Freon

Anthony Warlow never ceases to amuse me on my car trips. I've been in a listening mood lately, and every time he eases into that perfect vibrato, it's like submerging neck-deep into a spa shimmering with bubbles. Oh, I have to shut the windows now when a particular song comes on. I know I must look funny when I'm having one of my eargasims.

Went to Webster today--a little town out in the middle of absolute no where, though I guess I've seen worse. I've seen Bushnell, too--and spent a few summers in Pawnee. I saw a few girls who looked about my age--all very pretty and blonde, usually with a guy or group of similarly dressed people. It made me wonder what I looked like to them--or I even registered at all--but the stands and stands of video games distracted me too greatly to really do a lot of people watching. I also bought a lot of books.

Talking with Steph got me to wanting to write again, to get some of these ideas out of my head on play with them on paper. I keep thinking--ah man, if Steph can get over her writer's block, so can I! I want to read something out loud, too! So I'm doing a lot of reading, since that seems to be the most reliable method to remove this obstruction in my brain. I see pages of a novel in my head when I'm daydreaming, like it's already written down and I'm just reading. Sometimes I'll play with the text--oh, that paragraph would stand out more and be more effective if...

Oh, man, I got this weird urge to practice scales... I just spotted my metronome underneath my gamecube controller.

Defrost

After spending too much time too soon in a recently bug-bombed room, I sympathized with the various creatures I was trying to kill. The moment I set that fog off, I went from simple college student to mass murderer by gas chamber. I've also taken to recreating images from various graphic novels, pictures, images from video games--now I commit plagiarism on a daily basis.

Boredom has made me into a criminal.

Re-beating an old video game for the fourth time should also be a crime--or at least a sign to get a new one. It's--well, I'm picky.

But what greater capital offense can I commit than neglecting my cello duties. Oh, tomorrow, I'll do it--I'll wake up earlier, get a good start...

I'm just waiting for the executioner to get called in--nevermind the jury or the court. I know I'm guilty. God knows I'm guilty. We can skip the unnecessary ceremony and get right to the head chopping.

Among my scattered daydreams, there's one I revisit a lot involving winning the lottery and traveling around the world. It's my favorite one, besides getting dropped with supernatural abilities or suddenly find myself in my favorite show or book. I noticed a trend, though--in all of my musings, I'm in control and independent, two factors I obviously crave and lack in real life. It's the same as the cello--oh, give a few years, I'll be on my feet by then... I can't even say I've always been like this--wishy-washy, indecisive, hesitant, whiny--because I've shown to be very impulsive--and sometimes, reliable and forward. Strong, even. Smart.

Holy cow crap, I'm analyzing daydreams. Come to think of it, I put more thought into Pokemon the papers I wrote in college. (What move gets a STAB bonus and how is that affected by their special attack? When will they ever make a good TV console game? If they're allowing kids to leave home at ten to pursue a vague dream of renown and fortune, who the hell actually gets a job?)

It's no wonder I can't sleep at night.

Call of the Road

'Twer I more musical, I'd compose a song about now. As it is, I can't maneuver around a piano or a guitar. Sort of scared of the cello, currently--yeah, Joannie, it's going to bitecha!--and my whistling is terrible. I guess I'd sing about wanting a million dollars so I can drive around all the time with the biggest iPod out there maxed out with everything from Bach to Drowning Pool.

I guess I'd comment about watching life passively. Or complain about stuff. Yeah. That's always safe.

I'm bored for the first time in a while. (Hence the monotone) I almost envy my brother for being a social creature--never was one for going out a lot.

Did you ever notice that the nozzle gun thing of the pressure washer looks like something from Star Wars? I can't wait to clean the front of the house tomorrow. If my hair were longer, I'd put it up two buns on the side of my head and wear all white. I'll make do with pigtails, I guess.

Atlas

One potential disaster after another--averted with grace today. I could have run out of gas out in the middle of nowhere. I could have gotten lost out in the Lakeland Highland Scrub on foot. Or could have brought John into a pretty hairy situation. Thankfully, none of that happened. I'm rather tired now.

abundant white sand
heat waves lolling like stove gas

feet sinking in warmth

Steel

Watching Warren play the guitar today was inspiring--and yet agonizing. He can't play all that much anymore because of Parkinson's--he shakes--but it hasn't let go of music. The heat he put into his voice, the way he rocked back and forth, and all around, thumping his foot for the beat--he broke the pick--it tore at my heart every time he missed a string or fumbled with a note. I can't begin to describe the hold his effort had on my heart, seeing him reach for his past, his dreams, his music... I watched a dying man play today.

Mom sat in the doorway, smiling and crying--a bit drunk, but harmless enough today--and Coltin made finger shadows on my lap using the sun filtering in from the window. Granny sat beside Warren on the bed with a glass of wine in her hand, peering at everything through narrowed eyes--she didn't have her glasses on--and Conan leaned against the dresser on the carpet, staring off into the sky in his eyes, probably pretending not to be there. I forgot to ask him about it.

Pit Stop

Today, I beat rugs with a tennis racket and swore at dust bunnies. Jumped around the house like a three-year-old on drugs. Watched close to three hours of Korean Drama, 'bout a guy who thinks he's falling in love with the guy--who's actually a girl--he hired to be his gay lover for three hours as they spent a lot of time working at the same coffee shop his grandmother forced on him. There are at least two other major love interests involved. And a dog.

Going out tonight with my brothers to this slushie and coffee shop--something about this amazing drink with tapioca beads in it or something.

I really missed my solitude--I basically gave it a big hug today and said--"WELCOME BACK!" It makes the time I spend with people more appreciated or something, I guess. I figure, I've got a set number of intelligent words stored in my head, and spending too much time talking out loud depletes that supply, so I need a few days alone to recharge and collect my thoughts.

That makes me a broken bean bag chair or something, I guess.

I love jumping on those things--especially the broken ones. See how those little beads fly.