|
|
02-02-02 - 12:28 a.m. I gave my recent behavior some actual thought tonight and came to the conclusion that, for the past several months I've not lived. Rather, I've functioned. I hate to say it because it's so hideously clich�, but I feel like I'm on "auto-pilot." I get up, sit around, go out somewhere, maybe eat, come back, read whatever book I'm in the mood for (currently, Nicholas Nickelby), maybe talk to my Hot Male Roommates, see Leif or something, then I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. This last part can, and does, go on for hours. It's mindless and wastes time. So all in all, it's a perfect hobby. An ideal pastime. As I was staring the other day, Bryan walked in and asked if I wanted him to put a poster in my line of vision. "That'd ruin the game," I said. "So what are you looking at, then?" he asked, crawling in bed next to me. "Nothing." "There's gotta be something up there worth staring at. I just can't see it." "You can see just as much as I can, and I can see nothing but the white drywall." "You're actually staring at nothing?" "Or else it's staring at me. Or both. It's a staring contest and I'm determined to win. It's the sense of competition I live for." "You are so weird." I rolled over and hugged him. Justin entered, screeched, "You better not be going all straight on me, Bryan!" and crawled in with the two of us. I hugged Bryan tighter and said to Justin, "He couldn't resist my feminine charms. I'm just too good." "Slut," Justin chided. Bryan exclaimed they'd made me into a "gaywich." But I really didn't like being that affectionate for too long, so I chuckled, purposefully checked the alarm clock, announced that I was late, hopped out of bed, and rushed out to my car. I didn't actually have anywhere to be, but being anywhere but there seemed the best idea at the time. I did get out of the house tonight. Bryan forced me. He said I had to get some fresh air and listen to Mandy Moore. Two weeks ago I'd have blanched at the prospect of that girl's music. But ever since Justin burned a mixed disc of her unreleased songs, I've been hooked. She's threatening Britney's place in my heart...if Mandy learns to dance, then I'll be a traitor to Britney fans everywhere. Somewhere along the lines, Mandy learned how to sing and damn, can she sing! She sounds a little like I do when I sing, except she has talent. So anyway, Bryan, Justin, and I drove around in search of an open ice cream store, blasting Mandy Moore. I think I started off this entry with some eventual point to make, but have spent so much time rambling that to attempt to recover my point would be an even greater waste of time than my hours spent staring at the ceiling. Therefore, I'm going to sleep.
|