A Reflection

End of the semester for the most part. Don't know what to reflect on, truthfully. Nothing is like it was and nothing is going as I expected. Guess that's why a friend of mine is big on "no expectations". I'm a bit more bitter and cynical than I would like to be. Not too proud of that or any of  the fracturing relationships and isolation that took place. But what can you do? Blog about it, lazily wait behind a monitor, hoping that the best falls into my lap similar to how the worst did? Neh. Not me. I plan to try to forget the view from here and seek out more promising verandas. And for more online classes. But I'm on the fence about that currently. Can't decide whether I'm more unsatisfied with social anxiety or craning my neck to look at my laptop screen. I suppose both are personal problems that I should surpass though. Smough. Smaug. Smug. Dadgummit. I done lost the top to my 20 fluid ounce soda cola. Reflecting on that, I should have been more careful. Reflecting on the last few months, I could have been more careful. Reflecting on everything, I tried my best and I need to accept that sometimes no amount of precaution can prevent life from unwillingly sodomizing you. Not sure if there's a willing part to that but I figure we all get the gist. Writing these journals has been curiously liberating, and I feel dumb saying that again. I don't know why I enjoy nonsensical ramblings or always going off topic. I'm probably a pain to read, that is if anyone ever reads these. I think I was trying to be optimistic and talk of progress early but then I got distracted. I should squash that habit. I don't need to be so long winded and stray from the path. Be precise. Be concise. Be aware. Be moderate.
Die young, die dumb; but not soon.

Decadent Homosexual Activity

I think I chose this title because I heard Bill O'Reilly say it once and it made me laugh pretty hard. That guy has to be a contrived character that only stays on the air because some people unfortunately subscribe to the terrible beliefs that foam at his mouth, and because of the stupid people, like myself, who occasionally check in to hear such outlandish claims just to laugh or rage at. Regardless of being a fictional character, he is a character nevertheless. There was this one time where he was steaming mad and questioning the sanity of the Padres, yes that baseball team, because they had some irrelevant weekly special. Well, normally it would have been an irrelevant, unimportant event, but since it happened to include gay/lesbians in the mix that angered the ever pious Trill O'Reilly. It was something dumb like "Monday is kids night, kids half off! Bring the kids!" then Tuesday was mom night, then some other random sponsor night, then Thursday was "gay night" and that's when the fecal matter smacked the paddles that stir the air. Okay, I should have just said poo hit the fan but I got too wordsy with it. That's my bad. Is it normal to digress and break narrative as much as I do in these journals/stories? I am terrible. Anyways, once it was the night of the living gay, Bill O'Reilly was outraged that the baseball team would ever consider trying to congregate all of those grody sinners into the same social environment that all-american little boys and girls would be. Can you believe it? They purposefully and spitefully gathered all of those people where they knew there would be CHILDREN! Think of all the parents that would have to take the time to explain to the kids! I meeeean, c'moooon. You have a wholesome, traditional family: one dad + one mom = one baby boy + one baby girl, and you have to tell those kids that some times people love someone of the same gender! Blasphemous! You'd probably be forced to watch the game after that with that terrible wet blanket hanging over you family..
Or, as I imagine, you would watch the game and move on because it truly isn't anything that should cause so much hullabaloo. It does not affect your life whatsoever. If someone at a restaurant ordered cake, would you tell the waiter to cancel that order because you subscribe to a belief system that deems cake as unholy and shameful? No, because you would seem like a senseless dingus. For your health.

In The Mouth of Madness

I don't think I've done any of these journals appropriately. I don't think this is how I was supposed to record my thoughts or ideas, and that's weird because I don't know what template I think I should follow when leaking out of my brain. I feel lost, especially in my thoughts. Is it because it's unfamiliar territory? Is that why it's called lost in thought? Silly rhetoric, tricks are for kids. Take your silly inquisition elsewhere. Or Elsweyr, the home of the Khajits in the continent of Tamriel. I've decided that if any of these blogs aren't done properly, it will absolutely be this one. Hence the title of this. Have you ever seen that movie that this is titled after? Crazy movie, don't know what else to say about it because I haven't watched it in what some might consider "a long time". Cause after all, what really is time, mannn? Time's just some craazy thing that we were taught in elementary school to keep our schedules taught and responsible. That's another crazy intangible noun they teach us: responsibility. Who needs to be responsible? Surely not me. I scoff at such language and wittily refer to it as "responsi-bile" because I spit at such preposterous terms. Yes, wittily. Let me indulge in my wordplay. Did you know I did theatrical performances over words? Yes, yes, they were indeed "wordplays". Wit, again! Are you Hebrew? Cause Jewish Israeli cute, girl. HA! Puns. I would never have garnered such a high capacity for high brow comedy had I never discovered such immaculate puns online. I can thank the web for whetting the sword of creativity to unheard of degrees. Now, we need not create our own humor or jest, we merely need to reblog and recycle former content as our own so we can receive praise for finding someone/something of merit! It's wonderfundle what a bundle we receive! See there? That's a reference to an old cable commercial that aired for a provider that only airs in midwestern states. My references are off the hook thanks to the internet. Are you an election? Cause I'll hold you any day. OK. I'll admit that one was melded in the iron works that I call a brain, but at the same time I can't be sure that someone else hadn't smithed a similar joke throughout the ages. What is originality? What is individuality? Should such troubles pollute your mind? Because it seems that those who are most concerned with the two are the farthest from them.

