27

So what exactly do we use to commemorate another turn around the sun?

Sex would be the standard I guess, or getting so drunk that I can't see anything beyond the glasses which would be perched precariously on the table in front of me. Maybe wake up in a puddle of fear vomit and liquor. Yeah, that'd be right.

I don't do that though. I can't anymore. I probably would physically be able to, but I can't. I'd be disgusted with myself. I'll get drunk, sure. I'll try to push my limits. But it becomes different. It's like I'm playing at something and I'm not even convincing myself. I'm too angry.

I drive through campus lately, and I just get infuriated. We're asleep. I want to fix that.

A story, then bed, as I have an 8 am class tomorrow. Hopefully I haven't been too melancholy for you, but if so, live with it. Life is full of disappointment and there are a lot more disappointing people out there waiting for you.

This story? Kind of sucks. We'll see.


Multiple Choice

Slamming the door, he threw his backpack across the room. It hit the desk and bounced, spilling his pens and pencils in a rattling mess. His roommate didn't even stir.

The test had gone wrong, and what for? He'd studied, prepared and visited office hours multiple times. It hadn't mattered. Professor Twic had stood at the front of the room and it had seemed to him that whenever he glanced up, the professor had a smirk aimed directly at him. Bastard had to have figured out where his poor ratings came from last semester.

He flopped down in his chair and rubbed his face as the computer brought itself from sleep mode. He grabbed his calculator and prepared to log onto the class homework site. At least he could get some extra credit in. He grabbed the mouse but then stopped.

His desktop had changed. It wasn't the photo of two women kissing he had 'ironically' kept up for two years now, but a moving image, a view as if from a security camera. A small hallway led to a locked door, two bolts securing what looked to be an inner city flat. The lights were off but the room was lit in the grainy green of night vision, showing a tiny endtable and a closet, a key rack next to the door.

White text appeared on the bottom of the screen.

'There are no wrong answers'
'Professor Twic lives here'
'True or False'

"What the fuck?"

He typed true. As he hit enter, the bolts slid back and a jiggling at the knob indicated someone was unlocking the door. A man entered and locked it behind him. Turning on the light, he ran a hand back through his thinning hair. It was Professor Twic.

More text.

'Professor Twic has arrived home and needs to get rid of his jacket. Professor Twic's closet is full of:'
'A)Coats'
'B)Women's undergarments'
'C) BDSM equipment'
'D) Pick your own answer'

Confused, he chose A. He didn't know what was going on. It had to be a joke from one of the computer programmers down the hall. This was some weird shit.

Professor Twic opened his closet and hung up his coat next to what looked like dozens of the same one. This was bizarre.

'Twic walks down the hall and into his kitchen. He needs some food since he just got home from a long day of testing students. What is in his refrigerator? Remember. There are no. Wrong. Answers.'
'A)Food'
'B)Dead hookers'
'C)Angry raccoons'
'D)Pornography'

He smiled. This was shaping up to be a pretty decent day after all.

Chemical Engineering

They told him at the door that they didn't think it was going to work out.

"I mean, realistically, you're not going to fit in here. People come here to relax, and honestly, none of the women are even going to approach you. That, and I can say for sure that I'm a bit uncomfortable and I think the rest of the guys are going to back me up."

"Dude, it's probably best if you just leave."

He was walking towards the bus stop when a vagrant stopped him.

"Kicked you out too, huh? Don't take it too hard, they don't let many in off the street. Swingers, they like it easy and quiet, most don't want anything too strange, and the ones who do? You probably want to avoid them."

The vagrant sat down, handing him a bottle as he did.

"Why wouldn't they let you in?"



And that would be the spot where I'd normally go for a twist. The angel. The serial killer. The vampire. And it would be pointless and stupid and go nowhere. So I'm ending that story there. I don't know where it goes. Maybe he is Bill O'Reilly. Maybe he's a cat wearing human clothes.

I'm in a rut.

I need to just write more.

Cats ruin more writing this way

I swear. There are some days when you just can't get a break.

Alice is on my lap right now, purring and curled up, the most picturesque cat you've ever seen. You'd think she was a darling if you walked into the room and saw her this way. You'd be mostly right. But for the last five minutes she has been both sweet and a royal pain-in-the-ass.

Let me walk you through my cats' rituals.

First we have Alice. She may be slightly better at being a lap-cat than her brother, but it comes at a higher cost. You have to devote at least the first five minutes of her lap-time to her being in your face. She will get up on your shoulders, paw at your chin, breathe awfulness into your nose and generally make a nuisance of herself. She might settle down eventually but often she will either jump off your lap by then or you'll get sick of her licking you OCD-style in the same spot until your arm is raw.

Cheshire is another story. If you can get him to calm down and stop pulling books off the shelves? He's awesome. But he never stops doing that. It is his reason for existence and possibly the thing he enjoys most in the world.

I set out to write this entry as an example and an excuse: how the cats distract me from writing and why I suck at writing.

Turns out I just needed to write about them.

Sands

I came up with a story idea while I was walking towards the backroom, past the activity books. We'll see if it bears any fruit, but right now? It's just the tiniest ghost of an idea, guaranteed to be overtaken by the Pac-Man that is my schedule. In any case, it will involve coloring books.

I am forgetting how much drama sucks. It seems like it's been forever since I've had nonsense to deal with. I better cause some problems soon; we wouldn't want my life to get too boring.

I solemnly swear to update this more. We'll see if I can do that.