Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah (Domestic)
Aug. 31st, 2007 10:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jheti
Today has been pretty fuckin' sweet. To start with, I got to oversleep by about half an hour. Sure, that complicated things, but more rest is more rest. I hauled ass and made it out the door with no time to spare and pounded pavement past a couple skinny girls from the local high school who sort of gaped at me 'cause I was gasping.
Fuck off; I'd like to see you run two and a half blocks in three minutes.
I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll kick your teeth in. That's how it goes, right?
The bus driver shut the door on my hand. Charming fellow. I'll live; it wasn't my writing hand. My knuckles are a neato shade of reddish sixteen hours later, but nothing's busted.
Anyways, yeah, I got to class on time for once, and met this girl who offered to let me copy her "additional studies" packet, so that'll save me half the price. I ought to finally have textbooks by the Monday after next.
I bounced out of there, hit the local bookchain of doom, and purchased some tiny marker pens that fit in my purse to go with dead man's McAngst, which I have wanted since its initial printing.
I don't enjoy the band overmuch, but he always made me quirk an eyebrow, and I remember the radio sucking less because Nirvana was on, and then they disappeared, and I had no idea it was because he'd deep-throated a shotgun until I was, what, seventeen, and it came up at some stupid party where I couldn't get drunk enough.
He made some badass ink drawings. I was really startled. They're vivid and crisp.
There's one, on the reverse of some page of random stuff he wrote, and you can see it through the paper but they didn't photograph that page, and it leaves me to wonder what that drawing was of.
(I've always been fascinated by the way you can draw something, flip the paper over, and see the drawing's "ghost" through the paper.)
I'm not looking forward to this weekend. I will not be around. That's all.
Fuck off; I'd like to see you run two and a half blocks in three minutes.
I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll kick your teeth in. That's how it goes, right?
The bus driver shut the door on my hand. Charming fellow. I'll live; it wasn't my writing hand. My knuckles are a neato shade of reddish sixteen hours later, but nothing's busted.
Anyways, yeah, I got to class on time for once, and met this girl who offered to let me copy her "additional studies" packet, so that'll save me half the price. I ought to finally have textbooks by the Monday after next.
I bounced out of there, hit the local bookchain of doom, and purchased some tiny marker pens that fit in my purse to go with dead man's McAngst, which I have wanted since its initial printing.
I don't enjoy the band overmuch, but he always made me quirk an eyebrow, and I remember the radio sucking less because Nirvana was on, and then they disappeared, and I had no idea it was because he'd deep-throated a shotgun until I was, what, seventeen, and it came up at some stupid party where I couldn't get drunk enough.
He made some badass ink drawings. I was really startled. They're vivid and crisp.
There's one, on the reverse of some page of random stuff he wrote, and you can see it through the paper but they didn't photograph that page, and it leaves me to wonder what that drawing was of.
(I've always been fascinated by the way you can draw something, flip the paper over, and see the drawing's "ghost" through the paper.)
I'm not looking forward to this weekend. I will not be around. That's all.
