There's the merry-go-round of reading the same sentences half a dozen times...and look there, the Backlash, the fastest rollercoaster/Medieval torture extravaganza ever. Flail while you wail, balloon animals for the kids. I pick out some cotton candy from my hair as the blizzard pushes me on.

Damn snow. I hate winter. I hate seasons. I was born in a land where there's no such thing as seasons, the way God intended...damnit. I carry this idea to the extreme by always (ALWAYS) wearing my trusty pair of completely worn out leather sandals. Too many years have these boys been with me, tirelessly grunting like slick farting sponges; back and forth, up and down. In snow, in summer, through mudslides and even on a shag/linolium blend, I've confused hundreds, maybe even thousands of people with my clashing footwear.

Maybe I am insane, wearing sandals in a zero degree blizzard with 30 mph winds. The snow shards against you eyelids is the worst part, really. I don't actually get very cold, including my feet. Besides, smirking at confused people more than makes up for it.

Ah but here's a nice bench to sit at between Salty Pete's Cannibal Steak Hut and the Whirl-a-Nap Fjord of Zoloft. Sitting down I think about my friends, how squishy they feel when I poke them...missing the squishy feeling I feel when I feel them when I poke them. Good times.

I heard from Colleen again today. She's moved out of her sister's place and is trying to get her own apartment. I'm worried about her finding some place stable. She's been moving alot and it seems like she's dealing with too much. Three weeks until I finally visit her, which is funny since I've known her for...hell...five...six years...no five. I can't even remember how we met. Ah to snuggle, to lounge, to be lazy and snuggle. It will be good times.

But my stay at AssTired Land isn't complete. I still need to enter the Thermodynamix Grand Prix and madly race across my lab manual, trying to understand, praying to God I understand before I slam on the brakes and give myself a concussion when my head hits my table.

These are not so good times...and you, you know who you are. I miss poking you...damnit.

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