Haha, Sitdiary. Just read through most of my old entries. It is odd (yet, for some reason, expected) how much has changed and how little has changed.

I don't really know where to start, I suppose, because I don't really know where I'm going. Or who's gonna be there with me. Nope. Not a clue. I can think of a lot to say, but I don't feel like saying it, or I just don't want to say it. Generally, it may be best that people don't say so many things, but, I suppose again, I'm no more qualified to speak on the matter than anyone else. School be hitting me hard at the moment, but I am going to try and find some time to put thoughts down here and there. It may help something, though I'm don't know what, and it certainly can't hurt anything, though I don't know what it would hurt, anyway. Cheers, be safe but not boring, and hope to find that lover on the Arctic Circle!

So one of my favorite things to do when I get drunk in a bar is afterward, going out to smoke (nanny-state MN and their silly anti-smoking laws), and having some random conversation with some random person. Yesterday I had one with this semi-milf about TV shows and America's obsession with the especially stupid ones, ie; American Idol, Dancing with the Stars, etc. Lots of really deep insights seem to come to you when you're drunk. But not too drunk. When I'm too drunk all I care about is swaying the conversation towards an area that will help me to get some action. Anything I say is essentially a catalyst toward that goal. Soo anything relevant or insightful I say seems to be, when I reflect on it the next day, rather inconsequential. But that's ok by me. But I can't go to bars as much as I like to because 4.75 per drink is far too rich for my stingy disposition. But when I have the cash, sometimes it feels like it's just so worth it. Fuckin' a, I was tired earlier so I took a couple caffeine pills and now all I want to do is talk and talk and talk to someone because I have too much energy.

i always knew i'd find someone like you so welcome to my little corner of the world and if you care to stay in our little corner of the world we could hide away in our little corner of the world

I had the greatest epiphany of my entire life: I'd rather smoke and die prematurely than live to be 80 and not smoke. Yes, I sold two of my books and got like $65! Awesomeness all around.. I went and bought cigarettes immediately. I also buy this cheap pop at the gas station all the time now called "Faygo." Haha, wtf, right?

I have like a total of $7 right now. Three in my wallet and about four on my debit card. Well, I have much more in my other bank, which is two hours away, but they don't transfer money to banks not of the same kind. Fucking bastards. I'm going to sell 3 books on Monday. All psychology ones, coincidentally: statistics for psychology, research design and methods, and adolescent psychology. I also think I may sell my 8 or so x-box games because my x-box is broke, anyway. So I'm hoping I can net at least $150 from doing this. However, if I do this I might just buy cigarettes. I'm trying to quit, because they are expensive now. Fucking stupid taxing government. It's been about 18 hours since my last cigarette. That is the longest in about 3 years.

There is absolutely nothing to do right now. 3:44 am. I am deathly bored. I have to write an 8 - 11 page paper for philosophy of the arts and I have no desire whatsoever to do so. Eight fucking pages. I really dread having to start that thing. I really need to ween myself off sleeping pills. Basically they give me dark circles under my eyes and make me look like shit. But I like how Benadryl makes me feel. It sorta takes your cares away, in a way. And boredom, too. Because if I have nothing else to do I can just sleep, which passes time pretty quickly. I hate that I'm 21 and I don't even really like to drink. Seriously I'd rather just take Benadryl and I've been buying that since I was like 14. Yeah, I just want this semester to be over so I can go back home. At least there I would have something to do at this time. Well, maybe. I'd have more friends there so I could call 'em up now and smoke cigarettes or something. Fuck I'm bored.

