Monday, October 17
Goddamn, talk about being bored. It's 12:30 and I'm just about to run a marathon while eating chocolate sprinkle donuts and downing Tropicana pulp-less orange juice at the same time, while wearing spandex blue bicycle shorts and those new Nike sneakers with the springs on the heel. And I wouldn't give a shit if the donuts cancelled out the orange juice because I'd be fucking running. Up and down the street, all the way to fucking Utah if I could. That is how tired I am not at this moment. Forty-minute presentation tomorrow? Fuck that. Paying people back money I owe them? Fuck that. I'm ready to fucking jump. David Lee Roth style. All the way to Jupiter. And I'd still be able to do the hokey pokey over there.

It's funny how at night you start thinking about all these weird things like saving the world from tree huggers and thinking that you're the next Nostradamus and all that shit; Just wait until you see me at 4:00AM. I'll have the answer to how big god's penis is and exactly how many twinkies it took for Axl Rose to get such a fine set of love handles next to a warthog's sphincter muscle.

Man, I'd be baking M&M cookies and chocolate cupcakes with pastel green icing on them if I could, while wearing nothing but lacy black underwear and fuzzy red slippers if I could, just for the hell of it. And hoping that a hot pizza guy would come at the door. Never mind the fact that I didn't order pizza and all the pizza places are closed at this hour.

Did I ever mention the time when all of my cousins were at my house when we were all little and I was it when we were playing hide and seek, but the catch was that I had to close my eyes and run, and when it was my cue to start looking for all of them I ran into a wall headfirst, charging-bull mode? I'm not sure if they told me to run or if it was just my own stupidity, but I ran alright. And the sound I heard in my head when I hit the wall was like a cymbal being smashed onto an anvil by Hulk Hogan on speed.


Christina N. @ 1:02 AM