Basement Chronicles

Of Grenades and Grenadine

"I have nothing to say
But I feel like my mouth is wide open"

I started by quotebook again. Not for quotes, however, just for keeping myself organized. Really, I don't have that incredible of a work-load despite all of my classes. The only thing I have to be sure of is to keep ahead of it all, and do everything when I'm supposed to.

Wait.

Isn't that how it always is?

Anyhow. I dreamt I died last night. And the night before I dreamt that my underwear was a form of complex dynamic memory allocation, sort of a layer of abstraction for...uh...whatever goes on down there.

Yes, I have weird dreams. And yes, I ate chili-cheese Cheezits followed down by a gigantic glass of lemonade before I went to bed. Just in case you were wondering.

Last night scared the crap out of me not only because there was a dizzying array of Star Trek ships to accompany my debarkation, but because of what I'd left unfinished. A scary thought when you really sit down to it. Waking up at exactly 10:17AM to such a thing gave me the initiative to do....ah, lets see, half of my homework today.

Proof once again that not even death can overcome procrastination.

In other news, I learned this weekend that change is one of the hardest things to accomplish, yet somehow it manages to happen all the time without you noticing. Go figure. Like I mentioned earlier, I sent a note to a frisbee club at ASU to see what they're about. While I sent it at 2:50PM, and it is currently 10:04PM, I'm still hopefuly. What I have to laugh at, and I'll record on here for me to laugh at later too, is that it took me 20 minutes to figure out how to word the email. For some reason it had to be absolutely perfect.

And for some reason, whenever I wake up at night I can remember the exact time on the clock. I mean, really, who does that?

While I'm in the mood, I figure I'll relate all the other fun stuff I've done this weekend while not really "going" anywhere.

I was amazed when Brad said that he had to tread water for 30 minutes. 30 freaking minutes. And in full suit, no less. So I attempted this withmy shorts on in the pool (as I've somehow managed to forget my trunks at home) which happen to offer quite a bit of drag (or maybe that's just my curvy muscalature).

Sorry, language is entirely too one-dimensional.

To continue, I got to 27 seconds, and nearly drowned. Come to think of it, that was probably pretty stupid because nobody was home, and they wouldn't come home for another hour or two. Ah, well, you live and you learn...or you die. They always seem to leave that last little bit off.

Also, I've taken into habit walking down to the end of the street and throwing the frisbee around. Mind you I don't have anyone to throw it to, but I figure that since I can't throw straight worth a damn its probably easier on my prospective throwee that I just let them watch the football game and I can aim for trees.

I have gotten a bit better, though. I've been attempting a "forehand" throw, which involves awkward wrist movement and even stranger posture, but strangely enough it is more accurate than when I just throw the thing normally ("backhand"). I'm kinda thankful I'm right-handed, or I'd probably be lost when I read on the 'net how to do these throws. Hmm...

Tonight's game of self-catch was also complimented by a light show, or rather, a lightning storm that was brewing just at sunset. I tell ya, if you ever wanna see beautiful sunsets, here's the place. California does not hold a candle, I'm sorry.

Another reason I'm trying to get out of the house is because I don't like fighting. At all. I've always kind of just shrugged it off when it happened, but apparently I can't quite do that anymore. People will fight about most anything, from the most noble cause to whether someone's foot is on their cushion. Whatever the spark, it just kinda makes me feel sick inside. Kinda like after you swallow water the wrong way, and no matter how hard to you to convince yourself you're not drowning, there's still some scared neanderthal clawing to the surface with the aid of your adrenals. I know that their argument doesn't involve me in any way, shape, or form, but I just can't get it out of my head that there's something wrong.

I guess its just an ugly thing. I think the world we be a bit better if we understood anything about anyone else. 42, damnit.

One last thing. I've got much respect for the deaf kids that are in my lectures. For all the struggles I have trying to understand these tired geniuses I can't imagine what they must go through when every acronym, every hexadecimal, every ridiculous technical term has to be signed. It intrigues me so much I can't help but stare at the aids during the entire lecture. They must think I'm deaf, or something. I'd like to meet the guy, but how do you even start a conversation?

This post was a lot of random stuff I've had on my mind the past few days. Or weeks. Or ever. So now I'm just going to settle down with my chili-cheese Cheezits and a glass of milk and hope for the best.