11/13/2003 - 11:39 a.m. | raining nuclear crystals

I could've very easily written last night, but I did think there would enough interesting things to cover. Then again, when are there? More importantly, however, I was sinking into the depths of emoness, although hopefully you couldn't tell. This is because I recognize that what I'm feeling is not real and that it will pass, and I try to keep things light instead. It actually makes a lot of sense. I've been applying it liberally to life. See, every paranoid feeling I get feels very urgent, almost like instinct. Unfortunately, unlike instinct, it has never been right. Not once. OK, maybe with the Mexicans, but that was a fluke. Anyway, anytime I feel nervous or scared or have groundless fears about something, I go, "Shut up - you're wrong" and do whatever it was I was trying to do in the first place. It'd be nice if the thoughts went away altogether, but at least I'm learning to dodge them.

Work was work. OK, that's not right. Um - work was just sort of there, as it always is on Wednesday's nights. Thought about working on my stats homework (shit - still gotta do that today!), but Mr. Laptop was reluctant to let me use any dangerous programs like MS Word, so I just read insted. A lot of people came by (Brytne, Kyle, Michelle, Kitty) last night. There's no way I can't come out of this not seeming like an unappreciative ass, so I'll just button up. I just, uh, function better on my own sometimes, you know? And who can predict when, really? It just felt as though... everyone was there for another reason maybe? Perhaps I picked up on that, perhaps not. But Brytne did bring me thai through the freezing quad tundra back at the point when I was still being talkative, and I still am really grateful for it. Just bad timing in my mind, I guess. Maybe they could sense it too? It's so hard to figure out feelings, I think. There was a failed attempt to get a picture of Dr. Science. More careful plans will need to be made. Emogame!

After work, off to Eric's, which was once again balls this week. We did meet this sort of cool soon-to-be GE guy there, so I guess that's something. And there were a couple of mutants hanging about. And Eric was trying to get in some girl's pants by talking about tests and wearing his fucking Dockers or whatever. He is doomed to fail, even I know this. Spritz decided that since he had never been punched before, I should probably, you know, punch him. I refused to do that, however, because I love him too much. Instead, I had him touch my boob, called him fresh, and slapped him. I know comedy when I create it. We left when we realized that there was absolutely no chance of the party improving (although Andy promises it will be better next week... then again, Andy was running around in a yellow shirt with stripes drawn on it in permanent marker buzzing like a bee).

Oh - in a bit of charming fun that only Nate Walsh could produce (OK, this is wrong), I could nope singing Mya's "My Love is Like 'Whoa'" over and over, except it would cleverly modify it to be like, "My Spritz is like 'Whoa.' My Eric's like 'Whoa.'" And so on. My, how clever, Nate. We stopped at Dank's to warm up. I was provided with apple juice that smelled not so good but tasted better. Also headphones from Zou because he apparently rememebers everything ever said. Then we talked about old Nickeloden game shows and such. And everybody had a good time. "Especially that Yousaf character. I rather enjoy him."

We came home and eerily stared in Sarah Lucas' window while, uh, talking. WEB OF LIES! LIEEEEEES. Then some fucking Jett Jackson and then some emo. Acting, not listening. I smell funny.

Spritz is the man at Zippos. He also makes me write stupid, stupid things in my diary. I hate him. I had a dream I went colorblind. Or I was going to, rather. The funny thing was that I had just told my mom that I didn't need to go to the eyedoctor because it wasn't like I was going to stop seeing in color or something. Then she calls and says, "Wanna hear something ironic?" Kyle and Michelle are the same person, plus or minus y chromosome. While Kyle screams about his missing light jacket (yeah, yeah!) and bookbag, I notice Michelle's keys and wallet on our counter. The truly funny part would be if his coat was on her counter. Or the fact that she actually went and looked.