Ok I'm back. I'm not at all happy right now (which is a shame because I rather enjoy being happy). Mostly because I feel pretty ugly all the time and I feel like I've done a lot of bad things to a lot of different people. I don't have any motivation nor inclination to stop doing bad things, either. But, ON THE BRIGHT SIDE, I will graduate from college in about a year's time and have a bachelor's degree in psychology with a minor in ethics. I haven't decided if I want to really continue for a Master's. I know I'll regret it if I don't, but I'm still debating on whether I should or not. Yes, it is 4/20. No, I couldn't find weed. Had to scrape, scrape, scrape my bowl and finally got enough to get high. If weed were legalized, my life would be great. But yeah, it sucks here mostly because I haven't made any friends, nor do I really want to. I just want a girrrrrrrl. But I also don't because relationships are hard and so much work and apparently I kind of suck at them. Next year, at the start of the semester, I swear to myself I am going to start trying. Oh and my fucking bike got stolen sometime over the winter. Fuck that. There's this kid in my narratives and the self class (ethics/philosophy) that annoys the hell out me. He has this beak-like nose and big, curly, fluffy hair. His name is Nathan. Nathan, you are a douche. You are also retarded for pretending you're a Buddhist, but you're not. Stop taking every minority position on every subject because when you try to argue things that are totally obscene it makes me embarrassed for you. It annoys me, too. You are also an RA in my dorm building, which makes me hate you more. Why the fuck are you majoring in philosophy? What job are you planning on getting? I'd like to know. Why are you happy when I know for a fact no girl has ever even remotely came near you with sexual thoughts? Why do you wear shirts that are too tight and show your nipples? Stop that. It disturbs me. Nobody really likes you, they just put up with you. Fucking douche.

Sooo I've been going through a dry spell. It kinda eats at me a bit. Like, because, I have incredible amounts of free time, so I can think about this stuff. Tired of doing the whole play-off-insecurity-as-confidence thing, which, in all honesty, hasn't needed to be instigated recently since I quit giving effort. They're too much work, and I'll let 'em down, anyway. I guess I imagine to myself that if they're the ones who pursue it, and really create it single-handedly, then when things come to other things, I'm actually rather innocent. But there's too many fucking passive ones. Mhmmm.. too fucking passive. It shouldn't be my duty to be the only one who risks it and does something about their lust. Mmmmm... been alone and been stoned mostly. Yeah ... been alone here now for awhile.

Home for break, and it feels good to have no school for over a month. The other day I had to have a meeting with this douchebag, no older than myself, for violating the school's drug policy. I'm gonna appeal the decision, of course. Haha, I did, however, fail myself in that I never asked out the fine female specimen in my statistics course before it was over for good. Oh well. I don't know how I'm going to spend this break yet. I feel like I should accomplish something, but that always takes, like, you know, motivation. So we'll see what happens. I think I'll just make it my plan to get laid before I go back to school.

