"This is killing me"

I want to do so much right now, but I'm worried about some stuff, nothing really. You may notice this, but I'm just going to type what comes into my head at this moment, the instant of this occurance. Probably spelled that wrong. I got drunk at a party, 2 nights in a row, a new record for our hero with the once pristine liver and kidneys. The first night was fun, as was the second night, except for the piece of chicken mcnugget that lodged itself in my nose when I threw up, but I've been there before, except then the cause was "the slingshot" and the meat was a hot dog. Yum. The thing that bothers me though, the thing that really burns me up, is that the girl i like was there. She was here, literally standing above my head and a few feet over. She existed in the domicile that I call home, and what did I do? Talk to her? Tell her about all the crazy things that I think, woo her, etc? NO. I did a shot of tequila, then another, and another...soon enough I was gone. Just out of it. And then she left. That's the worst. When something like that happens, a thing that depresses you. I spent the rest of the night lamenting my choices, drunkenly. It was sad and heartwrenching, if you are me.

But what the hell. There's always tomorrow. And let's be honest, there is no way that this is going to work at all.

But on the bright side, I'm going to try and see TMBG tomorrow in New Haven. That would make it my 3rd time seeing them there. It would also mark the first time I would be seeing them without someone named Shannon in quite a long time. I really like that band a lot, and John Linell is the reason that I started playing the accordion.

Things are crazy.

I emailed her today, the ex, told her about my life. Part of me is wondering about her life and wants to hang out with her, but there is another part of me that knows that it would never work.

Pleasantries exchanged, the two pass into the darkness that is the world. Nothing more shall pass betwixt them, only more pleasantries, empty of meaning, devoid of emotion. Not devoid, restrained. Everything is loaded from that moment on. Nothing can simply be, there always has to be some motive and drive behind everything that comes out, that is said. Things can never go back. Forward is the only direction, and like the kamikaze, we plummet towards the target with reckless abandon. Oh what a feeling of freedom the suicide pilot must feel. To be flying, to have total freedom, not having to care about anything else other than flying to one point. Harming yourself, harming others, it all does not matter. All that matters is the flight, the arc, the trajectory towards the target.

In my thesis, I am a kamikaze. I have motivation and don't care what I have to do. It will get done. It has to. I will tear through this campus to find what I need. Observe and participate, I will. No matter what needs to be done, from this day on, I am kamikaze, flying towards that deadline in May.

"Ich heisse super fantastik"

(Radiohead up first, followed by Franz Ferdinand)

-ccm