09/19/2003 - 3:05 a.m. | i could talk �til i'm dead and still not get in your head

After a couple hours of the Disney Channel, I was sealed in the vault currently known as Freer Hall. Despite my best attempts to do something productive, like reading or writing or talking to people on AIM, it all sort of disintegrated after a while� just like it always does. Got sick of reading, tired of writing, and no one really had anything to say to me. I talked to Michelle for a while, but when someone goes idle for half an hour mid-conversation, comes back, and puts up an away message, it is a fairly good sign that you are a terrible, terrible conversationalist. Thus, it was back to my one true creative outlet, making shit to do in my horrible little office. After the lesser triumph of the inflated latex glove hovering in spirals on a fan, I moved on to survival skills. If necessary, could I boil water with the limited supply of tools at my disposal? Yes!! I built a complicated device involving a glass Sanka jar hanging by a shoelace from a drawer over a candle balanced on a couple VHS swimming tapes and these little rubber things so that kids won�t slip and die in the pool. I�m Davy Crocket. As I watched the hours creep by, slowly getting sucked into my own madness, I eventually just stopped thinking, which is sort of refreshing. One sort of cute girl comes in later at night, so there�s something to look forward to. And the ping pong freaks cleaned up on time. And there�s Wednesday night. So I�ll stop writing for now.

This is all followed by the terrible of Michelle turning into regular girl:

michelleawetzler: you guys don�t invite me over anymore

And once we started to tear her argument to pieces (e.g. you�re always busy, and you can always come over to do homework, stupid), she�s like, �Oh, I was just joking.� Nevertheless, I shall be more wary. Girls.

Today I stumbled out of bed and went with Michelle to take her car in. Cars are crazy expensive. I am sticking to $11 bikes from here on out. After I walked her to class, came back, played more stupid Megaman, showered, and ate lunch. Then, Kyle, Spritz, and I went to the O�Brien car dealer so Spritz could test drive a Mazda RX8. I know nothing about cars, but it certainly seemed really, uh, fast. And the seller lady was nice and let Spritz drive a lot, taking him places where he could more or less go nuts, even though she was tall, and I had to sit next to her in the tiny backseat, and that�s sort of weird. Then I started to read something and instead bought this. Wise move, Nate. Wise.

Hit the quad for Stick-It later in the afternoon, giving me an adequate topic for my journalism story. I beat Will, which I consider some improvement, even if it was just a fluke. A.J. showed up, and while I am sure he hates me, I think it might be a teensy bit less than it once was. He, Kyle, Brytne, and I hit Hardee�s (my stats professor was there!!), followed by Wal-mart, followed by Wal-mart again later for some stupid, stupid things we shall not go into. Stop wasting your time and money, Nate.

From there, it�s a blur. Well, not really a blur, but I don�t want to talk about it. Why am I such an asshole? Oh, you know, Nate. You fucking know. And he�s right, I do. I am a second grader when it comes to certain things, and I gotta stop being so dumb about it. And I gotta stop addressing myself. I am so bad at expressing my feelings sometimes, and then they come out in weird ways. But mostly, I�ve got to stop acting crazy and obnoxious and immature, and I just get so mad sometimes that I just want to cut myself off from the world forever. I developed a wicked Irish accent earlier, and it wouldn�t go away. I�ll bet that was annoying. Nothing to do with pellet guns, though. NOTHING. Anyway, time to stop being a jerk, even if the consequences are no better. They won�t like you if you�re nice, and they won�t like you if you�re mean, so just go crawl into a corner and die. Tralalalalala. And so much for forgiveness, so I�ll just burn in hell. Man, it is late, and I have to be up early. I�m almost positive I�m the worst guy ever. Ugh � seriously, time to wallow or bleh or something. Man, so fucking stupid of me. Arg. Never talking again. Yeah, seriously.