kelland

"Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man, and writing an exact man. And therefore, if a man write little, he had need have a great memory; if he confer little, he had need have a present wit; and if he read little, he had need have much cunning to seem to know that he doth not." - Francis Bacon, Of Studies.

^ That is what I think.

I want to read something that will change my life. Currently, I am struggling through Chuck Palahniuk's Lullaby. I say "struggle" because I have been reading it since November, and although I have about 40 pages left, I keep getting distracted. I am an unmotivated reader. Don't get me wrong, I like the book (it's not as good as Choke), but the only time I can read it is at work, and I am often iterrupted by phone calls or customers or nosey co-workers or the desire to go to the bathroom or buy garlic cheese bread. I want to read something that will make me cry and laugh and reflect on my life. Please leave a comment telling me about your favorite book and I'll look around this weekend whilst I'm shopping in Mansfield.

Speaking of that, Damein and I are going to hang out all day Saturday and I can't wait! I love that kid. He's, like, my best friend. Well, one of them. I have about three very very close friends. In the morning, I have an appointment to get my taxes done (fun), but after that, I'm going to pick him up and we're going to shop around and dine around and drive around like cool cats. Then we're going to my friend Kati's birthday party. Fun times. I love looking foward to something.

My new year has been so strange so far. It just keeps getting stranger. Apparently there is a junior who is interested in me. I don't really know to WHAT degree. But he has expressed a desire to "hang out" with me. And he even called me... hmm... three times this past week. He is a sweet person, but I'm not really attracted to him beyond that. Isn't that the way it always is? I'm not one to be choosy. But I am. I am so choosy. That is probably the reason I've been single 98% of my life.

These headaches are not going away. I am actually quite concerned at this point. The pain is becoming commonplace. I'm afraid that I might go through Advil withdrawal the day I start feeling better. I have a doctor's appointment next week.

I heard tonight that Miah might be working at Baker's again, but with a significantly demoted position. I don't know. That makes me happy and sad at the same time. Happy that he will have a job -- something to do other than sitting around at home abusing substances -- and happy that I will have the opportunity to start being a better person to him. Sad that he probably won't get his shit together. Sad becase he needs someone to shake him incessantly and tell him that he's fucking it all up -- he's doing all the wrong things. All the potential and beauty and charm and wit is draining down the fucking drain with the remnants of whiskey/cocaine cocktail.

This is perfect:
You kicked and cried like a bullied child
A grown man of twenty-five
Oh, he said he'd cure your ills
But he didn't and he never will
Oh, save your life
Because you've only got one

Next month I will be getting two new tattoos. If all goes well.

My writing sucks. This entry blows. Fuck. Sorry.

Such a lttle thing makes such a big difference: November is an important month to me. Everything seems to begin and end in November. For some reason, it will always be my favorite month. I am nostalgic and emotional and broken-up in November, and although I love May, I cannot say the same for it. November isn't spectacular; it's usually cold, dark, and meloncholy. I do not consider myself any of those adjectives, but I can indentify the feeling in the air, and it knows me, too. I always have something to say and something to remember when reflecting on my Novembers.