Since I had been in a bad mood lately, I decided to go to where I used to go when I was in a bad mood: Kiwanis Park. (That is where you'll find the stagnant body of water that everyone calls a lake.)

It's been a blast. It has been very blustery lately, with cool nights.

So anyway, that was the brunt of my Friday night. The park was pretty populated. Mostly couples strolling blissfully around in circles. Larger groups also dominated most of the ramadas where I do push-ups, pull-ups, and sit-ups.

I have a lot of memories locked up in that park.

I ran past the spot where I rescued a duck that had trapped its beak in a bottle top.

There was the trashcan I threw up in one of the many times I had gotten drunk and then decided it would be a marvelous idea to go running.

Under that tree over there, I nearly ran right over a couple that was getting their groove on in the shadows. I ignored them and went about my business, British-style. They had disappeared when I rounded my second lap, but in the exact spot where they had been were two cats sitting calmly. I have been known to see ghost cats, but this was still unsettling.

I'm going to take Luis to a movie now. Scooby-Doo 2. I enjoyed the first movie, so I hope this one isn't bad.

I'm pretty confident that it can't be worse than The Cat in the Hat.

House in shambles. Computer unplugged. Blog posting uncertain.

I'll find a way to hitchhike my way on the superhighway...somehow.

Now where did I put that blond wig and fishnet stockings?

Hey, they still fit. Sweet.

Ah, The Unforgiving Light Of Morning...

I managed to make it to my classes today. I had to scrap my get-up-early-and-do-homework plan that I had hastily formed before dropping off to sleep last night/this morning.

I feel good.

I'm toying with the idea of some stand-up comedy. There are a lot of places around here to do it, and it looks like an interesting life.

Of course, I'm basing that entirely from watching the documentary Comedian last Tuesday. I highly recommend checking it out.

Now I'm working on a few bits. A few aren't anything ground-breaking. One is a (fictional) account of how my parents treated our pets better than they treated us. Another is about overcoming addictions by replacing them with other addictions.

There is a bit I want to work with, but I'm really not sure where it might end up going. It's a sarcastic piece about "finally having the technology to pull off the movies I always wanted to see when I was little like X-Men, Spiderman, and The Passion of the Christ.

Eh? Eh?"

*cricket cricket*

Then again, there is a reason I don't do stand-up comedy. When I write, I don't see my audience. I thankfully miss out on all the I Don't Get It's and What Are You Talking About's and That's Really More Pathetic Than It Is Funny's.

I'll have to work on that.

Eighty-two days.

It was a good run.

Look who's drunken blogging!

No, that's misleading. It hasn't been so long that I would define two and a half drinks as "drunk."

But I am here. And I have consumed some alcohol. Consider yourself forewarned.

Grievously, many of the Great Truths I unwraveled on the drive home have disappeared into the fog of memory. I'm sure I'll stumble over them again soon.

There was something about blogging as both a microcosm and a macrocosm...

and something about Death as a great, glowing, golden orb that is sending out tendril after burning tendril to pull you back into its own mass.

To be perfectly honest, I have been in a horrid mood. Oh, I feel perfectly fine 98 percent of the time. But at odd, inopportune moments, I get a surge of endorphins and I suddenly feel a heavenly elation, as if all is as it should be.

Then it goes away and I realize that I'm not feeling the way I thought I was.

It's not like I'm feeling unhappy per se. It is more like waking up for a moment and realizing that instead of a blanket, you've grabbed a thin sheet and have been shivering violenty to stay warm.

It's uncomfortable.

Then you go back to sleep, and it doesn't matter again.

I would suspect The Bell Jar as a culprit, but I only been reading that this past week.

I think my seratonin levels are shot to hell. I'm not too proud to admit that my emotions are almost completely influenced by a very delicate system of neurotransmitters.

Those wacky guys, norpenephrine, dopamine, and serotonin are at it again, all fluctuatin'.

That would explain my propensity as of late to watch movies. Most notably, catching the Sunday night showing of The Return of the King.

And in another respect, the fact that I haven't been putting up anything original on here as of late as far as creative writing goes.

As I told Dan and Alan at the bar tonight, not drinking has proven to be a grand experiment.

Let us see what happens next.

Heh, maybe I'll drop all of my classes and take that ludicrously profitable job working with extremely hazardous chemicals.

