Here's some sad news:

I'm leaving for Florida tomorrow and it's cloudy out there, and those clouds are probably going to chase us Charlie Brown-style to Florida, whereafter we will be rained with The Second Biblical Flood and never allow'd by nature to hit the beach. And it will really screw with my plans too, considering they consist of: wake up, take a shower, jump off the balcony and onto the beach for twenty or so hours, go back inside, sleep, start it all over again. For the next week, by god, I love Florida; I should ask my mom to move down here to some obscure beach town, since she's always threatening to go to some secluded town in the midst of nowhere. Why not have a beach while we're at it?

Sorry for the "beach bum fever" the past few days, just incredibly excited to be going somewhere nice for spring. If I recall last year was spent in my dad's house, where I enjoyed an exciting week of rain and surfing the Internet. On the sunny days I was given the perogative to sit outside and read all day. It has occurred to me that there is no difference between that and this year's schedule; it's just that this year has a big fucking blue expanse of water stuck in the middle there.

Bon vacances to all you Antiphilanthropists, and a big wet sob to those in MLK and Warton having to go back while I langour in an endless bask for the next week, to all of Davidson for that matter.

.értaL

French...

Well it wasn't a total waste of time. Today I cooked "Quiche Lorraine" for Food Day tomorrow in sixth period. It turned out pretty good sans a few grevious errors; forgetting to put ingredience in the batter, getting absolutely devastated by a giant greasy blast of bacon and dropping the fork in the batter, forgetting the method with which to beat eggs: I fry mine most of the time, no violence involved. Then the bacon got a little done, but somehow that was "ok" according to my mom. Cheese, everywhere. Onions, everywhere: by the time I was done chopping them my eyes were watering terribly, and while putting them in the measuring cup, I missed entirely in some cases. The salt...I put a "dash" as I thought it had said; upon further inspection, the guide said "3/4 teaspoon". Great, I already applied the dash. And what worse, no three-fourths teaspoons. So I whipped out the good old third grade math and put those 1/2s and 1/4s together. It's baking now; I think it turned out pretty darned good.

As for me, I am tired. I went shopping. It was hell. Actually, it wasn't that bad. I got a sleeveless shirt that is extremely comfortable, and it goes with all these shorts I bought (try, three pairs of those evil suckers). Plus this quiche, wearing me out, and I have about three years of European History to catch up on...and I don't mean in the book either, I have about twenty there.

I also did dissections in biology today, to a gigantic earthworm. In reality, it was about five and a half inches long, and made gross noises and Steven and I razor-bladed it and pinned down the sides. After the fact, we played with the dissect corpse a bit, and found that we had burst the seminal receptacles, where sperm is stored, and it covered the heart of the thing. We asked the teacher what the hell was wrong with our worm, is it heartless? No, she said, it's got jizz all over it. I was able to clear some of it away with my probe and we prodded at the arches a little bit. Then we prodded the gizzard, which is muscular and filled with sand, and it's really fun to poke. Steven tried to cut it open but without much success. Another kid came over and started dropping parts of the worm on our dissection plate: first, the skin on the posterior end, then, the entire intestine, then, a semen-covered ganglia, or brain. Thereafter we had fun with the lower intestine and anus, but I won't go in to that. As if I should have given all the detail I've already given. But it was interesting, Rosie was right. I won't have such misgivings tearing that little piggy fetus to bits. Except for the bones, gross.

Wow, from food to juicy animal corpses, aren't I a toastmaster?

And in other news, leaving for Florida the day after tomorrow! I'm stoked. Sunny days chasing the clouds away...

Oscar the Grouch is the greatest character on that show, by the way.

Dreams again.

This time the dreams are about my mother dying and my being...almost apathetic. I couldn't cry, and no one could believe it, but all went on through the day knowing that my mother was dead. Even as my mother pulled up to take me "somewhere", she was dead.

"Mom, you're dead."
"I know. Get in."

She drove me to a great house, and it was there that this great, black monster, the apex of my fears, began to chant out the very thing that has haunted me since the dreams began, a song of defeat, it tells me in the simplest of terms what I fear the most, and unfortunately for me, the simplicity strikes me at some odd level and I am moved by it, stricken by it.

I don't know why but I cannot say much about this dream. At the time I was under the influence of an antihistamine, that wonderful pink pill called Claritin, and I expected no dreams; however, this dream was one of the most clear I have had since they began. At first I woke and truly thought my mother was dead, that is until she opened the door, and I remembered that dead people don't wake you up when you sleep past your alarm, rather: she would probably eat me alive.

But something in my mind took the great ideas for the oration I had planned for this BLog and most of the minute details of the dream and tossed them to abyssia, where I have forgotten all that was important that I should have said here.

Look outside, the sun is gone again.

Another long gray and my soul is suffused with the black'd rain.

Two is a band enough.

And honestly, go back as far as you can and look how many times I've talked about Stranglebox in here. I wanted to bring it up just to say that I did. I have a lot of pride in the fact that we're able to do what we have already.

What else is there to talk about in here, unless something happens? And since the days are getting slower, that flow of interesting stuff is slowing down to a hault.

Or perhaps I just don't want to talk about certain things.

Seriously, though. Your band consist of you, Alex, and that thing you use to record your "albums".

Josh, please do talk about something besides your "band".

