but I guess I got lucky--although even with her I wasn't that compatible. I DID date someone who was number one on my list my senior year, but I already had him in mind for many years before that silly pink sheet with my "test results" arrived. It was providence.

What exactly is the point of this rambling? The test results were in my dream for all of 2 seconds, but I remember talking about them to this guy who was assigned to my lunch table in, oh, 4th grade or so. We were hanging out in my basement just chatting, waiting for the golden hour to ring when it would be time to start some event of mass proportions involving a cartoon family, a film star, and a handful of highschool buddies including a girl I used to hate who's ear I'd been nibbling on up until that point. Weird. Weird mainly because upon waking up I was worried about the girl, and somewhat jadedly depressed all over again. Some of my dream also involved an generic sort of monster collecting small children, but that's really rather typical of my dreams.

This entry? Well, sorry folks it isn't at all making any sort of sense. . .although you're welcome to your creative interpretations. I'm losing something, day by day, which is being replaced by a sort of pathetic longing for what is lost, even though I'm not sure what that is. Pass over the prozac.

Yech! I am more than simply pathetic. I am super-pathetic. I always like to think I could maintain things like potted plants and friendships and weblogs. . . but perhaps I'm expecting far far far (yeearrrhh!!) to much here. Oh well.

What's new eh? Well, the world went hell, New York City specifically, and now everyone thinks they are important enough to have anthrax sent to their door. And the world is rolling happily along to 1984, or at least some sort of neoMcCarthyism (wow! I feel smart saying such big words).

I want to talk about how good we, in America, are at commercializing absolutely positively anything. I want to talk about how car dealerships and fast food chains and convenient stores and Hollywood all the sudden became proudly patriotic. Seriously folks, times are hard and we're willing to make the sacrifice of lowering our prices so you can still buy those gas guzzling cardboard suburbans.

It brings a tear to my eye, it does.

Everyone is patriotic. It's cool to be American. This is not to say that I don't love living in the country I do, I'm just very sickened by how silly it's all gotten. Special TV offers for chambers you can stick your mail in so that you might open it up with a rubber glove? It's sad that people might buy this without realizing that the pores of an envelope are many many times larger that an anthrax spore . . . just carrying the envelope to your fabulous plastic box of a mail safety chamber could get you infected.

Really, Anthrax is kiling a very very small fraction of anyone here. How many people will die today of homicide, disease, neglect? Yes, you know what I'm getting at. This is nothing. Anthrax isn't even contagious. We have descended into paranoia. . . which the media absolutely loves; the bigger deal they make out of it, the more we feel we have to watch. They've got a bloodlust in their eyes, folks. They don't love to see people die; that's NOT what I'm saying. It's more like they're in a feeding frenzy--it's all just so tasty so who cares what's happening or how our reporting affects the situation let's just broadcast!!! everything is a big deal to them--it has to be, or else who would listen?

In more hometown-y news. . . I'm having a college life crisis trying to decide what I actually want to do with the rest of my life. What ever happened to running away to join the circus? oh well. Finals are near at hand, and so is Thanksgiving. Thanks.