Mama Bear, Papa Bear, and the Psychological Catalyst Disaster Bolus
2002-10-18 - 1:57 a.m.
Exit megan...so it turns out there is no such thing as an overly-considerate person. Just don't exist.
Enter caroline, stage where-the-hell. *ahem* More need not be said. Exit Caroline.
Enter...shyt, I've forgotten her name again. Do I get points for knowing that it starts with a K?
Magnetic Fields, 'fear of trains'. In which one of my roomates relates to me a story that I have trouble relating to. One of those classic "so, i was banging this girl..." stories that Ball (see RPG players, last year) made famous. Except that this one starts out on more of a "Jay, I just had the worst night/experience of my life, yo" line. This is quickly followed with the midly humiliating body of the story, which ends just as quickly. A tale without a gradual tail, so to speak. Of course, my response involved low-level medical terminology and the probing of physical anomalies, even at three in the morning. Of course, this is funny because I have nothing to relate such experiences with. Damn, I'd be pleased to live his most humiliating day.
"...it was the army train that took her daddy from her...it was the gov'ment train that took away her childhood...it was the oil train that took away her land..." I fix computers for my workstudy on campus. In addition this this, and without getting paid, I help people with their personal problems (the on-campus center can't so this because they would be quickly overloaded and for liability reasons). I don't do this because I like working with computers. I don't do this just to get people to know more about computers (or help me learn more about them). I do this, partially, to get me out of my room. I do this as a social outlet, a chance for cheap interaction. A way to be needed, by someone else. Just needed to type these things, because I want there there to be Truth at this diary, first and foremost, and sometimes truth just don't cut it. I mean, It's been what, nearly two years, since I've really even cuddled one of the girl species (if you don't count kelly, because single-night things should be counted as outlyig data in My case). Come to think of it, my relationships in junior/senior year of high school were all like that. Mitch asked me one day, how much time I spent with Becca: in person, in realiy, in love, in hours.
Trippy. My keyboard seems to get smaller. 4:25 AM. I get the feeling that my 'center' is a few inches superior, but not posterior (as in a reality breach) to my cranium. Nirvana in a nutshell; it makes me think that people have out-of body experiences all the time. Driving down the highway, zoning out in class, simply lying in bed without compulsion to move. Loosing my -isms. Makes me wonder what triangles do when they loose their center...do they become inbalanced and fall off the page, or erase a side to regain homeostasis. Geometry is a dog-eat-dog mathematics, but then again, what mathematics isn't? Always downtrodden are the 'fractions' and the 'mixed' numbers. Some numbers aren't even considered to be 'real'...more like the untouchables than simple mathematical aberration. Complex mathematical abhoration...and with that, the trippyness ends. As all good and decent trippynesses should.
Trying to stay awake now, because I've heard tell of a microbiology quiz tomorrow/today at 8:00, and I can't afford to miss another day. Even if it means pulling all-nighters for thursday mornings, and blinking off sleep though my six-to-nine-post-median business law class. Priorities...You see, I'm failing mircobio right now, mostly because of attendance and absurdity (which, collectively considered, form the double-A battery of doom).
And of course, this must has something to do with new books smelling different from new dictionaries. Hardcover and softcover smells delish.
Tuesday. I just spent three hours with rubbing alcohol and Q-tips (TM), cleaning a friend's printer. Oh yeah, and this morning I helped dress a younger man with dreads. Autopsy case. Girlfriend stabbed him four times. [We stabbed him once.] I've planned for a night of AD+D campaign writing, but I'll end up teaching Jaun english grammar.
In other news, people actually seem interested in this year's edition of the Mosaic. Or should I say, Mosaic. Not 'the', not 'a', not labeled, not english. This year it's going to be mostly comic book characters and cartoon dialogue, next year or this summer I plan to do something with just photography. Poem-style photography.
The will be a possible interview of me by The Voice (our on-campus newspaper) in the short-order future. I'll post the whle thing as a Snday Comix, if anything comes of it at all.
"The felony robbery and theft charges stem from the Sept. 27 armed robbery of the Exxon station on Route 2 in Milford. In the incident, two armed men, wearing caps and blue bandanas covering parts of their faces, entered the service station and demanded money about 8:50 p.m., as the 16-year-old clerk was cashing up for the night and preparing the cash..." -Bangor Daily News
"Joseph Reeves, 22, of Corinth and 19-year-old Neal Colby of Palmyra were arrested after a search warrant was executed at Reeves' residence at 180 Main St. in Corinth about 2:30 a.m., by members of the Penobscot County Sheriff's Department, the State Police Tactical Team and the U.S. Attorney's Violent Crimes Task Force, Sheriff Glenn Ross said." -Bangor Daily News
Neal is my cousin. From what my mother told me over the phone tonight, I gathered that they'd stolen guns (and, I assume, ammo) from residences in Palmyra (which is not really the town Neal lives in, not quite). Sawed-off shotgun and some sort of pistol were used. Last time I saw the kid, he was scrawny like a stick, but I assume he beefed up a little more when he was in boot camp. Course, he was kicked out of the army for having trace amounts of weed in his system and (quite possibly) for having a mind that is/was slightly too free-spirited for day-in-and-day-out marching. He's looking at forty years...my mother doesn't even think his parents posted the bail.
Got a $6 and some change tip for cleaning that printer. Which basically means I made $2 an hour. For the record, I am not an etheopian. Just a nice guy that needs to scrape the ink-goop out of machines to fund his coke habit. Anyway, before I could even get down the hall with it, Tiffany asked to borrow six dollars from me to go to "The Sugar Shack", one of those club-things in this part of Mass. So basically, I have enough for 12 ounces of coke. And with the price of gas being what it is, I'm sure coke will soon go over two dollars, at least on campus...tsktsk
Dream. So I was commin' back from houlton after doing an embalming, and brought my secondary case/motherboard down with me. Course, they did a 'routine' check on my luggage and opened my computer up to find...clothes. Oh, the flashbacks to high school. Anyway, they deemed it within their juristiction to run their metal detectors all along the inside of my (metal) computer case and motherboard, and took out the cards and threw them on the ground for good measure. For some reason, this so enraged me that I picked up the sound card and used the pin-side to scrape a guard's face off. I was shot once in the upper back and once in the occipital. Evidently becasue no Jasondream (TM) would be complete without the traditonal you-killed-jason end. End Dream. I bring this one up for analysis because I was shot in the occipital, and I've noticed that it seems to be my brain region of choice. Caffiene headaches (such as the one I got last weekend at Mitch's) originate here, as well as the evolution-of-mankind mentality. Deeply rooted and stubborn thoughts sit in the occipital's alleyways. One of the major connections of mind and body; one of several vestibules. The exiting and entry point of a person's aura/soul/person. The attatchment site for the single-atom spiritual umbilical chord that attatches everyone to the sun. And maybe the spindle fibers create wind in a cell, while the centrioles never even notice.
Enter Lesley, stage a-quiet-study-room-with-just-her-and-I-as-I-have-a-test-the-next-morning-and-she's-waiting-for-her-roommate-to-get-done-blowing-[insert random football player *here*]. Slightly too fluffy of a brain, especially when she's around her friends. So I was under the impression that things were going great, even a little cuddly...Exit Lesley. It prubly wouldn't have been so bad if I didn't know the kid who was in her bed [tonight].
In Other News: Lucy hasn't written on her diary in nearly a month. I haven't got any e-mail replys in slightly longer. I very nearly called her house today to see if she was still alive, but I wouldn't want to fret her parentes (one of which seems easily fretable and the other of which wouldn't appreciate the question). Some things need to be right where they are; other things need to be left.
