O0o0O

Ya, I'm in lab today too, so there.
I don't have much motivation though... Also, someone locked the radioactivity room, and none of us here know how to open it, so I can't do that work anyway...
Time to go home?

from here to eternity

it's new year's eve day and i'm one of the only chumps in the office. but god do i need to be here. i spent the last four months jilling off while my professor was in france, now i'm trying to get all the work done in these couple of weeks that i was supposed to get done the past quarter.

fortunately, it's not all that much work. i set very modest goals for myself.

but i'm still not done with it. and i've got to write some research update thing for the national park service since they were so fucking benevolent to let me do research there and dude in berlin i want to work with for my ph.d. wants a research proposal NOW.

and my advisor wants me to change everything about my masters question but it is too late and i don't even know how to begin to deal with that. so i'm just avoiding, as usual, and waiting for the shit to hit the fan, as usual.

you have nothing for me.

everclear (all eras)
triscuits
cold house
filthy bikes
girl at the bank across the street
chipped polish
rubber boots and yellow jacket
pink phone
starved body
staunch isolation
keep quietly FUCKED

nine inch nails lyrics

it's late (early?) and the radio is on. radios. empty house, wet city. pounding dance music in hot rooms with paired-off drunks and toys. 2:30 starts to sound early, i start to sound bored. i want to sound like nothing. at all. these high school sunrise pants are almost as depressing as the laundry on the bed. weekends are too long, i need something more more more than kleenex. buy a friend and ignore a crowd, age quietly and lose all your loose change. i should cast off the purposefully hopeless attachments to invisible futures that tie me down and paralyze (comfort) me. today was forgotten and tired.

Look what we did

There's something magical about the siding of your house...

the growing fleet

my other bike was getting dirty, and it's too cold to clean it, so i got a new one.

No no no no no

I want to go home now. now. now. now. now. now.

pork chops!

this may sound whatever, but i was listening to queens of the stone age and had a bit of a happy revelation. there's some line about living until you die. right? there's no more than that. i'm not pretending i'm going anywhere; i'm just doing this until i can't. jesus christ, it's so fucking simple. there's no need to fret. pork chops!

FW:

Sleepless rain. No glasses, french daydreams about happiness.

everclear

this little man font kills me quietly on nights like this with an obnoxious body and deflated memory. everything falling out of favor to make me sick like all the rest. this pattern grates on you and comforts me, so fuck you. letting it all go. i'm not apologizing for this shit and i'm not losing any more sleep over some abstract dissatisfaction, okay? all there is is what's in my head and i'm so very okay with that. none of you can come close to me, with anything resembling sincerity or touch. my stumbling makes me feel alive, this music keeps me going, and i will stay dirty for as long as i live. clean is for tv and tv is for zombie boretards. approval means nothingnothingnothing remember? i have one person in this world, and we were both born in goddamn washington, okay? in some sawmill town that i don't even remember the name of sometimes. so stay behind the yellow line and let me play my music at full volume. it comforts me to no end; it is the only thing that can make me be okay with being awake. BORED COMMON distanced perfection makes me want to hit repeat and sleep. i will die at some point and that will be that. until then i will never fucking relinquish my temple of albums and bedsheets. unplug your fucking computer if you have to roll you eyes at this. ain't nothing new around here. my home is entirely made-up and set to the tune of a bruce springsteen song. my promise is long since forgotten. any potential has evaporated, leaving only this smug confidence and sickening repetition. i still fight back the urge to use my knives on myself; my survival is an unexpected benefit of my laziness. and the unquenchable desire to hear the next fucking song. hide everything away from me, otherwise i'll just obsess and inevitably fall down. is my effect working?