49. (So what was I saying?)

So anyways, like I was saying earlier I've started drinking coffee in larger quantities. I used to be satisfied with one of the usual coffee mugs we have at the house, or a Starbucks "tall" (small, to you non-corporate-shills), but now I've moved up to two or three house mugs or a Starbucks "grande" (medium). It's not that I need more coffee in order to be satisfied with the experience, it's that I've gotten a higher endurance for caffeine and can enjoy the java in higher volumes without getting all shaky from overcaffeination.

I used to freak girls (and my mother) out by bending my elbows backwards. I'm a little double-jointed, so they bend a little bit past where most people stop. If I put all my weight on my hands, it's really noticeable.

I have really big veins in my arms, and can make them stick out really far with a little effort.

I dyed my hair red once. I liked it better than the blonde, but it's such a hassle. I don't know if I could be bothered to do it again, and even if I did it would only be a semi-permanent job like the last one, so that after a while it would fade out instead of creating a red line in my hair where the dye stops as the hair grows longer. It's pretty long as it is: tied back in a pony-tail it reaches to about the horizontal apex of my shoulder-blades.

I'm wearing a sweater that I've only worn once before. It's very classy.

48. (IT GO'N RAIN.)

At my parents', where we celebrate Christmas every year, the tree is silver with pink-and-white lights.

When my mom said they were going to use that one, I just stared at her and protested, "No."

It didn't phase her. So now, on Christmas morning, I get to open presents with a brightly shining metal monstrosity with vividly pink lights.

Lovely.

(Yes, I'm whining about it. Shush.)

47. (Shit-ton.)

I've graduated from tall to grande.
I've moved up from medium to dark.
I've grown out of huge amounts of sugar.
I'm
Holy shit what the hell was that. The caffeine must be getting to me.


The story behind this: I was writing up a post about coffee and how I drink it in larger quanities with less in it than I used to, when my darling fiancee MSN'd me this image. Already hopped up on java, I immediately lost my train of thought and any caring I had towards the post. Which makes the whole thing true--yes, ladies and gentlemen who didn't already know, I'm Hulk Hogan. Sorry I've kept it hidden for so long.


Okay, so maybe that last part's not true. It's not exactly been hidden, after all, what with that show on VH1 and all. OH YEAH!!!

46. (Why?)

My eyes are itchy as hell now.

I just spent three or so hours proofreading the critical work of my peers. It's something I quite enjoy, I just wish I hadn't allocated only this night to do it, and so late.

I'm so damn tired. So damn tired. So damn tired.

45. (Forsaking rules for fun and profit.)

he reached up and grabbed the book off the top shelf straining on his toes to reach it

he smiled at me as i entered the aisle searching for a book on modern biblical study why they put these books in the oldest part of the library i don't know but what worries me more is the glass floor

why glass it's aesthetically pleasing yeah but it doesn't seem safe even if it is several inches thick

how are you doing he asked me smiling he reached up and grabbed hte book off the top shelf straining on his toes to reach it i said i'm fine how are you i asked

he told me he's had better days reached up grabbed strained on his toes i've never seen you around here before he said and i'm here all the time

i told him he couldn't be here all the time the library is not open all the time i felt really confused i kneeled down on the floor the book i wanted was on the bottom shelf and in the old parts of the library the bottom shelf is only half an inch off of the concrete

the concrete felt warm to the touch i felt confused

reached up strained on his toes fell

all the time he said reached up to get his book

you must get excellent grades i told him if you're here that much

he just grinned down at me strained on his toes why is the floor made of glass why is that panel of the tiling covered in re-enforced with wood planks

the concrete on the first floor felt warm to the touch i could see his shadow above me the glass floor of the second story is the glass roof of the bottom level i was on the bottom level kneeling to pick a book off the bottom shelf i could see him through the cloudy glass above me and am curious i could have sworn that there was no one up there when i came down through it to get here the concrete is warm to the touch here and i don't know why it doesn't make any sense

i went up the stairs and found him standing there reaching up straining on his toes to get his book standing on the panel of the glass floor cieling with the wooden planks supports

maybe you just didn't see me he says i say maybe but i come here a lot too

he just smiled reached strained grabbed his book

my name's michael i told him aaron he replied

i saw him from down below but he couldn't have been there couldn't have i came down through there the bottom two levels of the old wing of the library are underground i came in from the third floor walked right past where he was saw nothing came down to the warm to the touch concrete looked up saw his shadow

the glass cieling floor echoes creaks groans when you walk on it i walked on it myself and heard it

