Once more the funk, the funk it calls to me.

Not phunk. Not p-funk. Not something that is happy or upbeat or even remotely fun. Its the inevitable decline of mood and health. A decline of happiness and joy. But I welcome it. I welcome it because I have ridden this before and will ride again. And in the end I always come out a better, smarter, more chill person.

However, I don't like talking to people during this time. Mea Culpa for the lack of posting. I feel like crap. You see, I have pink eye. Am, apparently, terminally single and have been having terrible, vivid dreams these days.

There are two things that no-one actually ever wants to hear about:
-your medical condition(s)
-your dreams.

Guess what? That interest? Its not real. Your dreams and your health are not particulalry interesting. Are you about to die? No? Good. Go to the doctor. He gets paid a stupid hourly rate to hear you whine about the slight twinge in your shoulder. Are your dreams accurately predicting catastrophic events and do you have independently timestamped charts proving this? No? Go to a psychologist. He gets paid a stupidly hourly rate to hear you bitch about how your dreams mean your dad hugged you exactly 1.2 times a week to0 infrequently as a child and now you'll never be truly happy.

Shut up.

See? That's all that I have going on in my mind. Whining about how I feel like crap and nutty, nutty dreams. Pauses in conversations do not need to be filled. Threads are lost, found, burned and tied in nots because dude, SHUT UP about your pink eye. If you can't make it funny and quick, just grunt at me and enjoy the silence. Its rad.

And, dear shit, if I bitch about how, "I'm lonely and no girl ever wants to talk to me" you are all, in fact, authorized, nay, encouraged to cause me great physical distress. Which I will try my damnest to not talk about. See above. Eye, Pink.

In other news:
-Been reading "Ball Four" by Jim Bouton. Its a baseball book. Its really fucking good. I am, in fact, down with that shit.
-Beat Minish Cap. That game is so fucking rad. It will be played again.
-Bought a bunch of games:
+Castlevania: Castle of the Moon. So far, incredibly difficult and confusing. This game doesn't have a hand-holding first level where it tells you how to do stuff like jump and use your whip and I bought it used so I didn't get a book. I am undecided if I like it or not.
+Sword of Mana: 30 minutes in and enjoying it tremendously. It seems like a pretty classic rpg but at only 30 minutes in, I can't speak with any authority.
+Final Fantasy 1&2: I imagine these will be great games but I have not played them yet so I have no idea.

The Greatest Show Ever:
The Soundtrack of Our Lives played the Metro on Monday. I felt like crap. Eye-Pink. I was having trouble putting down beer. The Dears played before them. Okay. I leave that part to Koby. Oh, I went with Koby. We ran into some of Fishman's Girlfriend's friends from college. Totally random. Yes, her glasses are still bent from when I elbowed her 3 YEARS AGO.

By the middle of the first song by Soundtrack I was downing beer, jumping around and having the time of my life. At one point Koby said, "They're not half bad." I pulled the classic dramatic, "What?" And then froze him out for awhile. He got a little uncomfortable. But the music, oh the music. It made me feel better. I felt like I was healthy when they were playing. I mean, who cares if my ears rang until noon the next day? Its not like I need to be awake to do my job. Or, you know, paying attention while I am here.

Anyway, sorry I was gone, and I hope this uber-post makes up for it. Later hosers.
- posted by Pat @ 6:17 PM