Saturday, October 24, 2009

My thoughts have become such that I post in my secret blog more than this one. I have nothing to say to a group, and nothing happening day to day worth documenting.

Friday, October 23, 2009

Take Pictures

I don't take pictures of my friends.
There won't be pictures of me in high school.
I couldn't remember at the right times to get the buddy picture on Thursday.
There is one picture of just me and JoeKat.
There are maybe 5 pictures of Dave and me together at all.
There are only prom pictures of me and Jimmy.
There are no recent pictures of my little brother and I.
There are no pictures of my mom and I together since I "grew up."

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Never Dreamed/Always Dreamed

I know that other people have experienced this. (I think.) But where are they, so we can go, "I know! Isn't it the best?! Isn't it all totally worth it?!"

It is more, but not the most.

I wrote John Hodgman a letter to tell him a few things and generally profess adoration. Then I couldn't find a mailing address for him. Then I scanned the letter and be-doodled envelope to send him a picture of the letter via email.

Every time you reached over to change the volume or the heat, it caught my eye.

My copy of Moby Dick has a black whale on the front cover.

All bets are off. I can wait.

I will find words to describe, but it will be too intimate.

Bad Dream

I had my first nightmare in a very, very long time. Friday night, I watched Quarantine with my mom, and it was so-so as a movie, but it was exactly the scary I was predicting. However, that night, I was having a completely ordinary dream, not a single hint of ominous forewarning, when it startled me awake. In the dream, I'd been talking to Joe M., who was standing close enough to fill most of my frame of vision, when over his right shoulder, one of the "infected things" crept towards him. It was probably less than two seconds of that image to shock me awake. The thing that distinguishes this dream from my usual zombie nightmares, is that after I woke up, I couldn't shake the fear. "I know it's not real. I know it's not real." It wasn't working. For minutes I consciously focused on the outline of Fred Flintstone and Peter Griffin. How would I draw them? What makes their cartoon character distinguishable? Images from the movie would interrupt these distraction thoughts to scare me. After I couldn't focus on the animated men, I went over my memories with Dave. I can't remember how much it hurt. I can't remember what being naively in love felt like. I didn't ever cry in front of him. Eventually, I fell back asleep.