Captain's Log: 2005.09

09.11.05: This Is Why I Sleep

I suppose that technically it is the eleventh now. Augh, nothing good will be on television for another almost full hour. All the books I bought recently have been read, and I have watched all the DVDs I own in every single language available. Sometimes twice, depending on how strikingly awful the voice acting is. Voice acting is what beat and later murdered the game Chaos Legion. Oh, it looked so good... and then I realized why the rental fee was so low. The main character and the graphics in general were as good as you could ask for, and it had a more or less original storyline, but the people talked without periods or any recognizable speech pattern. I swear it was Microsoft Sam reincarnated into a Gothic opera. Why God, Poseidon, Neptune for the Romans, um, and/or Odin, why? How did this conversation with myself even come up?

I decided a few weeks ago that I do not fancy candy. Dark chocolate is terribly delightful, but I would pass on the concentrated sugar or pseudo-sugar foodstuffs. Licorice has always been quite icky to me. The licorice guy in Candy Land always creeped me out, too. Upon retrospect, the plum man never really was on my favorites list either. It always ticked me off when I got that cursed card that sent me almost all the way back to the beginning of the board game. That freaking thing seemed to enjoy popping up when I only needed one more color to win and claim what little bragging rights I could get as a small child. Mean plum man, ruining my day like that. Okay, I think I should get cut off from caffeine for the night.

Still thirty-five minutes until the Adult Swim shows start repeating. I could be sleeping right now if somebody would have been paying attention when I asked them to record the one--for heaven's sake, ONE, people--set of shows that I have watched every week for the past couple of years. Summerica needs her sleep. She is neither well physically nor, as you can tell by now, psychologically. I am a raving, twitching loony hyped up on one hundred and seventy-two sweet, sweet ounces of Coca-Cola. I should probably brush my teeth before they all rot away. Yes, perhaps after these dark chocolate covered coffee beans.

This entry is not so much like my usual ones. These kinds are nice in the aspect that I do not have to think a single speck about what I am typing. I can go off about the most random of things, like paper clips. I used unfold and twist them to make little sabers that I could attach to my pens to hold epic battles. For most this goes without saying, but I was bored out of my mind. Today I suffered a tragic lack of paper clips, so I had to settle for making a flip animation of some dancing person in one of my old notebooks. Why, you ask? It is because I dearly miss having my computer, with Photoshop 7 and Flash MX. Have you noticed how awfully expensive those programs are? Yet everyone seems to have them, how utterly and astoundingly perplexing. Hey, I said I needed sleep. One of those over sized hooded sweatshirts too, it is freezing in here.

So this is what happens when my computer breaks. How the hell did the motherboard die? I finally get a cable connection and this happens. Obviously I can still connect to AIM and the internet but I honestly spend the majority of my technology time designing. When I cannot, I get more irritable than usual. Only twenty-five more minutes until mindless television consumes my mind. No, it did not take me ten minutes to type these two and a half paragraphs. I keep getting distracted by all the little light things floating around my head. They look like mystical gnats. Wow, this is exactly why insomnia does not work for me. I just learned that my bangs are now long enough to chew on. It smells of waterfalls, yet tastes of soap. Hair care products should be more like lip gloss. Then again, I do not want guys going around eating my shampoo bottle like they did with my Lipsmackers. I wonder if my parents ever wondered how I went through those tubes so quickly. Rest in peace, my chapstick collection. Seriously now... this has to end before it gets any stranger.

To knock a thing down, especially if it is cocked at an arrogant angle, is a deep delight of the blood.

George Santayana (1863 - 1952)

All ramblings of Erica Feggestad 2000-2008