On Saturday it was a sunny day in Seattle. To celebrate, I closed the blinds to my bedroom and stayed in bed until dusk. What can I attribute to my phenomenal sleeping powers? Having smoked pot and a general depression.

Let's hope I bounce back like a rubber check. I will. It just sucks until the tide turns.

There are only a few things that I do regularly which are good for my overall well-being. And I think that one of those consistent things is taking my hour long walks through the neighborhood streets, usually around midnight or so, and listening to episodes of This American Life. This American Life, if you are unfamiliar with it, is a radio program ( Read more... )

School was out of session for spring break at Brown University and RISD on the last week of March. Lia would have a few days off and it'd be that small window for me to crawl through just so I could see her again before she would get burdened once more with her demanding schedule. My plan was to use the rest of my vacation time, which would light ( Read more... )

I wonder if this was what it was like for rock fans living in the hey-day of the disco era? Sing songy introspective lyrics from the gutteral whine of an aging suburban white kid is not meant to be this guys theme. Come to think of it, grunge wasn't really that good either. Eh...

Lia, let's hope you aren't reading this.

I actually volunteered to work on Sunday. Not for the extra money, but just so that I'll have something to do. My god. What the fuck is wrong with me?

When you walk around the neighborhoods at night, you can't help but look into lighted window frames. Every house is weird, reflective of the person who resides in it. Where a blue hearse is parked in the driveway of a duplex, through the window I see 4 hunting rifles against the while. Another house seems small, but it has absurdly fancy portrait ( Read more... )

When I pass by houses I notice that sometimes there are cats waiting at the front door waiting to be let in. They just sit there, looking with patient expectation, for the doorhandle to turn and to gain admittance. I often wonder if the owner ever knows that their cat thinks its a real drag outside, and instead of romping through the neighborhood ( Read more... )

The rain is pouring outside. It makes two sounds in my apartment. Through the front door, I can hear the general drone of rain as it hits the ground. It sounds like when you are in the belly of an airplane and you hear the engines and the swift rush of air by the window. The other sound I hear is the sporadic taps of rain hitting the tin that ( Read more... )

Socially isolated. Work full time. Winter is a drag. Have little hobbies.

Failure is going backwards. The regression incites my aggression.

I no longer have anyone to tell anything, on a regular basis.

How lame, is live journal that last pathetic outlet to ears other than myself right now? Signs point to yes.