It's Late and I'm Watching Movies

I solemnly swear that I am up to no good. It's three in the morning and I am watching Harry Potter. I started reading the series again over the summer but lost time and stopped at some point. The books are always so much more interesting than the movies. Something about words and imagination are much more powerful than their visual/live-action interpretations and I truly believe that. I say truly because I feel like it's because a lame trend among people to consider books superior to movies, kind of like how the internet started the idolization of pizza, cats, and being "introverted" the last few years. I wish I hadn't stopped reading those books, and I wish my chinchillas hadn't chewed them up. They either despise J.K. Rowling or, more than likely, love paper. I love that woman, though. Especially for releasing an acclaimed book under a pseudonym. I question whether or not it's praised because of the hoopla surrounding the reveal of it turning out to be good, but choose to believe it's something of merit since everyone hated Garth Brooks as Chris Gaines. One of my teachers in high school told me that my name sounded like a character that existed in the Hogwarts universe and that's kind of stayed with me since then. Few people have told me my name was interesting in a similar respect, but to hear Harry Potter worthy was unbelievably more interesting. Maybe unbelievable is a stretch, but still. It tickled my fancy. Maybe we can consider this entry as an open letter to J.K. Rowling, and as an offer of my name and likeliness for her to use in writing another book of wizardry. Mrs. Rowling, if you ever stumble upon this garbage piece of writing, I would like you to know that I would like to be place in Ravenclaw. I do not require a sorting hat event, or even much back story or character depth. The sheer mention of my name a handful of times and my character not having any points deducted from my House would undoubtedly be enough. You are a sweet woman, I love you, be safe and have fun. Keep writing books for me to read then struggle to find time to revisit.
-With much sincerity and gratitude, Alexander Nethercot of Ravenclaw

p.s. I hope you end open letters in that way

1,440 Minutes of Fog

*waking up for the first time*

It's about 7:45ish, and I'm awake to move my car so my mom could go to work (quite redundant but is my morning routine) and there is a noticeable mist. Or fog. Isn't very thick so I'd consider it a mist, but it also might be silly of me to think that the thickness would be the difference between the two. Either way, I haven't seen clouds on the ground in a cool minute and I don't plan to spend my morning wondering how to differentiate between fog and mist. Back to bed. 

*waking up about noon*
No mist. No fog. No real importance. Menial chores and errands to be done, sustenance to be consumed.
Nothing of real value to be recorded for a few hours (not like the rest of these entries or stories are, though)

*leaving my house for no particular reason at 6ish*
Ahh, the ol' mist is back. Still not too dense, but yet everyone is driving like there is kangaroos in the streets. Terrible idiom. Or simile. I know it's a simile but not sure what qualifies an idiom. Uncertainty will end me.
Anyhow, I'm at my destination now.

*leaving destination*
This is stupid. Cursing stupid. I hope someone's God damns this fog. Yes, fog. It is no longer mist; it is easily thick and tangible enough that by any definition it is a fog. I can't even see thirty feet forward to the stoplight. I hate everything. If there are other vehicles, or worse marsupials, on these roads, I would be none the wiser. There could even be pirates. I've seen the movie this stuff is named after, and pirates will soon fill this city as much as the fog itself has... luckily we're landlocked, and thankfully I have my wits about me to remember this. I'm really hungry but also really scared of dying (not of pirates, but of other fog drivers) so I think I'll take refuge in my abode.



...and that's the tale of how a day of fog almost killed me, but it dissipated and I decided not to commit suicide.

obviously written in retrospect and not while operating my votor mehicle