Another Lap Around the Sun
1/1/96
Here we go again. Another round of drivel, another lap around the sun. It feels pretty pointless today. I have to remember that this is just exercise and no matter how lame what I write here is, at least I am not so lazy or hopeless to abandon the effort. I definitely do not want to have to sort out any confusing thoughts, or delve too deeply into my psyche, though. I'm only interested in getting the three pages done, much less so with what I actually say. After thinking about funny shit that happened last year, I hit a brief little high and quickly crashed. I became a ghost at the New Years Party at the Hollywood Athletic Club. No one could see me and I could not alert anyone to my presence except by moving objects around, like my beer bottle or my chair. I left well before midnight and spent the evening in a maudlin mood, alone, listening to a spooky wind shake the house that seemed to portend ill for the new year.
Today I think I can finish the story.
So it's 1996. Whoop tee doo. I'm not a clever guy/I don't even want to try/I don't care/So there
Could I be any more petulant?
I'm drinking grape juice this morning. Tennessee and Ohio State are tied at fourteen in the Citrus Bowl. Northwestern and SC clash in the Grandaddy of 'Em All in a little while. NW grad Charleton Heston reprised his role as Moses long enough to part the Red Sea--dyed purple--for the Wildcats as a pep stunt on the backlot at Universal. They'll need a miracle.
When I finish this I'll strum my geetar. I'm already way behind schedule even though I got up on time. I read the paper and did the crossword; I'm such a junkie. It's time-consuming and I don't and won't do anything until I scanned every damn word including the classifieds. Jeez. It took more than two hours today. Muffhugger. Wait--I spent an hour watching Batman cartoons this morning--naughty boy.
I was supposed to ride my bike to the Miller's Outpost on Pico and take back those lame shoes, but I drove. I can see this journal turning into a compendium of things I should've done, meant to do, was planning on, wanted--and didn't do.
But I'm writing! Gotta take pleasure in that. Who else is writing this morning? How many people in the world are writing at this exact same minute? Whoever you are, we've got dedication!
Back to school tomorrow. Ugh arg agh.
Calvin and Hobbes died today. Very, very sad. How could Watterson have done it? Won't he miss them? What will he do with his energy? Sigh.
Here we go again. Another round of drivel, another lap around the sun. It feels pretty pointless today. I have to remember that this is just exercise and no matter how lame what I write here is, at least I am not so lazy or hopeless to abandon the effort. I definitely do not want to have to sort out any confusing thoughts, or delve too deeply into my psyche, though. I'm only interested in getting the three pages done, much less so with what I actually say. After thinking about funny shit that happened last year, I hit a brief little high and quickly crashed. I became a ghost at the New Years Party at the Hollywood Athletic Club. No one could see me and I could not alert anyone to my presence except by moving objects around, like my beer bottle or my chair. I left well before midnight and spent the evening in a maudlin mood, alone, listening to a spooky wind shake the house that seemed to portend ill for the new year.
Today I think I can finish the story.
So it's 1996. Whoop tee doo. I'm not a clever guy/I don't even want to try/I don't care/So there
Could I be any more petulant?
I'm drinking grape juice this morning. Tennessee and Ohio State are tied at fourteen in the Citrus Bowl. Northwestern and SC clash in the Grandaddy of 'Em All in a little while. NW grad Charleton Heston reprised his role as Moses long enough to part the Red Sea--dyed purple--for the Wildcats as a pep stunt on the backlot at Universal. They'll need a miracle.
When I finish this I'll strum my geetar. I'm already way behind schedule even though I got up on time. I read the paper and did the crossword; I'm such a junkie. It's time-consuming and I don't and won't do anything until I scanned every damn word including the classifieds. Jeez. It took more than two hours today. Muffhugger. Wait--I spent an hour watching Batman cartoons this morning--naughty boy.
I was supposed to ride my bike to the Miller's Outpost on Pico and take back those lame shoes, but I drove. I can see this journal turning into a compendium of things I should've done, meant to do, was planning on, wanted--and didn't do.
But I'm writing! Gotta take pleasure in that. Who else is writing this morning? How many people in the world are writing at this exact same minute? Whoever you are, we've got dedication!
Back to school tomorrow. Ugh arg agh.
Calvin and Hobbes died today. Very, very sad. How could Watterson have done it? Won't he miss them? What will he do with his energy? Sigh.
posted by johnz at 7:56 PM
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