it's 11:12 pm, on January 19, 2002 - the mundane.
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It's about time I wrote something that wasn't drunken and make me look like an arsehole, so here's an entry on the futilness of school.
My mother and I were up yesterday, or the day before, and we'd both been up all night, her from working and me from the computer, probably. And so we started talking about how I didn't want to go to school -- not just that day, but for all days. I really, I just don't want to.
Haven't we had this conversation about a thousand times, friends?
So she says, "what do you want to do" and I say, "I don't, really," and she doesn't seem very pleased about this, though she does agree that it's a valid lifestyle choice, however hard it is to follow up on.
I told her about this woman I met on a flight once, who worked for Duty-free. Or the company that owns the Duty free stores, something like that. Her job was to fly all over the world, and check up on Duty free stores, evaluate them. She lived in Houston, and her boyfriend lived in New Orleans or something, and she was really tired of travelling. So I say, "I think I'd love to do that," and my mum answers, "It'd be nice to see if you could get tired of travel. I'd like to try."
Anyway.
Also, I talked to Mel on the phone a while ago, and one thing we discussed, among many many others, was how stylistic our writing gets, and how many periods have snuck into chat without us noticing. Like, putting in periods where none have a right to be, just to emphasize the pause. Or something.
I'm sitting. I am sitting and I am. I am sitting. I am sitting and I am thinking about JC being speechless.
Also. Have to mail things today. and. and.
I woke up this morning with this line: "a gift given once is good, given twice is too." Or something along those lines. I think that's why I try and give everything that people give to me away.
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