It's all about the bling, right? Small matter if I end up looking like Two-Face.

Half a face is better than none.

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid:	Low
Schizoid:	Low
Schizotypal:	Low
Antisocial:	High
Borderline:	Low
Histrionic:	Low
Narcissistic:	Moderate
Avoidant:	Low
Dependent:	Low
Obsessive-Compulsive:	Low
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! --

Sounds about right at the moment. I think I've just been watching too many movies lately.

I wonder what the results would be if someone took this test for me?

I really don't like marmots, as Sibbitt can attest.

I specially don't like Canadian marmots.

This article made my mission clear.

Oooooohhh, Theee Ciiiircle of Liiiiiiiiife!

I must go and infiltrate the Marmot Recovery Foundation, passing myself off as a "marmot-herder." Then I can take them down from the inside.

I'll have to hide my Punisher-esque shirt (black with a big ol' marmot skull on it) under a hemp pancho or something when I apply for the job.

Marmots stole my food when I was climbing Mt. Whitney.

This isn't revenge.

It's punishment.

(Continued)

"I believe I shall find love today," he proclaimed out loud to no one in particular. His waitress, thinking that he might be voicing some premature request, strolled over. She filled the coffee cup that the hostess had put out. She waited patiently for him to repeat himself.

He looked up at her. She was pretty, with short dark hair and a calm expression. The morning sun was rising behind, catching the few lucky stray hairs and making them seem golden. He shifted his attention and his eyes flicked about the fairly crowded restaurant. Then they returned to her face.

She appeared to be about his age, but he hoped she did not frequent many bars. She worked in a "nice" restaurant. At least, he thought it was nice. It was nicest for breakfast, but he would come at any time of the day as long as the sun was in a good position.

She returned his level gaze while he was thinking these things, and perhaps she had some inkling of what was on his mind because she unexpectedly smiled. She was suddenly beautiful. He blinked in surprise and opened his mouth to speak before she noticed, but nothing came out.

She noticed his surprise and laughed. It was the laugh of someone who has been up long before you and is watching you try to wake up. It was pleasant and musical and teasing all at once. He wondered if he had found love already.

"No," he thought, "Love seldom comes when bidden. I doubt I have found it so easily." This assertion satisfied him. This and her laughter put him at ease again. He beamed up at her.

"Just one today?" she asked, still smiling.

"For now," he answered, feeling very clever. "For now."

He made not further attempts at conversation for the rest of his meal. He ate his breakfast heartily. The bacon was mired in the syrup run-off from his pancakes and had no chance of escape. Some of the scrambled eggs managed to leap off the edge of their world. He felt sorry for them, but had little time to properly mourn. He would need his energy today. After he finished eating, he left a tip which was generous, but not enough to be memorable.

* * * * *

He was not tall. His height was not important to him, but he never wanted to give anyone the impression that he was tall. It came up occasionally. Someone would comment on his height, and he would have to firmly explain that he was not tall. It could have annoyed him, but he understood that some did not see things as they were.

Another person who was not tall was Beth. This statement is true, he decided, although it is false. Thinking of Beth made him smile. Her apartment was not far from his. She often voiced complaint on the lack of adequate parking. He felt that her lament was well-founded. Time spent looking for a spot to park was time wasted. He would walk.

He stepped out of his apartment. He left the pea-green door unlocked. Matt might come by. He suspected that Matt had made himself a key by now, but if he happened to forget it he did not want Matt to have to climb through the window.

He hurried down the stairs, resisting the urge to slide down the railing. He had just bought these pants and was unsure whether he had bought them for the purpose of sliding down the railing or not. He guessed not when he was at the bottom of the steps. They were not corduroy, and corduroy was best for sliding.

The End?

I guess so. I found these few pages as I was digging through an old box of stuff. This was written when I was nineteen, and I think it really shows. It was supposed to be a story eventually, but unsurprisingly I never continued it. I don't think I can finish it now.

It is playfully semi-autobiographical. I don't have a lot of the same ideas about things anymore. Overall, I think it's a good thing.

I will miss this character, though. Whoever he really is.

Maybe that's why he didn't make it. He never had a name.

It was probably some tragic scene like in The Never-Ending Story where his world started falling apart piece by piece. The restaurant, the apartment, and the smiling lady crumbling all away.

I'm sure he was prepared for it. After all, he was wearing his end-of-the-world pants.