Captain's Log: 2005.04

04.21.05: Seventhirtysix

There was actually homework to be done these past few days. That was certainly a shock to my system, since I seem to never have any. The administration appears a bit on edge because it is time for the state to evaluate the school and they are staying until tomorrow. They also have the fire department breathing down their necks because of the popcorn machine accident. If I were to handle any type of oven at school the whole place would probably blow up, so I have no room to criticize. Actually, there are certain sparks in the air that might combust by themselves.

I learned a painful lesson about band-aids the other day. Like so many other stories, this one starts while I am on the treadmill. Thanks to a person that will probably be reading this, I had need of a band-aid on one of my hands. Apparently band-aids, when paired with a metal watch and treadmill handle, can conduct static electricity. Being the fool I am this fact was overlooked and I spent almost the whole hour on the treadmill wondering why the heck my right arm kept getting wave after wave of pain and then numbness. My first thought was that the treadmill went crazy and was trying to electrocute me, but if I remember correctly that feels a lot different. Aha, I need bed rest.

I am having some difficulty in thinking of other things to say. There are a few good movies coming out soon, but I still want to see Sin City. Not so much for the story; the cinematography caught my eye. Unfortunately, most of my regular movie people are busy and I have no license to go myself. Thus I am stuck in this house of eternal joy for a while longer. It is tiring to just pace around waiting for the next awful thing to fall onto me. My emotions are in a bloody coma. It is not as though good does not ever happen, just never here for some reason.

Computer games don't affect kids, I mean if Pac Man affected us as kids, we'd all be running around in darkened rooms, munching pills and listening to repetitive music.

Marcus Brigstocke

04.24.05: Doom Doom Doom

Maybe someday we will meet again when our two roads hit the same dead end, and I am counting the days.

Even when I run until my legs are bursting I never get to go anywhere. Living like this truly is slowly draining my soul. This tired feeling just will not go away and my chest simply feels like there are rocks inside. There is no point in being like this though. I wonder if I should have ever made that promise. I still think an Erica Day would be nice.

Lately I have been curious about what other people think I am. It is just one of those weird thought phases, but worthy of pondering all the same.

My Grandmother is over eighty and still doesn't need glasses. Drinks right out of the bottle.

Henny Youngman (1906 - 1998)

All ramblings of Erica Feggestad 2000-2008