Friday, June 02, 2006
...it sucks to grow up...
I hate mornings. They mean to me not the beginning, but the end (of what? Sleep perhaps?)
Thursday: alone in the lounge with only Amirah and Al Renner's company, listening to Air, quietly putting our handprints on the walls or ceiling. The calm before the onslaught of other seniors.
Kangway, up on that ladder, trying desperately to step on the wall in the correct fashion. Success.
Friday: not a morning at all but the continuation of a night. The awkward[ly beautiful] moments were over. When do we touch, when do we kiss? Now, apparently. At least I feel I have lived my childhood out in a more stereotypical manner. Cell phones are more representative anyway -- what does a bottle have to do with anything?
The bright morning sun shone down upon one remaining sleeping bag outside under the deck. Adjacently, a half-full Mountain Dew, aggressively green, reflected. This is what we are.
MJBP can kickass at wrestling.
Any awkward moment can be made 10 times worse by simply saying, "awkward"
yes. we went out. apologies to those who had to witness it in real life.
George stole my sweatshirt, but then returned it. Is this good or bad?
I got very close to crying, reading a yearbook signature. This is so uncharacteristic of me, that it must have been really good.
pants. pants pants pants!
As this blog is entitled, there is now a fish on the ceiling of the lounge.
Everything has been so.
mo posted at 5:15 PM.
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A day without rosin is like a day without sunshine.
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