its 2:58 am.
i'm trying to stop my knuckles from bleeding.
i've got ice packs on both my swollen knees.
before you jump to any conclusions, let it be known that
i feel good.
oh my god, do i fucking feel good.
these are the results of tonights mission: ripped flesh on my right hand, a bruise on my left palm, two nice lumps on my knees, with one minor laceration on my right leg.
i won another dog fight.
but this time, i was fighting dirty.
and on the fourth fight, i careened directly onto mars, knocked him off his ship, i flew about 10 feet before i hit the pavement. it was fucking sweet. and mars says i'm entitled to sue him if i deem it necessary. i'll just make him bring me a pie.
and then to top it all off, we crashed the MIT steer roast. lots of great bands. a couple boys i could harass. lots of crazy geek art. and a fucking steer in roast form.
missions don't get any better than that.
++++++
friday was spent roaming the city of providence, trying to find a mr. garrett brooks. to no avai. i must have circumnavigated the city six times looking for that kid. i was about to give up when i decided to go into the ISB at risd and make a phone call. i went up to the computer lab and found loren, who is undoubtedly my favorite ex-boyfriend.
so, as usual, i plop down next to him and he charms me into doing some typography for his senior show. i tell him to be a gentleman and buy me a drink, which he does, and we have one of our standard loren and vaughn nights, where we drink until we're intoxicated, run by the river and toss paper airplanes across the bridge, climb the monument to get a perfect view of the city, run back to his apartment and listen to tubin throat chanting.
i later had the most fucked up dream i've had in a while. i put a gun to my head. a .38 caliber smith + wesson. i pulled the trigger. nothing happened. i placed the gun at my other temple and pulled the trigger. this time i blacked out. but i came to again to realize that i had two bullets imbedded in my head, each with their casing. so i pulled the casing out. and i pulled the bullets out. so i had two holes in my head and needed see them. i woke up screaming,
WHERE'S THE FUCKING MIRROR????
fuck. most disturbing, visceral dream i've had in a long time. there were other components to it as well, but i can't put them into words. it's really that fucked up.
however, i didn't have to deal with it alone and was pretty comforted by that.
i can still smell the old spice and the nag champa in my hair.
i'm trying to stop my knuckles from bleeding.
i've got ice packs on both my swollen knees.
before you jump to any conclusions, let it be known that
i feel good.
oh my god, do i fucking feel good.
these are the results of tonights mission: ripped flesh on my right hand, a bruise on my left palm, two nice lumps on my knees, with one minor laceration on my right leg.
i won another dog fight.
but this time, i was fighting dirty.
and on the fourth fight, i careened directly onto mars, knocked him off his ship, i flew about 10 feet before i hit the pavement. it was fucking sweet. and mars says i'm entitled to sue him if i deem it necessary. i'll just make him bring me a pie.
and then to top it all off, we crashed the MIT steer roast. lots of great bands. a couple boys i could harass. lots of crazy geek art. and a fucking steer in roast form.
missions don't get any better than that.
++++++
friday was spent roaming the city of providence, trying to find a mr. garrett brooks. to no avai. i must have circumnavigated the city six times looking for that kid. i was about to give up when i decided to go into the ISB at risd and make a phone call. i went up to the computer lab and found loren, who is undoubtedly my favorite ex-boyfriend.
so, as usual, i plop down next to him and he charms me into doing some typography for his senior show. i tell him to be a gentleman and buy me a drink, which he does, and we have one of our standard loren and vaughn nights, where we drink until we're intoxicated, run by the river and toss paper airplanes across the bridge, climb the monument to get a perfect view of the city, run back to his apartment and listen to tubin throat chanting.
i later had the most fucked up dream i've had in a while. i put a gun to my head. a .38 caliber smith + wesson. i pulled the trigger. nothing happened. i placed the gun at my other temple and pulled the trigger. this time i blacked out. but i came to again to realize that i had two bullets imbedded in my head, each with their casing. so i pulled the casing out. and i pulled the bullets out. so i had two holes in my head and needed see them. i woke up screaming,
WHERE'S THE FUCKING MIRROR????
fuck. most disturbing, visceral dream i've had in a long time. there were other components to it as well, but i can't put them into words. it's really that fucked up.
however, i didn't have to deal with it alone and was pretty comforted by that.
i can still smell the old spice and the nag champa in my hair.