12.28.2004

strange urges

Have you ever been up high on a cliff or ledge of some sort and been overwhelmed by a horrible urge to throw yourself off into whatever abyss lies below you? Just the fact that the choice is yours to take your life into your own hands and all that would be required is a small physical motion of stepping forward - a movement you make every day of your life without thought or consequence - that thought alone spins your head and makes you grasp the ledge tighter and take a step back. Has that ever happened to you?

You know they say everything is connected and that you can't tease apart the brain and its compartments. They are interwoven. And the way you face a physical landscape like a cliff is how you would face a psychological or abstract landscape of similar proportions. A huge decision that you know quite well could crush or destroy you is right there in front of you... just waiting. Available. And it is sheer whim that you don't leap into the void and destroy yourself.

Although sometimes you do jump (usually because you have convinced yourself that something in you or more likely in someone else will catch you, save you, or snatch you out of the air and wisk you away from imminent danger.) and only after you have fully committed do you realize what you have done and wish and wish for the ledge you are leaving far behind. Man, life can be a buggaboo sometimes.

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12.27.2004


Mine woke me at 2:50am. WTF?

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12.16.2004

Your Random foto of the Day

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12.14.2004


Can you believe that the photo developers didn't give me the print for this one? They thought it was a mistake. That, my friends, is no mistake. That's gorgeous!

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This Is How I Remember College, Too

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Math Explained

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Know Your Snowflakes

Cause there's more than one kind out there, you know.

I especially like the bullets.

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12.13.2004


I tried clicking my heels together.

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The first four words

...are the hardest when you're writing. Getting those four just right is a painstaking process. Requires trial and error and a lot of backspacing. Requires dopamine and adrenaline. Requires airspace and a parachute. Requires life blood. Requires a well-preserved tooth from childhood. Requires intense feelings and emotions. And a triple A battery.

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12.10.2004

I apologized...

...for yelling at the one kid (when actually it was all of them who were wearing me down). He apologized also, which was nice.

For my guy readers (I guess that's most of you) I drew the following comparison so you could understand my state of mind: Imagine you are in a room full of giggling woman who are waving pads and tampons around in your face and talking loudly of lactating. And then make it last for five hours. I hope that helps you understand what my day was like.

But I'm better today. Things are fine. I have my chi levels back in harmony with the universe or whatever.

And, no, Kyrad, I ain't got any. Talk to Miss B.

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12.09.2004

Condom Day

Condom Day is a new phenomenon here at the school. I promise not to be here the next time it rolls around. It began with a lecture by four sexperts on Aids/HIV. The students listened attentively (almost) until the sexperts were done talking and then a swarm of nineteen year old boys descended on them with hands outstretched. You would have thought this was a food drive in a third world country. They crowded around like carrion birds and then flashed fistfuls of scented/flavored rubbers through the air. The sexperts left, but the barrage of rubber deficient boys did not. One after the other they charged into my office, testosterone raging. "Where's the condoms?" "How should I know? I don't have any condoms." Then the woman left in charge of the condoms came out and decried the behavior of one boy who took all the condoms she had left even though she asked him not to. "He just kept taking more and more condoms!" The barrage continued late into the afternoon. People who couldn't be bothered to come to the sex talk were traipsing in four hours later saying, "Where are the condoms?" and looking at me like they'd just asked for salt or something. "And hello to you, too," I'd say, which of course they didn't get. "Where'd Miss B go? I need some condoms." "She's gone. The condoms are gone. Get out of my office." "I need condoms, Sarah." "Get out of my office right now."
Somewhere near three o'clock it broke me.
In walks Carone, "Sarah, how come you didn't save me any condoms?"
I swivel in my chair and fix my gaze on the unfortunate young man who has thrown the last straw on the camel's back. "I have nothing for you. Get out."
"Didn't you save me some condoms?" He obviously didn't get it.
"Carone, please get the fuck out of my office." I'm still trying to rein it in.
"Come on, man."
And then I lost it, "THERE ARE NO CONDOMS, CARONE. YOU WALK IN MY OFFICE AND ALL YOU CAN SAY TO ME IS 'GIMME SOMETHING TO PUT ON MY DICK!' I GOT NOTHING FOR YOUR DICK, CARONE. I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR DICK. I DON'T CARE WHAT IT WEARS OR DOESN'T WEAR. WHAT IT DOES OR DOES NOT DO. YOUR DICK AND I HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH EACH OTHER. NOW GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY OFFICE! THERE ARE NO CONDOMS!!"
He stared at me listlessly for a second or two and then left.

I'm gonna have to apologize for that later.

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12.06.2004


A roof with a view

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12.01.2004

Advice Column:

Looking for something to do with those old cars?

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This message brought to you by the Wheeties Council


This is an important random picture.

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Never Novel Not-So-New

Well, the Novel writing deadline has passed. It is now December and I failed to write fifty-thousand words by midnight. Not that this should really surprise anyone. It doesn't surprise me. I tend to make myself offers that I have trouble achieving. It's part of my whole shtick. But besides that, I did write about 15,000 words (more or less) that I kinda like and someday I will write a novel. Or two. Or three. Or whatever. It's good to be a writer. It's good to be young. It's good to have fun. it's good to drink Pepsi. (where'd that come from)

So, hello hello, welcome to a place called vertigo. Or the internet. Or whatever.

Have you ever noticed how predictable the internet is? It's always flat. It's always glowing. It's always pictures, words and or sound. Same same same. Clickety clickety clack.

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