I am easily swayed by food. Like, even when I’m not hungry OR bored, or even being advertised to intentionally, the idea of food gets into my head and is immediately attached to desire. Easily accepted desire in most cases. It occurred to me that it might be easier for me in quite a few ways to just grow fat into the clothes I already have. I wouldn’t have to think about what I eat or about buying new clothes, and after a while, I wouldn’t have to worry about feeling like I’m swimming in the clothes I do have.
What? You don’t believe me?
Damn, I love being drunk. No, I mean that. If there’s one thing I love in life, it’s anal sex with the women I love. But if there’s another thing I love in life, it’s taking way too much LSD and having anal sex. However, THIRD place definitely goes to drinking. GAWD DAMN, but I do so love being drunk.
It’s fun.
Silly microwaves not going through trees.
Would you believe that the only thing standing between me and the internet is a couple of trees? Did you know that there was a relationship between the physical location of trees and my ability to access the internet from home? Well, as it turns out, the pecan tree in the neighbor’s yard (and theoretically another tree a couple of blocks away as well) prevents me from getting internet access at my new house. So, I’m looking into other options and future technologies, but it looks like I won’t be having internet access at home any time soon.
Oh, and because the trees are breaking my contract, Sprint wants to charge me $161 to not give me internet access for the next year. So, I’m working on speaking to various people with Sprint about that. We’ll see what happens. Maybe it will lead to some sort of breakdown.
Paper is as much a site as this
I have been struggling lately. I have been writing in other places. Writing in paper places. I have been writing the things I have been thinking, as I seem to do here. Trying to see what I’m thinking, I think. Trying not to say too much about something that involves someone that I know reads this thing. Does that form of censorship (though it does not stop me from writing) defeat the purpose of this place? Don’t I want this place to be where I can come to write anything? How do other people feel about their lives being an open book to the world, as seen through my interpretation of it, my part in it? Is it even safe to have meaningful, emotional relationships with people, knowing that I will want to write everything about it here, knowing that they will be reading what I put here? Is it just a matter of being more honest than is expected, or is it overstepping the “understood” boundaries of privacy?
I’m Leaving on a Jet-Full-Size-Rental-Car
So, Iain and I leave for the Comicon tomorrow morning at 3:30AM. I’m taking tomorrow and Monday off work, so I certainly won’t post anything here before Tuesday without something odd occurring. Looks like we’ll be doing the Con Friday and Saturday, and then either coming straight home Sunday morning or going to LA. Iain seems to be under the impression that there isn’t time to do anything in LA. I’m thinking of trying to convince him there’s time enough to take in some sort of local attraction. I mean, how long can it possibly take to ride the X? The problem with this seems to be that what Iain appreciates and what I appreciate differ, especially regarding the value of entertainment experiences, and the rate of diminishing returns of the same for him.
Then Monday I get a chance to rest a little after all that driving and excitement, and work with my dad on finishing up the dryer hookup at my new house, and trimming my trees, maybe. Woo!