I wrote this awhile ago for a girl I really cared for. I don't care for her much anymore. A young man once lived who would carry on like many young men often do. He would meet people and laugh, read books and reflect, go places and see, and think wonderfully elaborate thoughts to pass the days that spoke a language he had never learned. He dreamt of the picturesque happiness seen in children’s stories. He had intelligence but not wisdom. Never much would people see him become seriously upset or act ungracefully rude. Many times, while this young man was out of earshot, others would describe his temperament as agreeable and friendly, though possessing a serenity that appeared to come from such a grave, profound piece of knowledge that everyday living had become a kind of hilarity to him. However, it is necessary to realize that this hilarity, this comic nature that had been correctly identified in him, was not of the type that makes one laugh. This young man, whose name is wholly irrelevant to this brief account, had all that could be wished for to live a comfortable existence. The family of which he belonged to loved him with their warming hearts completely. They would never cease to support him in whichever endeavor he had chosen to follow at the moment. He had no awful disease and he could eat when hungry. The bed he would lay on during sleep was soft. The future, by any standard, looked promising. And yet, with everything as it was, a part of him still had no harmonious counterpart. This piece analogous to himself, as he knew, would be difficult to find and even harder to keep, for it was something he could never own. As it were, he never gave much thought to the difficulty of the search. It may as well have been impertinent, that trying task. Even if by an unmistakable proclamation he were to become convinced of its impossibility, he would still continue, for there was not much else. There was only ardor and dark and the end. Imagine how he felt when, brooding that the hunt was without point, his desire just fell right into him, there onto his lap! It was as if something, too, had been searching out him! But he deemed the thought nonsense without any hesitance, for all he had ever been able to attract were hollow beings of an immeasurable dullness that had the gall to even hold names. It was almost unfeasible to him when he realized that, without a doubt, this was reality!--not just some useless dream that his mind had the tendency to create. Even more surprising (and how thankful he became!) was that it was not merely an “it,” but a “she!” At first he was unable to describe exactly just what drew him to her. He didn’t have any concrete facts, no tested hypotheses, or any reliable data to back his claim, but he did have a feeling. He had a feeling that grew ever stronger whenever he heard her speak. It was so strong and bright, alluring and hypnotic, that to ignore such a feeling would be genuine idiocy. And yet what caused this feeling? What made it emerge as a sudden shock in this young man’s mind? It’s largely impossible for one not to wonder: But where did all this arise from? Although his attempt would be nothing short of futile, the young man decided to create a mental list (merely to satisfy his own curiosity) of all the qualities she possessed that made life a little better, that made him a little happier, and that made him realize Earth isn’t just a horrible, shitty rock floating in dark space. So he began: “I object to the prospect of calling her beautiful. No, to think of something as beautiful is to imply that beauty is a characteristic of that something. That kind of logic, while appropriate for a lifeless sunset or a moving composition of music, is positively inappropriate to describe a woman like this. What should be said, if I ever produce the courage to utter such a statement, would be something along the lines of: ‘You are not defined by beauty. No, it is beauty that is defined by you. Beauty is not a characteristic of you. Rather, it is you who is a characteristic of beauty.’ Then I would go on to tell her how she makes me feel so near and so close, even though she’s all too many miles away. I would tell her how much I appreciate her letting me simply be me. All the courage and hope and joy she brings me--well, I would tell her about that, too. I’d make sure to let her know that every time she laughs it’s like a short splash of heaven. Someday, I’ll say to her, ‘When I’m thinking about you I just feel so lucky, and I don’t even believe in luck.’ Oh, Christ!--the things I would tell her. ‘Nothing much seems all that frightening since I’ve met you. There’s six billion and some odd people on this planet, and I must say, I think you have to be the best of them. You are a dream and I want to have you at night.’ She is intelligent (very much so, in fact) but never condescending. She has class but is not a snob. She dreams but doesn’t mind reality (at least not too much, anyway). What is most wonderful about her, however, is that she is one of the few people that is deserving of being called a human being. Most everyone is just a person, but she’s human.” The young man of our brief story laid his back against a soft chair and thought about the enigma of attraction. He had long ago reached the conclusion that every attraction is merely a chemical change in the brain. After meeting this woman, however, he realized that this view seemed to grossly undermine the deafening, idyllic feelings he had for her, and he began to speculate that she may be touching him on an altogether deeper part of his self, an abyss which the young man had found very few people possessed the courage to climb down. Yet here she was, pick in hand, descending deeper and deeper into not only a hole, but the whole! He wanted with all of his being to believe that one should want to proceed as her example, that one should even wish for it, but, being a person that had been largely preoccupied with his own existence for years and years, it was truly touching on an impossibility to ask for a faith as such. It was almost, he imagined, as if she were making a selfless sacrifice of her own volition, for how could one actually desire to retreat into such an unfamiliar, dangerous place? It was easy for him to fall into her, he deemed, because she was absolute and pure loveliness, but he--no, he was nothing of the sort. And what does, the reader may ask, ultimately become of our young man and the feminine entity that fell so unexpectedly into his life? This humble narrator is of the opinion that query should first begin with an entirely different set of questions, namely: How many times has this story been told once before, with higher grace and superior eloquence? And how many endings are truly possible, but one of varying degrees of good and one of varying degrees of bad? And what exactly is the feasibility of a love eternal, unblemished and retained in totality? The truth of the matter is, as with all matters in any way connected to the word “love,” this narrator does not have the slightest notion, not even the tiniest fragment of a notion as to how our story will end. In fact, this narrator’s time would be far better spent contemplating matters that are unrelated to ridiculous questions of the infinitely unknowable.

Well it looks as though everybody wants me back. I'm a staaaaaar. So we'll do a quick update of what's happening in my life: -I met a 31 year old woman on the internet. She likes good music and is really cool, but she's also a little annoying. She's stupidly in love with me and sends me cookies, sweets, and pills by mail. -I'm majoring in psychology at Minnesota State University Mankato. Minoring in ethics. College is still easy. I live in a suite dorm with a roommate who is a hardcore Christian. Of course he doesn't drink or smoke. -A plump little girl I met recently is trying to get me to fuck her. I don't want to. -The most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my entire life is in my Statistics for Psychology class. I don't skip that class just to see her. -I'm off probation finally (cheers!) -I've never been writing or reading so much in my life as I am now. -My ethics professor asked me to join the Mankato Skeptics Society which he is in the process of creating. He sent me some fliers to put up, and the first meeting is this Wednesday at some coffee place. Ugh, I hate coffee. I think that everything is going to be okay because I've met some nice people and reconnected with a few old friends and it makes me happy.

