crab claws in my skin
2001-06-27 - 9:33 p.m.
Sure. Leave it up to me to be the giddy person at the funeral. And I�m sorry if I stepped on your shroud with my smile...it was in the way.
When I originally joined Diaryland, I was on the lookout for another diarylander who would eventually pop up and use the name �goblin�. Wel, shortly after I joined, I must have fallen asleep at my post, because she�s been around for a while. I was going to read through all the entries, but I still haven�t gotten all the way through �Deus Atrox� yett. Oddly enough, goblin is a storyteller, much like myself...but in my own [unenlightened and ill-informed] opinion, she is not a writer. She�s a girl who complains, and she calls her complaints �writing�. She admits herself that the majority of her stories are based on her experiences with former boyfriends and heroin/crack/what-have-you addictions. Not that there�s anything wrong with that...I�m sure she can make tons of money with her complaining...she�s put a shyt load of effort into it, and it�s nearly deserving of a standing ovation. But it�s something...better suited to the medium of an Americanized movie.
The difference between people laughing at you and people laughing with you is defined by whether you are laughing or not. To be laughed at, you first have to refuse to admit your own humor.
Something I forgot to mention when I went on my trip to Massachusetts: We stopped in this gas station. We did a lot of stopping at gas stations, both of my passengers being over the age of 45 and not being able to maintain their bladder shields at the normal 100% integrity. For once, I actually wanted to use the facilities as well. But as I was walking toward the restrooms, the store owner tells me that the men�s room is out of order. Logically, I asked if the women�s restroom was open for business transactions. And my question, for some reason, deeply perturbed the store owner. To me, a bathroom is a bathroom. But this man seemed to be a deep-rooted bathroom-segregationalist, and would not let me carry out my message of equal-opportunity-bathroom-usage. So I took myselves outside, walked around the back of the gas station to piss on it. There are times (granted, they are few) when I really appreciate having organs that stick out of my crotch.
I talk to myselves in the third person on the occasion, but for some reason it really irritates me when other people talk to me in the third person. �How was Jason�s day today?� As if I�m not in the room with the speaker. Invisible, I say. Even in my own house.
Part of today was spent duct tapping a tarp to the inside of the bed of Sarah�s truck and improvising a pool for these hot summer days. Another later of today was spent going over finances for college. Suddenly, five thousand dollars a year seems like a lot more than I had originally thought. This hopeless view of my future was encouraged by my parents, in their obvious ignorance about exactly how to go about paying for this. They refuse to pay any part of my college expenses...they�re still considering whether or not to give me money each month to buy food and toiletries. And all of a sudden, I began to think that I might not be ready for college. Like a six-year-old all over again, and I�ve misplaced my stuffed bear. I�d like to go, but...it�s most likely going to end up not being what I�ve cracked it up to be. It makes me sick to think about borrowing money from someone else. I�ve always been one of those kids who managed their money right the first time, and loaned/gave money to his parents when they were in a pinch. And the bottom line is, I know that I�m gonna end up getting pinched.
