Today's the first day in a long time that I can't really place why I feel the way that I do: complacent. Weird, I can be indifferent to how my day went, how I feel about it. It's strange, Wednesdays are my worst, busiest days, and yet, I manage to escape from them yet again, day after day, with the mere self-satisfaction of being me. The day doesn't matter; it's preservation of self. I'm beginning to learn how stupid people are. Nickel-cadmium batteries wear down the same way, always, every time, no matter who tells you to use it all the way before charging it again. There's ALWAYS time to do the things you need to do; you just have to find it. As my friend Glen said: "Sure, give constructive criticism; don't be a cock." And all this coming as a result of those who whine and sputter out excuses and the overall monotony of their lives. I never quite realized how vibrant the others are. They rise above that monotony with some sort of subtle grace. They are the ones who can wake up every day and get up, for better or for worse, and tackle the world every day. I am one of those people, but it's hard sometimes. I feel like sometimes the monotonous freaks of the world resist the colorful, warm characters of the world. I'm tired, and I'm lazy. No more writing for tonight after this paragraph. I've made it home, after a 17-hour personal hell of class, money-making, and one of my few pleasures. I got to sit across from my lady at dinner. I got to kiss her. I'm gonna go lay down and call it a fuckin' day.