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� 06/27/2003 - 10:42 p.m. | it's the death of my desire �So go on� if this will make you happier. It got you this far, did what you had to do. You�ve wasted every moment of your Saturdays and your Sundays. You're wasted from the boredom, was never supposed to be like this.�
Hours: 7.5 roughly (7:30-3) Every morning, I feel more exhausted than I did the one before. But I already mentioned that to you, didn�t I? I kept lying down on the floor today and seriously contemplated just dozing off, but I didn�t. A shame, really. Showered and got out the door, roughly on time even. Then I hit a fucking deer. Now, listen. I�m hard on myself pretty much all the time, right? Yeah, see what happens when I actually fuck something up. I started heading towards work just a little before my dad. Got about 4 houses away, couldn�t have been going more than 40 mph yet, and these two deer start to cross the road in front of me (oh � I was talking to my uncle about this; apparently deer have this weird thing about cars � if they see one coming, they assume it stretches out behind itself forever, so they have to make it in front). Considering the circumstances, I thought I was pretty much on top of my game, reflex-wise. I slammed on the brakes (my winner brakes), missed the first deer, and timed it perfectly to smash into the second, dead on. Last time I was in an accident, I yelled something along the lines of, �Oh, Gaaaawwwd!� This time around (if I recall), it was more like, �Holy sheeeeeiiiiit!� But yeah, deer vs. car, no clear winner. Well, the Buick is still running, though. *rimshot* The front end of the car got totally smashed in, and the hood flew up. Grille and headlights both fucked up beyond recognition. Smell of burning rubber (I made quite the impressive skid). I was fine, physically. Pulled off into a side road and my dad caught up. We surveyed the damage, and he decided that I couldn�t drive it for the time being, so we dropped off the deerly-departed, and he gave me a ride to work. Now, listen; everyone�s gonna say it wasn�t my fault. I don�t give a fudge. I could�ve prevented it somehow. Had I left 2 seconds later (e.g. had I picked up the apple I had that fell on the floor), this wouldn�t even be an issue. But Nate the Shitty Driver strikes again, and now my reputation just grows. Ticks me off � 2 fucking accidents, and even more unnecessary shit my parents have to pay for. Just had the brakes fixed even, and then I go and trash the car. So, yeah � if I was reluctant to apologize, it was not because I wasn�t feeling sorry. I was too mad at myself to try and even ask for forgiveness; I just yelled at myself in my head and let the knots in my stomach grow. How fucking useless are you, Nate? My parents no longer really need to worry about punishing me for anything because I�m so much harder on myself than they could ever be. I spent a good chunk of my time today thinking about how I could somehow suffer for this. Not physically � that�s not long-lasting enough. I need some good old fashioned emotional trauma; that sticks around long after wounds heal. I have some good ones at the ready. Anyway, drove to work in relative silence because I wasn�t really up for feeling my dad out on the subject. I hate when I�m such a huge fucking expense. Got to work and informed everyone, leading to jibes all about. Good � that�s the kind of shit I�m talking about. Tim: �So, heard you became a deer hunter today? Huhuhuhuh.� Thank you, Tim. Same old, same old, as far as work goes. But, since I didn�t know if or when a parent would be coming to get me (hitching became an option), I took a break and ate Doritos. Psychological punishment. Also crispy M&M�s, which turned out to be less like Whoppers than I thought (fucking Whoppers), and therefore less of a punishment. Should�ve gone with the Zagnut, but even I wasn�t that pissed at myself. Also fell alseep on the picnic table bench. That�s right! You pick up weird talents at the factory. For instance, my palms have become more sensitive than before. I can tell you how many wires I am holding in my hand (approximately, usually within one) and if the panel I�m bending has been accidentally flipped the wrong way just by touch. I wish this could apply somewhere else in the world, but I�ll take my unusual superpower with gratitude anyway. Travo listens to the hard rock head-bangin� station. REALLY LOUDLY. Like, so loud that I can hear it better than what I�m listening to on my headphones. Stupid obnoxious music. Actually, I know about half of it because of Spritz. They play a lot of Tool, so I whistle along because nothing takes the darkness out of scary rock like some idiot in a too-small t-shirt whistling while he prances around. That would be me. Again, at least I work. I was way ahead of the narc, so I watched him as he got ready to wind. 20 minutes process, I swear. He washed his hair in the sink and used the calculator for some reason and played with the radio (�Louder? Yes, louder!�) and generally did nothing. Dad came early to pick me up early, which was unexpected, so we came home (stopped at library briefly), and took a look at the car. After much analysis (�Is it leaking something there?� �No, Dad, that�s deer blood�), we eventually came about a plan of action. That car ain�t fucked yet! The lights are smashed, and the fan�s messed up, but the radiator is holding, and it seems to run okay. So, we�re gonna try and straighten out the front, get some headlights and a fan from the junkyard, jury rig it all up (duct tape!!), and seal it all shut with a chain around the hood. Holy shit, yes. This better work. See, Kyle got rid of his ghetto car, mine sensed it, and decided it had to make itself even worse, so it covered itself with buck semen or something (actually, a buck was what I hit � Dad pointed out the velvety antlers; I pointed out the brains on the ground). I forget my point. Now I�m stuck on the idea of buck semen. Dammit, brain. Watched some truly wretched TV (although no where near as bad as Viva Rock Vegas on Sci-Fi last night). �The Fabulous Life of Britney Spears� made me so sad. She�s worth 50 million dollars (and growing), and she uses a private jet for coffee runs and blah blah blah hate her. Well, at least she�s getting rewarded for her talent� AT SUCKING DICK Ten points. Went with parents to visit grandparents. Dozed in the car. Doze everywhere lately. My grandparents are nice; I just never know what to talk about with them. I don�t have safe topics like my parents do (running into family, sports, gardening). Well, there was school, but that�s about it� No one wants to hear about a factory. Which is why I write about it so much. I�m a terrible grandchild, aren�t I? After visit, folks and I went to dinner. I had mediocre pizza (only because I was expecting something more), but my salad (French with bleu cheese), pi�a colada, and coffee were good. I have become my own opposite. Stopped for Tropical Sno (Lemon Fandango!!) and was contemplating a movie, but that sort of fizzled. Saw the best clouds of all time, though. And I really have nothing more to say. EXCEPT that I will apparently be at Brytne�s tomorrow and Sunday, so you might have to cope without this drivel for a while. Does anyone read this? Neat.
I won't be soothed, |