Did I tell everyone about my band's BLog? It's at stranglebox.blogspot.com. I thought I would just point you in that direction, as I'm going to make this a quick post about said band.

Bitter, or my band's album, as some of you know, has undergone massive changes since the TinHaven BLog. There's two musical pieces now, one purely acoustic (Goodbye My Friend) and the other a full-set piece with accompanying piano (The Color Black). These Chains has been scrapped in favour of a new song Sweetly Forgotten, which was more complete from its conception than Chains. Also, the song Deadgone has been scrapped in favour of a song meant to go on the next one, and which has also been written since seventh grade, Rage. It was strange using this song, since back then it was only a vision, I was expecting the lady at the Country Music Hall of Fame to take the lyrics and bend them to music, and suddenly it's a reality, in fact, my reality.

So that is the update, despite your unconcern :).

And briefly, as for yesterday, it was like slipping through a dream somehow. Time marched on, we had fun at the mall, sans de movie, and Zoe didn't show after some poor planning. But after it was over, everyone was taken home and the punishments were passed out for being so late, I was left sitting in the passenger seat of a car with my mother driving for what seemed like hours, listening to the song Full Colour Is The Night and lapsing into sleep, waking to Ten Miles High, falling back asleep, waking to Between Times and sitting up, turning off the blasting CD player. I asked my mom if I had been snoring, because I had the vaguest impression that I had, and she said otherwise.

As I came home I went to my room, hit the pillow, and knew no more.

Damned be this school.

Here this morning they build us up by telling us we're going to see the play during school; that got shot down as the announcements came on, telling us au contraire straight off. That wasn't very nice. It was probably some idiot kid's rumor though. "Nothing gold can last," so is said, and honestly, it's not as if it really matters. Sans de school is always nice, but if we have to put up with it, it's no big deal, considering this is the home stretch before spring break. And that will be wonderful. And it will also be one-thousand years. Massive crying on my part.

Still didn't go shopping. Surprise! Why would I? I had a ton to do this week. Going to my dad's isn't typically a great feat, however, and considering this was the last week I'll have the chance for the next three weeks or so, his house had to take the perogative. Although we locked horns this weekend over pointless matters, of which I came out the better, I'm afraid. It feels pretty lame winning a fight that nets you nothing, so I've found.

But it was a great weekend, and a great week. I didn't go to school Wednesday, I stayed the night at my mom's Friday and ended up waking in a stupor, I went to my dad's and basically ran around outside for the balance of the weekend, I kicked ASS at Unreal Tournament 2003. And then last night I wanted to crush some cans outside, just to have something to do, and the resident rug mounkeys, also known as my neighbors under the age of twelve who talk of adult matters (for instance, the words "sex" or "condom") with guarded words and sly grins, came over and helped out, whereafter they tried wrestling me to the ground and I defeated them utterly. It was a rout and a half. It was also yesterday that I listened to a CD in its entirety without stopping once. Even as the phone rang, and knowing it was for my sister, I left the room and closed the door, handled the call as fast as I possibly could, jumped back into the room and sprang onto my place on the bed, the side I never sit on, where I have found the wind blows the most. Tapping my foot to such songs as Ten Miles High, Full Colour Is The Night, Nighttime Birds, The Millenium King, Shadegrown, yes, all those satanistic, wonderful and enlightening bands.

And today, going to a movie avec Lily and Zoe, the latter of whom I have never met, so woohoo! It actually doesn't bother me as to what we see, it's just nice to get out and do something. Ok, so it blows my allowance to hell, so no AudBLogging or CDs for me, but I suppose this is what my allowance was supposed to go towards anyway. In case Lily is reading this: AFTER 2:30, or I won't get the call / I'll get screwed over by my teachers, and that won't happen since I put it on "Silent". So worst case is I miss it by three seconds and call you back thereafter. Talk to you then.

Thou art blind, be the law art thou as pride.

Good day all. And a good day it is.

Ok, so not that good. From sleeping with the window open the other day, I have found that my immune system thinks it was a bit too cold that night, and let itself allow me to have a slight cold or sinus infection. I've been popping that Vitamin C though, getting ready for the big trip next week. And I'll have 'net access too, I think, so even though no one will be reading this during the break, there'll be a ton of backlog from me to you. Considering it a wonderfully belated Christmas present to all the readers. And as for this trip.

Totally out of shape. Darn. No promiscuous sex for me. Just kidding, of course. But not only in the bodily sense am I out of shape: I'm also screwed to the fact that I have done nothing in the way of preparation. Just yesterday, while wearing a pair I bore party to the flimsy button on the front POP its way from my shorts to the floor. I stood and laughed for a long time, thinking, "better than at the beach". So it's time to shop! I don't think I've ever said it on this site, but I loathe shopping. It makes me want to cry and vomit and drown in a puddle of my own tears and upchuck. Yes, it is literally that bad; however, necessity forces me to do as such, and thusly I shall produce some scuba gear to prevent from dying.

Five days and I'm gone. Five days and it breaks the years' long silence between myself and Florida. I've seen the place, it looks great. I can't wait to get there. I just hope the sun setting doesn't get me all sentimental, as it normally does, for some reason. Not that sentimentality is a bad thing. It's just saddening thinking of myself sitting there reminiscing on days gone by with a semi-smile on my face, and I am all alone. It amazes me sometime how much companionship matters.

All alone, what poisons do love from nature bring?