Smallhouse Log

Second Saturday of Spring Break
"It's like musical tupperware." - Martin, 06/02/2003

Resolutions for the new quarter: I will

  • hang out with Beth more.
  • hang out with Geoff less.
  • not wait until the last hour or two to do my homework.
  • write my papers before they are due.
  • finish the reading for my papers before the night before they're due.
  • begin the reading before the night before the paper is due.
  • do the reading for my papers, period.
  • be frugal with my money and effective with my time.
  • give fewer compliments.
  • talk less is general.
  • talk more when it's important to do so.
  • keep in better touch with my non-Chicago friends.
  • try to make more non-University friends in Chicago.
  • wash my jeans more often.
  • go to church more often and more eclectically.
  • write more poetry.
  • write more short stories.
  • write better, all told.
  • spend less time on the computer.
  • spend more time on my bike.
  • try to break with commercialism.
  • get better grades.
  • establish a firm and healthy dietary pattern.
  • establish a firm and healthy sleeping pattern.
  • throw all of this aside for a week to lead the Shoreland Scav Hunt team to victory, of course.

    Road trip was fun, but nothing that would be interesting to relate. The new Harvest Moon looks like it is awesome, but it's only for Game Cube, and there's apparantly only three marriageable girls, rather than five or whatever it is on 64 or SNES. I like horseradish, and am afraid of of extremely fine girls and my grandfather. I search for the meaning I once had in life, and wonder if I have, in fact, forgotten it. I earnestly hope to die, and soon, but have resigned myself to a long life. I can no longer fly. I can no longer remember, hear, or see without assistance and concentration. I am twenty years old, and an old man to boot. I am twenty years old, nearly twenty-one, and I have already given up drinking at least once. I am still bitter about my last girlfriend, and still wistful about the girl I loved before her. I still ache when I think of either of them. I am ashamed that I cut off my hair for no reason, and I am completely cold-hearted to the plight of almost all other human beings. I do not even believe that they are human, that I am human. They -we- are automata, and I can sometimes feel myself becoming more a machine each passing day, each passing moment. I am a bastard, in the modern sense of the word, and it takes a great deal of my will not to become worse. I fear my will. I have seen myself do terrible things, break people, and destroy what beautiful and unique, all for the sake of doing, changing, pragmatizing. I have fought countless battles against myself and lost most of them. I know from experience that if I met me, I would not be able to tolerate being near me. I am coming to find that I do not like the fact that the people I am so close to are so close to someone like me. I have been ranting now for what should be more than a paragraph, and I am still of the subject of myself.

    And that sickens me.

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