Also....

I hate Phil Collins.

What the what Google+?

Ok, so I just logged on and created a profile on google+. It could be that I just don't have teh patients or comprehension for this new fangled technology...but I don't get it.
IT's like facebook right?
But then what?
What else am I supposed to do?
It's all like, "Circles!", and I'm all like, "WOW! Exciting!". But then I don't get it beyond that.
So, what the what?

I want a dog.
I do not care if it is obnoxious, stinky, loud, or homicidal.
I want a dog.
I have been locked in this apartment in this desolate hell of these southern states for far too long. Perhaps if I was to acquire a dog I would not feel trapped as if in an ivory tower.
Perhaps if there was a dog in my life I would stop referring to the apartment complex as "The Compound".
Perhaps if I had a dog my lifestyle would become stable and not this nightmarish scenario of unemployment and uncertainty.
Then again, maybe not.
But I won't know until there is a dog in my life.
I know for certain that my ceaseless bitching will not stop until there is a dog.
So let's just make this easier for everyone involved (JASON) and let me have the damn dog.

(picnic, lightning)

The Doctor has an answer for everything

I keep watching episode of David Tennent Doctor Who and totally identifying with them. Ok, hear me out...its for two specific reasons.

1. at the end of the "waters of mars" the doctor finally decides that he can do anything and is the time-lord victorious. He's on top of the world thinks he can do no harm and then the one chick goes and blows her brains out...and ITS TOTALLY HIS FAULT! I feel like this more often than not. As soon as I think everything is hunky-dory and I can do no wrong the universe decides to tell me otherwise. For this reason I am incredibly hyper-critical of myself, and am neurotic about my impact on others. I've let people down in the past and have been hated for it for years. Many people say that the other party should just let go and get over it. I say, if I pissed off someone that badly then they have the right to stay mad at me as long as they want. In that moment when the women shoots herself in the noggin and the Doctor realizes what he's done. I live in that moment these days, waiting for the other shoe to drop. And the fact that I'm moving away is just amplifying it....Which brings use to reason number 2!

2. at the end of "the end of time" when the doctor is about to regenerate he pleading states "I don't want to go". This one impacts me more than the other, because after all, I am moving away from everything I've always known and trying to make a go of it with a man whom I both love and, at times, cannot stand. I don't want to go. Everyone tells me that this will be such an adventure but I cannot begin to believe them. I'm scared of what comes next and what person I might become because of it.

That last bit sounds familier to all you fan girls out there, doesn't it?

Point is, I wanna say fuck it but I know I'd never have the heart to hurt Jason by not moving.

But that's a conundrum that the Doctor will never have to face, because everyone leaves him on their own.

(picnic, lightning)

So! Finals.
So! Graduating.
So! Chirstmas.
So! Disneyworld.
So! Moving.

On writing

The following is a personal essay I wrote for my English class. I liked writing it. Thought you might like reading it. Do so.

Curiosity killed the parent

When I was four, there was little difference between me and other four year olds; I had dimples in my cheeks and curly brown hair that sprung from my head in ringlets. When I was four, I loved dinosaurs (triceratops especially) and chocolate milk in my sippy cup. When I was four, I dressed as a black cat for Halloween and wwent trick-or-treating with my sister, who I idolized. When I was four I ran out in front of cars. I ran out in front of cars because I wanted to know what it was like to die.

It started innocently enough, my quest for death. I had seen at a cross walk in town that people and cars stopped for the color red. Also, if a police officer held out their hand a car would stop for them. As logic stands, going home and coloring my hand red with a marker then holding it out while standing in the middle of the road should have stopped cars. As experience stands, it did not.

Thanks to my parents, I never was hit by a car and, for obvious reasons; I never did succeed in my quest. The fact that I wanted to die had nothing to do with being depressed. What child feels depressed at the age of four? No, the reason I wanted to die was due to the simple fact that I was curious. I did not understand that once I died, I couldn’t come back. Pistol Pete and Wile E Coyote came back from death all the time. They would fall off cliffs or get shot in the face on a daily basis, to them dieing was a paycheck.

With each attempt I aged my parents a little more, to the point where they often entertained the idea of buying a leash for me. Numerous lectures on the concept of death and dying were told to me over breakfast, lunch, dinner, and before bedtime. To me death was just a story. Like so many other things at the time, it wouldn’t be real until I had experienced it myself. Despite my parent’s uncountable efforts, I was never discouraged. I saw every street corner as an opportunity for victory. The awful truth of it all was, with each near miss from the big finish, I was slowly killing my mother and father.

My parents suffering, was silent. Like many fixations that came before and after, my wonderfully patient parents took my curb jumping in stride. For years, I had no idea of what hell I had put them through. I never knew how many times they were certain that I could not be caught in time, only to grab a hold of my shirt at the last moment. After I was married, my mother and father took me aside and said they hoped that, someday, I had a child as “spirited” as I had been.

After I realized my parents were tipped off to my motives every time I left the house with a red left hand, I began taking more desperate measures. The moment a head was turned I would make my escape. Stepping off the curb at a swift toddle; testing my speed against my parents’ agility. I am unable to recall every instance in which I ran but, to this day, I still get the tiniest rush of exhilaration when I cross the road against a light.

Thankfully, despite my curiosity, I was not very imaginative. Running in front of a car was the only option I had in my arsenal in regards to offing myself. This fact, when recalled, is consistently met with a sigh of relief.

In recent years, the recollection of my relentless journey towards death has become a favorite subject in my family. Usually, reflected upon at dinner time, after the second bottle of wine has been un-corked.

“Well I just don’t know what we would have done if you decided there were easier ways to die,” my mother might say. Perhaps with a little eye roll to signify she didn’t appreciate the subject being brought up during dinner (this gesture only reserved for when guests are present).

“We would definitely have bought the leash, if that were the case,” might reply my father. Perhaps not taking interest in the, aforementioned, eye roll (this indifference only occurring if he doesn’t like the guests).

“I still can’t believe you went through that phase in the first place,” this might be said by my sister, if she were visiting from out of town (in place of the guests).

I would, more than likely, defend myself at this juncture; but to be honest, I am in disbelief myself. As quickly as my obsession came, it left; replaced by Mr. Rogers and grilled cheese sandwiches. I woke up one morning, at the age of five, and realized death was not something I wanted to run towards. To this day, I can’t explain what my motivations were besides curiosity. Most kids go through chapters in their lives that test their parents. Mine, nearly killed me.

(picnic, lightning)

Fall in Wisconsin

The fact that I'm leaving didn't really hit me all that hard until yesterday. Fall has come to Wisconsin (it did a while ago but I was to busy to notice) and it's going ot be the last one I have for many years. No one does fall like Wisconsin, many people argue that Maine and the eastern states have better, but I assume that's because they've never ventured this far into America. But I have also never gone that far east at this time of year. So we could call it a draw.
Fall is my favorite time of year, many people could tell you this about me.
So I find myself gettin' a nostalgic up in this hizzy about what I'm goin' to say goodbye to.
There are so many things that I have found.

(picnic, lightening)