2004-12-16 - 11:37 p.m.
gashed cheeks

hello, thought i'd add an entry. however since i have nothing to write about, nor indeed any means of organizing thoughts into any sort of coherent pattern, i'll just do a freewrite, one half hour, starting at eleven thirty seven. go. so today i had my astronomy final (oh my god she gave me a fucking B on that paper i wrote when i was spun! that has got to be the luckiest break i've had in awhile. plus... ooh yeah... it was under three pages, and she was supposed to mark me down for that, but apparently decided not to. yes!) and then i went to sit in the parking lot at south coast and write... let's see... thirteen three-by-five pages about... yes, you guessed it... taco bell operating procedures. nice. then i drove around, got lost some, had an awesome time with dvorak, stopped at the bookstore, lost my pencil, etc. cleaned out my voicemail. watched "we don't live here anymore." did a lot of crazy thinking, but i can't really remember what it was about now. tomorrow's gonna be shitty, but thankfully i don't have to do anything important. i wish i had some more shit, but getting some now would be a bad fucking idea--i work, what, twenty hours next week? no, getting spun definitely does not mix well with work. schoolwork, yes, sometimes--as in, on the first day of a run. sometimes you can start a run at work, too, and be fine. but as soon as you spend even one night up, it's over. at least for me. yesterday i felt so shitty i wanted to hang myself in the humidor, and jean got mad at me and manjit saw me at my not-greatest. no, this week i should probably stay sober, especially on the days i'm working and the nights before the days i work; i need to be at the top of my game for the CHRISTMAS RUSH!!! some shit like that. oh by the way i found my calculator, right on time, after the math final. so school then. how's it look? a definite B in astronomy, a definite A in acting, almost definitely a B in creative writing, and an F in retard algebra. it'd all be fine and dandy if mom didn't want to see my transcripts, because then all i'd have to do is tell her my GPA. but nooooo. well i guess that's a good thing. much less of this pretending-to-be-doing-okay crap should be going on around here. yeah, i failed math. what would be even better is if they printed the actual grade... like, "27%" as opposed to just "F." does the period go on the outside? i'm not sure! but i'm sure as fuck not gonna look it up. shit, room-cleaning time... yeah, that's tomorrow. but i'll be coming down off shit! there won't be much cleaning going on, methinks. maybe i can get some shit in the afternoon... no! not allowed! i'll just have to work with what i've got. cushion the blow with weed--that's not difficult. oh, to not have to work! or, indeed, to work somewhere like taco bell again! that was perfect for me, and i find myself longing for it--i don't want to worry about my job performance. my current job is all pressure, especially since everyone THINKS it's so laid-back and chill. fuck that. i have to know "everything about everything in the store" and apparently run the store for an hour by myself at the two-month mark. ha. yeah. sorry, really, i'm just so sorry, but that's not going to happen. you expect me to wear nice clothes and painful shoes, keep my voice down, act like a lady, know all the products, know the backstock, be able to recommend cigars and tobaccos on a customer-by-customer basis

oh, sorry, looks like time's up. shall i just keep going? why the fuck not?

so this isn't really a freewrite, since i keep going back and correcting things. only minor things, though, like grammatical shit and syntax. aren't we supposed to just write whatever comes to mind, and just keep typing, even if it's gibberish? isn't that what i've been told to do every time i've done a freewrite? oh by the way i find the concept of a "guided freewrite" to be a tad cockamamie. so anyways. freewriting. i've found that it's kind of difficult at first because i need to build momentum, but once i do, it's like i've found my groove or my rhythm or something because the next thing i know i've written, like twenty pages and i don't remember what they're about. happens all the time in my condition. yeah so for some reason i'm just fascinated with my memories of taco bell. i keep thinking about the dynamic there; it really was like we were all little cells in some giant organism. i really liked that. we had our duties, and we performed them, and that was that. i just erased like three lines' worth of nonsense bullshit; this is indeed a poser freewrite. hold on, i'm checking my messages. fuckin' bobby. fuckin' fabian. fuckin'... i want a sandwich. i may be back.

ooh, you touch my tra-la-la... mmm, my ding-ding-dong