mrcrisp

the new room is tits. that's good, right? who doesn't love tits? the new room is tits, though it smells quite like feet. that may be my fault.

the neighbor's an idiot who keeps locking the head, but no sweat. it can be picked.

the walls are thin, so i can hear my other neighbor. that's cool, we're cool.

it's on the first floor, so i can just drag my chair outside, sit, and relax. relax as much as a man living in 100+ F weather, swarmed by skeeters can. been through a couple of books. burning through. the binding of one has already fallen apart. the book is as old as me.

i'm feeling the age, exhausted still most of the day, sore at night when i finally crawl into my stiff rack.

yeah, so, anyways. all the classes i've slept through, i've scored well in. something about sleeping in class leaves me open to more information. that, or this shit ain't that hard.

there's a brown recluse in this room, as tits as it is. i know this because i saw it running away from me as i ran away from it. i can't just kill it with my shoe, can i? i mean, they live in shoes, right?

but yeah, i'm back in the rough and uncaring grasp of the internet.

woo.

friend, drinking buddy, shipmate apparently fell down drunk and broke his face tonight. haven't seen him, haven't heard more than the first hand account from somebody who didn't want to talk about it, was too tired from spending the night trying to coax the duty corpsman from her sleep. she didn't even get dressed.