watch out for the cracks he tells me

how did he get up there i would have heard him i would have heard him walk i would have seen him standing there reaching straining to grab his book but he was not there when i came down he was not there i would have seen him

what i ask

the cracks he says sometimes they just open up beneath you reaching straining on his toes all his weight on a single piece of glass one foot by one foot with caulk holding it to the next eight tiles in a square making floor cieling out of glass why why would they do such a thing it doesn't make any sense it's not safe it doesn't make any sense he can't have slipped by i'm here all the time and i know what it sounds like when someone walks in here the old wing of the library is noisy even when you try to sneak around

i'm kneeling on the bottom level glass cieling above me no shadow the concrete floor is warm to the touch i'm standing on the second floor alone there is no one here there is no one here you're not here you're not here you can't be here

the cracks he says the cracks where this panel broke it's quite safe now they re-enforced better late than never huh

i'm alone here i'm alone here i'm alone here

they won't let me leave he continues not put-off by my ramblings by my shakings by the fact that i tripped i slipped and bumped into him passed through him he's not even really there i'm voiding my bladder in my pants i'm so afraid so afraid the cracks it's like a rope is holding me to them and i can't break free so afraid stuck here

felt so cold when i passed through him he's not real he's not real you're not real he's not real you're not real

re-enforced glass panel because it broke once newspaper says it broke just a rumor man killed aaron mitchelson library staff library dean says no one ever died here just a rumor just an urban legend you're not real not real not real not real

i'm alone on the second story cold space in the air over the cracks in the glass floor cieling over the warm to the touch concrete i'm alone on the bottom level with his shadow above me

now whenever i go down there i start shaking always see his shadow but he's never there he's never there air always cold concrete floor always warm where he died he's not there he's not there but his shadow is always is always

44. (One of my favorite authors.)

"Why do you have to do this?" the girl asked me. "Why don't you just take the money and buy something you like? What's the good of thirty Big Macs?"

I shook my head.

My wife explained, "We're sorry, really. But there weren't any bakeries open. If there had been, we would have attacked a bakery."

That seemed to satisfy them. At least they didn't ask any more questions.Then my wife ordered two large Cokes from the girl and paid for them.

"We're stealing bread, nothing else," she said. The girl responded with a complicated head movement, sort of like nodding and sort of like shaking. She was probably trying to do both at the same time. I thought I had some idea how she felt.

My wife then pulled a ball of twine out of her pocket--she came equipped--and tied the three [employees] to a post as expertly as if she were sewing on buttons. She asked if the cord hurt, or if anyone wanted to go to the toilet, but no one said a word. I wrapped the gun in the blanket, she picked up the shopping bags, and out we went. The customers at the table were still asleep, like a couple of deep-sea fish. What would it have taken to rouse them from a sleep so deep?

We drove for a half hour, found an empty parking lot by a building, and pulled in. There we ate hamburgers and drank our Cokes. I sent six Big Macs down to the cavern of my stomach, and she ate four. That left twenty Big Macs in the back seat. Our hunger--the hunger that had felt as if it could go on forever--vanished as the dawn was breaking. The first light of the sun dyed the building's filthy walls purple and made a giant SONY BETA ad tower glow with painful intensity. Soon the whine of highway truck tires was joined by the chirping of birds. The American Armed Forces radio was playing cowboy music. We shared a cigarette. Afterward, she rested her head on my shoulder.

"Still, was it necessary for us to do this?" I asked.

"Of course it was!" With one deep sigh, she fell asleep against me. She felt as soft and as light as a kitten.

Haruki Murakami - "The Second Bakery Attack" (Translated by Jay Rubin in The Elephant Vanishes)

43. (Little.)

It's the little things in life that really make my day worth it. I mean, I live a pretty good living right now, honestly. Sure, I'm exhausted and depressed (both because of damned damned damned school), but the coffee shop downstairs (at the library, in which I work) now accepts debit cards. No longer will I have to bum a buck-fifty off of one of my co-workers in order to get my tall Starbucks house with caramel syrup and three to four little cups of half-and-half. This makes working until midnight so much easier, it's not even funny.

Thank you, The Bookmark, for making my evening. You're the best ever. Except for my sweetheart, who's the best by default.

[This post brought to you by Perfect Spelling--make that spellchecker waste its time!]

42. (Naaaa, nanananananaaa, naaa, na na, na, na na, naaaaa.)

My love of Katamari Damacy and We Love Katamari is competely and totally motherfucking endless.