I guess I'll tell about an unfortunate event that occurred in my life not less than a week ago. My companion and I had decided that, living the hectic lives we do, it was time to go and purchase a bag of marijuana to smoke and enjoy. Anyway, we accomplished that with relatively little trouble and proceeded to get high, really high, on the way to his house to play some video games. So I'm driving a solid 36 miles per hour down the street to his house where the speed limit has been set at a paltry 30. With the streets being clear of dangerous criminals and all other threatening acts of crime under apparent control, a young police officer decides that the best course of action for the night is to pull over 'lil 'ole me and my friend. Now, granted we both were stunningly high, driving always remains far from difficult, so the harm being done to anyone is a virtual zero. When you open your door and hand a cop your license and registration, and his immediate response is that the car smells strongly of marijuana and both sets of eyes appear visibly red and glazed over, what is one to say? "Uh, no officer. Marijuana? We haven't been smoking any." "Oh, the smell? That was someone else. One of our other friends. We dropped him off." "This tinfoil pipe with marijuana resin in it? Well, that certainly must be said friend's also." And he makes us step out of the car. I see he is young, inexperienced, and looking a little intimidated, because if I were to choose I could thoroughly kick his scrawny ass. He doesn't even know how to administer the roadside sobriety tests. He has to read them out of a little pocket notebook. I stand on one leg, the other leg six inches off the ground and slightly in front of the other for 30 seconds, with little effort required. I follow a light with my eyes. Right to left. Up and down. Side to side. Don't move your head. I'm performing circus acts or something. I walk a line, one foot in front of the other. I don't sway. I turn and walk back, doing it again. I pass the sobriety test, and he looks visibly disappointed. A female officer arrives on the scene. Also young and inexperienced. She is good-looking, and I think about having sex with her as she is standing there. I'm still pretty high. The officers search my car. "That bag of marijuana? That glass pipe? Well . . . no, those aren't ours. Who could those be? I wonder." The male officer at first wants to send us to court for this, but we convince him to remember his younger days, recall how many upstanding young men use marijuana, so he writes us each a $137 ticket. The blond dyke wants to cite me for driving under the influence, even though I passed the roadside sobriety test. She is a bitch, and I think about having sex with her again. As my friend and I sit on the curb, while the male officer is looking up secret police stuff in his car, the dyke stands before us. I attempt to lighten the mood. "Hey, did you know marijuana is, like, legal in the Netherlands." I laugh. "This shit should totally be legal." She goes off on me. She is screaming at me. I've been making a joke out of this, she says. I have not been showing respect to the police officers, she adds. If it was up to her, I would be in jail, facing a DUI. She knows I'm high, she says, pointing her finger at me. She doesn't care what I say. She repeats the phrase, thinking this will have a stronger effect. I hold my tongue, and inside I laugh, for I know my pride must be held in during situations like these. I think how she's lucky she's wearing that uniform, or else I'd tell her to make me a pie, knit me a sweater, and get down on her knees and blow me. She later comes to apologize for yelling at me while the male officer is writing up the tickets. She offers us jobs as "informants" to get the tickets erased from our records. We could turn in dealers, wear wires, and be a part of a secret police bust. It would be kind of cool, I think. We get her card, and say we'll think about it. I don't actually consider it, however. I have morals. She walks away and says the other officer will have the tickets ready soon, and I look in my rear-view mirror as she walks away and think of tapping that ass. We get away with a ticket and a scolding. I am required to call my probation officer about any law enforcement contact. She says I could potentially face up to 90 days in jail. What the fuck, I think. She says, however, that is unlikely. She says I may have to do community service or serve a few days in jail on the weekend. What the fuck, I think again. I had marijuana. I wasn't dealing cocaine to kindergarteners or raping little girls. I am a little concerned. Now I have to go to court anyway for a violation of probation hearing. And I'm out $137 and a bag of good weed. Shiiiiiiiit.

