homehomehome

It is a very strange place, an awkward change of pace.
Still bills to pay, no room to play.
From king to crony.



That's right. I go from king of my castle to doing chores like I was 8 years old okay, though perhaps with more complicated tasks. And I don't mind doing these things at all, it's just that I am asked to do them as if I was 8 years old still. Today I had to "clean the baseboards like Santa was watching." A joke, poking light at work, as it were. Even so.


Anyway. I haven't told the landlords I'm moving out of Brookwood and into Sustella. I guess I should do that. I need to go to Valdosta to move all my stuff before the 31st. That will be quite a task. That involves cleaning the living snot out of the old B-Wood 2-5. And I will miss that place but not really.

It will be fun to live with Ryan and Riley though I am sad to see Mr. Herrera leave.

On some more happy news, tomorrow I go to Newnan to see my splendid Jane dear. That will make me happy.


Here's a joke:


A man was walking to his seat on an airplane and he passed by a woman who had carrots in her ears. Trying to be polite, the man stopped and said, "Ma'am, you have carrots in your ears." She took no notice and continued reading her magazine. He tried again, a little louder. "Ma'am. Excuse me, but you have carrots in your ears." Still, no response. Determined to get this situation resolved the man tried once more and much louder. "MA'AM YOU HAVE CARROTS IN YOUR EARS." This time the lady looked up at him and said, "Oh, I'm sorry. Were you saying something?I couldn't hear you. I have carrots in my ears."

Monsturd

I want to watch this movie. I plan on doing it soon. This dude gets killed by cops or something then falls in a company's toxic waste dump then kills people through sewer lines or something.

But it was nice to see the rain falling steadily on my drive back home from school. The storm crescendoed and then fell to nothing by the time I got onto 675. Because of my three simple windshield wiper speeds, driving home in the rain is something of less than desirable conditions, solely for the sake of my safety. But this was a good rain. A heavy mist of high visibility.

I've been looking forward to being home to repeat my self constructive man therapy by donning my thickest wool, gettin jacked up on coffee, and chopping wood to build that perfect Christmas home fire that would hopefully save our living room from falling into the woods where coyotes would raise their children and feed them dinners of our favorite house cats every night.

The wood is wet, and will not dry, for another two or three hundred years.

The hunt will begin soon. If I may say some lines of dialogue in the manner to which Steven Seagal is accustomed:

Me: Is this the tarp that flew away and got my wood wet??
Wood pile: The very same, dawg.
Me: Is this the axe I would have violently split you open with?
Wood pile: Hey, man. This ain't personal...that tarp...he was crazy
Me: Oh. I see. So, you, a wood pile, decided you knew what was best for my family. Is that right?
Wood pile: Naw man. Come on. We were doing. What was best. For us.
Me: So you like living with the wood beetles and centipedes? Because my family doesn't. And nobody knows what's best for my family. But me. Now you listen to me. I'm going to bake you in the desert sun. So that when you're dry. I can chop you in half, in quarters, in eighths, and drop you to the ocean you low down, selfish, scum sucking rodents learn that life isn't always about getting wood.



I think I need to sleep.

Meh

I like when I have put work into something, but I don't like working on something.

Finals week.

I realized

That I learn most when I don't think I'm going to learn.

We pick things up without even knowing.

"I can learn just as much sitting on my couch thinking to myself as I can in a boring class that isn't worth anything." Or "I can just read the book later." Those things have their limits, methinks.

Maybe I'm just spurting out nonsense because Thompson wants a paper concerning a common theme between The Tenant of Wildfell Hall and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and I don't want to do the obvious one concerning the duality of man. Duh. Boring. But I have too much to do to find/think out anything else.

EXPLOOOOOSSSIOONONONONNNN!!!!1

There are these two girls that sit behind me in my New Testament class and they "don't come to class if it's raining. UGH!" (direct quote). Anywho, they love to talk. They really love to talk. They like to talk to much they don't stop talking all the way through class. Not even whispers. Just casual conversation. I have learned a few things about these two girls over the course of a few weeks just from keeping an annoyed but ever attentive ear. One likes to pass the roll sheet to her left to the other instead of passing it forward to me like she should. Our row often has to go up to the teacher after class and sign the roll sheet because of this.

On the cover of their folders they have 9th grade-ish type doodles where they have elaborately decorated their names (Megan and Chelsea) with only bright gel pens. No shortage of hearts and what not. Underneath their names are written things like "Baby Daddy" and "Baby Mama." Strange.

Chelsea's middle name is Gay. Or Gaye.

Megan came in today and before she even sat down, "OMG. Can we just talk about how mad my knee hurts? I got out of bed and it hurt. Like, it hurts." Poor Megan.

Chelsea wonders why her parents have a problem with her dating a 32 year old man who has three kids with another woman. "It isn't their life!" Ya know what I found out the very next class? Chelsea is pregnant with yet another one of those guys kids.

Megan had to go to the hospital the other day because her "vagina was hurting so bad! This is the worst it's ever been!"

Chelsea is stressed because she is tired, has a paper due, a test, and PROBATION, all in the same day.

I don't know what she did to get probation. I'm kind of thinking I heard incorrectly and her "baby daddy" might have probation.


Mind you, these are all things they're talking about that everybody around them can hear.


I shouldn't gossip and talk behind people's backs and all, but when I go to New Testament class, I want to hear the teacher.

During that class, I often write things because I can't hear and I am currently working on a poem that I am finding quite hilarious. It will come soooooon.

Class is boring

So I wrote these things off the top of my head to pass the time:


To bring a man a squirrel
is not a thing to fear
for many things are scary yet
your heart is far too soft.
Look not into the eyes of beasts
but deeper to their souls.

To cure the itch
of boredom-bites
use Preparation H
on all the holes
and sphincter tubes
and wherever washcloth goes.

Read lightly, drink heavily
write slowly, think quickly,
pick many friends, pick fewer noses
or wipe on the crotch of your pants.

Poke a baby with a stick
pretend that it's a snake.
Watch it slither, watch it slide
like doo-doo through a Play-Doh set.

Please tell what turns you on.
It must be life, it must be death!
It must be staring at your dead parrot's chest.
Don't make those eyes, don't say those lines
You've gone too far, anon!
The only thing that gets my goat
is eating cottage cheese.

I was depressed, save for a while
a darkened room, a paddle fan
the dust-rain clouds all thought.
Then you came along with an unlit torch
and for my heart you fought.

I turned away 'til another day
when pride had drowned
and fear felt smoked.
No more to drink, no more to toke.
My watered eyes have set the flame ablaze.

It's been a while

Shut up, Staind. But really, everybody had that CD, except for me. Break the Cycle? What Cycle?

Here's what's going on:

It's Jessica's birthday.

Her mother bought us all the seasons of Arrested Development. I am finally able to watch it. Already hilarious and wonderful.

I have papers to do and tests to take surprise surprise.

My delicious home brew is almost done brewing, unless you are Kevin Dowling because then it is already finished because you can't wait.

I have things I want to do but responsibility is gay as a crotch.