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chickie-legs
<- Thursday, May. 05, 2005 | 10:29 p.m. ->





Or something.

Moral of the story: I need something more productive to do with my time when I'm procrastinating.

And by "something more productive" I mean "not looking at the same five websites over and over until I begin to notice a feeling of impending doom." Doom I tell you, DOOOM.

Doom with lots of o's. DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM. That is the feeling that begins to impend. Kid you not.

I feel the pressure of possible readers, thus my writing has gone straight down hill. They probably won�t check this site again, because when they asked about it, it was most certainly in a drunken haze, but they may check. Who knows?

Moving Corelyn�s car at three AM this morning we joked, �if we were at home, our parents TOTALLY wouldn�t let us do this!� We laughed, but it�s true. That seems to be so much of college, the feeling that, were I in the place filled with rules and regulations and standards of conduct where I grew up, none of this would happen. The other part of college, or of getting out into a world where you are your own keeper, is realizing that the rules you make for yourself aren�t so very different from those inforced upon you. The minutia change � I don�t sleep when I used to, for one, but the general ideas stay the same.

This was my account of walking home from the library at four AM Sunday night:

Walking home from the library at four in the morning I thought to myself "remember the days when you used to get goose bumps just thinking about what four am air smelled like?" and I wondered if four am had always been so cold and expansive. Then I passed the three rabbits and the one room with light coming through the blinds but kept walking. That was close to the extent of the adventure. I saw a flier and dropped to my knees with glee reading it at the end of the cold, concrete bridge. I took some pictures, but they�re too dark to be good. I have trouble getting acquainted with the four AM light.

Sleep well under the banana moon.

I worry that one day my actions will stop being endearing and become annoying, like she feels happened to her. I worry that one day I will turn around and discover that by no fault of my own, and yet complete fault of my own, I have lost them. I guess I�ll just see how that goes.


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