This will probably continue to be neglected during the summer months.

Well I sure had an eventful weekend. Besides being handcuffed, sent to jail, and my bail being set at $250 for shoplifting a $9.99 hackey sack, I also got completely smashed twice and made quite the character out of myself. Either way, I kind of want to die right now.

I'm going to a pretty place now where the flowers grow. I'll be back in an hour or so . . .

Oh it was another one of those sweet high school reunions tonight. I talked to this guy I haven't seen in about a year. He was exactly the same. Should that be considered a bad thing? I'm not sure, but it was actually nice in a way. He's got kind of a funny story. Everyone bet that he would drop out of college after one semester, but it took two. Now he works at a hotel and smokes cigarettes in the back all night. He's the only employee for the entire hotel for about five hours. It's actually pretty awesome when I think about it.

I went to sociology at 11, took my final, and left. I don't think I did too great. I didn't study at all. I literally skimmed over the chapters and that was it. I won't be too surprised if I got fucked with a C in that class. After that I did kind of a curious thing. I went through the courtyard over to the theater area and went in the bathroom. I got out my plastic baggie which only had a pinch left in it, stuffed it in my bowl, and got about two nice size rips out of it. Then I went back out in the courtyard and smoked a cigarette. I actually don't have any cigarettes right now, but I also barely have any gas, and no money (!). I think I might have a dollar on me and some change. Shiiit. I should go to the bank. Anyway, I went into the library when I finished my cigarette and listened to my ipod. I think I listened to some Bon Iver and some Sonic Youth. It was great. I didn't have class again for an hour. I figured I would just kick it at school, go buy some candy from a vending machine, and maybe study a bit for my next class, which was American History. I started my trek to the vending machine, and when I got there I bought a rice krispy bar and a bag of peanut m&ms. I noticed I didn't have my gatorade, so I ate my rice krispy bar while I walked back to my car for it. After I finished my bar I opened the m&ms and ate them. Then I walked back, with my gatorade, to some benches where I always smoke. I was gonna just smoke and chill and maybe listen to some music, but this girl I know walked out to talk to me. She is really fucking hot. Wow, .. just yeah. So I talked to her and we smoked a cigarette, then she left and went to class. I still had about 30 minutes until my class. I walked over to a new spot to sit and smoked another cigarette. I only smoked about half then flicked it to the ground. As I walked back to go inside, sit down and look over my notes, I saw the girl Kayla who sits by me in the class. This is another girl that is just unbelievably beautiful. Better looking than the previous girl. She's smoking a cigarette (everyone fucking smokes here, I swear) and as I walk by to go inside she smiles at me and I, behind my sunglasses, return the small. I went inside to look over my notes and I could see her through the window on the phone. I spent about ten minutes reading and then thought I would start the walk to history. When I walked outside, Kayla was still on the phone and I stopped to smoke yet another cigarette. When she got off the phone she yelled to me, "Have you studied for the final yet?" "No, not really," I said. "I think I might do a little reading this weekend." "Yeah, I haven't studied either. What about the quiz for today?" "I've looked at the notes a little bit," I said. Then I see Dane, walking toward me with his long, orange hair dusting his shoulders. I knew I would have to acknowledge him, probably talk to him for a bit, but I wanted to be talking to hot Kayla, not him, even though he is a really cool guy. I'm still talking to Kayla when Dane walks up. He's smoking a cigarette. "Are you taking the quiz today?" I asked Kayla. "Maybe, I'm not sure." We're in the bonus round for our quizzes. He gives us seven quizzes and he takes our best five. Then there was a small lull in the conversation and I felt obligated to talk to Dane. "So how was yoga yesterday?" I asked him. We are in racquet sports together but on our last day the teacher was going to put on some type of relaxation tape. "It was pretty stupid. She put on this tape for 20 minutes and then we left." I didn't go to class on Wednesday because I felt sort of sick. We're almost done. Only one more day--the final. I wonder what it is she wants.

Oh my fucking god, you have to be kidding me. That is just fucking low, that's like.. shit.

Okay this deserves it's own entry. Joanna Newsom. She seems so, like strange, yet kind of hot and intriguing in a way . . Joanna Newsom