Page 181 of 181

November 20, 2001 /

Where Am I Cam

The answer is, of course, that I be me on some Thanksgiving Break. This is one of those “breaks” that doesn’t actually involve me getting a break or anything–before and after stuffing myself with free-range turkey, I will be putting together Theatre History and Comp Sci presentations (sans all my resources) and writing comix like a demon. I hope. If Ian brings the magic home, it’s likely all out the window.

Speaking of my brother, he and some friends have finally managed to get together a Kentucky chapterof the SCL–of which, he informs me, he is suddenly president. Meanwhile, my sister has conquered the competition to complete the Adkins dynasty and become freaking president of the Kentucky JCL. My siblings rule.

mic check one two

November 6, 2001 /

I am my mother’s son. Cleaning isn’t something I do often–my work area is a complex system (or lack thereof) of piles, bins and bags. But I’m starting to realize that when I do it, it’s a way of centering myself, restoring emotional balance.

It was a good day. Shouldn’t have been, really, as I’ve spent it running, being tired and thinking about the impending doom of tomorrow’s Calc and Theatre History tests. I’m getting nowhere with my novel and Jon’s finally made the decision to take the semester off from Short Story. And of course there’s a dead end at… well, nevermind.

But I wrote my play. It’s hasty, overdone and generally awful with a near-complete lack of plot. I’m proud of it all the same.

I want to cast Will and Melinda in it, but grapevine says they won’t work together. Actors! Ishould boil the whole lot of them.

the drummer from Def Leppard’s only got one arm!
the drummer from Def Leppard’s only got one arm!

October 23, 2001 /

Until my lungs feel ticklish like I’m breathing water, until my teeth hurt because they’re drying out, until I can’t bring my arms up to touch my chest, until I forget that I was a lot better at this two years and thirty pounds ago, until I play games with my mind so I won’t slow down, until colors change in my vision, until the rush beats out everything else.

I run. That’s what I do.

September 24, 2001 /

I’m currently rejoicing in my mad coding skills, as I’ve successfully written the updater scriptfor this journal thingamabob. Rush of endorphins and all that. I predict it will last all of ten minutes.

I should be studying for the morning’s Theatre History quiz instead of doing this, but screw that. Now for the back and forward buttons.

September 23, 2001 /

Long Sunday.

I’ve spent a lot of time coming up with not-so-funny jokes and filler for the new “Creator” page,

which will have its own directory and everything. I’m using the front page date-manipulation

functions for an awful lot of stuff now; I think I’m at the point where I know just enough php to

get myself into trouble. I keep waiting for an angry email from MegMaster, saying something like

“You little shit. That’s the most hackable script I’ve ever seen! You crashed the box you’re

on three times today!”

The stool I sit on in front of my desk is called a Crushed Can (affectionately referred to as

“elephant dildo”); it’s a custom-made piece of furniture from one of the office stores in town that

utterly failed to sell. I got it cheap because it looked cool and ergonomic. I got the “cool” part

right. I mention it because my back is, as usual, killing me…

So I’m going to quit writing this now. Journal entry number one! Hooray for include files. I’m

hungry. Peace out.