ericboy's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Happy Anniversary Yesterday was the one year anniversary of my on-line diary, so let's all take a moment to sing it a little song. "Happy Birthday, dear electronic reservoir of my fucked-up thoughts. Happy Birthday, dear digitized abyss of my loneliness. Happy Birthday, Dear Diary. Happy Birthday to you." I don't envy this diary at all. To be the dark hole that I throw all of my dark thoughts into to get them out of me. Nightmarish, and not in a Tim Burton way. So, I'm mostly moved into my new place and everything is in boxes. It's hard to live out of boxes. When you pack, you don't really think that you'll be pulling everything out of these boxes as they're needed, so there's no real organization to it at all. You just kind of throw everything in and move on. Well, I don't have any furniture, save for my futon, which I spent an entire night putting together so that I could sleep on it but then didn't have time left to sleep. Everything else is in a box, strewn around on the floor. To add to this confusion, my light switch is broken, so I can't see anything. I could blame my poor sense of fashion on this if I hadn't already been dressing myself like an idiot for twenty years. Last night I dreamt that Mike Waller, an old friend of mine, broke into the apartment that I shared with Heath and Jeff and Harrison and robbed the place with an acquaintance of his. Heath was there at the time, as well as Ananda and Adrienne and a few other anonymous faces, so Mike and his buddy herded them into the living room and shot them all with his shotgun. I was away from the apartment but knew all of this. In the dream, I wrote about this in my on-line diary and my physical diary, thereby linking me to Mike if I were to turn up dead. Apparently, I had just purchased the car that I was driving from Mike. That seemed odd; that I had just given him a sizable portion of money and yet he chose to rob my apartment. It also seemed to me that he got a great sense of pleasure from shooting Heath. I never really knew if Heath was dead or not, but it seemed that way. Well, so there's that. I'm out. I've got to go to work and service the ridiculous public. Here's to another year of my whining and rambling... 4:53 p.m. - 2003-11-05 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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