As We Proceed...

Ripley's Law worked today. Worked like a vengeance.

Frightened to death that I was going to pay 10 grand for a computer. Thankfully, a camera guy stole it to prove it a point about how more careful I should be. Could've just told me, but stealing proved his point.

There's still a small part of me that thinks my brain shorted out - that this is all a dream. Not the nightmare part - but these parts afterward. I was a fucking wreck.

Got a shitty mark back, and I failed another assignment. It's been a while.

But then, this was just after I found out that I was out of 8 grand of debt, so it didn't seem so bad. Plus, I don't really want to take that class. At all.

When I get home, I get an e-mail. It's about an article I'm writing. It could underpin my whole "he's a good guy" approach to it.

By the way, when you're feeling really depressed, Radiohead helps. It's not too happy, so you get mad at it for being happy, and not too sad, to make you angry at it for being sad. Just the right kind of sad. I’m opening up the comments section for any other bum-out music you’ve got.

But if there's one thing I hate worse than being stabbed by frozen feces turned into weapons, (which, looking back on it, wouldn't be so bad.) Anyway, I hate bitchers. So here's what I'm going to do:

E-mail the guy right now. Put in the revised comments into the article.
Think of ways to get back at Gary Gould, which sounds like a villain - not Doctor Doom level villainy, but bad co-worker villainy. A comic foil. I'm thinking something with bird-eating spiders. Plus, he’s a nerd. Went on and on about how realistic a “Star Trek” ride in Vegas is. Only nerds like Trek. Too pretentious to be entertaining.
Work on school, get my grades back up.
Get some good recipes for tommorow.
Get Wagner tickets for Gotterdammerung tommorow.

Fuck yeah. And if I ever whine, I'll fucking smack myself.

Fuck! I fucking whined!

I'm going to smack myself. Check the obituaries in tommorow's paper.