The Obscure

Hello ladies and gents. I am updating my blog because I have nothing to do, and I have been feeling myself grow somehow less intelligent lately because I have not been writing anywhere near as often as I should be. See? That sentence there was awful.

Anyway, I don't really have a lot on my mind right now, so I am just going to write what comes out and see where it goes. It probably won't go very far, if it were up to me it wouldn't have even gotten this far; unfortunately that is not my decision, I am just the middle-man.
I'm scared that there is something terribly wrong with me. I don't know exactly what it would be, chances are I'm fine, but I can't avoid that worry that there is some problem embedded deep within my brain that is screwing me up, and it will never be fixed and it will gradually get worse and worse until I go into a coma and have to get daily spongebaths that I won't even be conscious enough to enjoy for the rest of my life.
Any volunteers? I could use a good spongebath right about now.

I haven't showered yet today, and I had work this morning. You know what that means? That's right, my body is covered in dough and flour and I smell nauseatingly like sugar cookies!

Man, I was slightly enthused about writing this post before, but now all my writing juice has drained out of me. All I want to do is go to bed, why-oh-why don't I go to bed?

Funksy Punksy, and there's a-nothin' you can do about it!

Hello, one and all. I am at work right now waiting for the oven to heat up, drinking coffee and praying that I will soon get an enormous boost of energy that will send me hurtling into my responsibilities at ten times the speed of agony. I sincerely doubt this will happen, and with tears in my eyes I will raise my drawn and haggard form to slowly but surely complete the tasks that are set before me, as was, is, and ever more shalt be.

I apologize for the previous post, at my Mother's advice I am attempting to go off of the Lexapro I have been taking in an effort to pinpoint the source of my headaches. The withdrawal symptoms, merely the psychological ones, are intense. Though I doubt they are as intense as the withdrawals from Valium, as our good friend C. Taylor Lacrosse will tell you.
I wonder what Bobby Dyls has to say about this.
Bobby Dyls: Drive carefully, folks, the roads are treacherous.

Now, I must go get some work done; or something. Goodbye my dear fellow philanthropes.

P.S. I have my MRI today, everyone wish me luck. I hope there isn't something dreadfully wrong with me, I am pretty apprehensive about it; I hope that doesn't make me a wuss.
Wussy, wussy, wussy, get your adverbs here!

Assuredly, we live in a society peopled by idiots.

Today we had a small get-together in commemoration of the birth of one of us. By "get-together" I mean, "Me and Erin dragged Tim to Providence and force-fed him for a few hours and then got lost."
It was a good time had by all. Or... just me.
I found a hardcover copy of Dune, by Frank Herbert, on the bargain rack at Borders for 6 dollars. That is seis dollieros, to the Spaniard.

What kind of mindless dithering is this? What sorry state have we come to, when the sole purpose of Man's living is to escape from the pressures and conditions of life? Medicate your mind! Alter your spirit with the Doctor's lying juices!
I entered a trance some months ago, and I continue it out of spite for the intelligence I was born with. I am not a pompous man, I simply desire to bake my mind to pieces. I ask all of you, is that so wrong? It is my mind, correct? Can I not do with it what I will?
Is it enlightenment, or teenage rebellion? Is it fun, or is it suicide?

All you sorry souls read my selfish words, and I will never understand why! Do you know the mind these shallow thoughts spring from? If you did, you would abandon me like frightened shadows fleeing from speeding headlights.
Have I lost my mind? How is it that I can communicate with a keyboard, how I can philosophize with a computer screen? I talk to it like it is a lover, or a friend; or perhaps a psychiatrist. I seem unable to overcome my fear of Doctors enough to attend counseling, so self psychiatric evaluation, diagnosis, and medication seem to be my only options.
And I go on, I go on and on, I tell this fragile world all my vile secrets.
And lo, a light shines in the darkness, but the darkness chooses not to comprehend it.

I have always maintained that happiness, like sadness and loneliness and love and so on, is a conscious decision. What then is insanity? To me it seems to be simply a chronic flaw in a person's ability to choose the tone of their own life.
Take me, for instance. Right now, I am malfunctioning mentally so much that I am bordering on hallucinations. Yesterday at this time I was sleeping happily, and dreaming of sexually aggressive daffodils.
They were very attractive, for daffodils; but that does not change the point. Unfortunately, as solid and defined as the point may be, it is entirely beyond my grasp. Your guess, dear reader, on the state of my cranial union is as always as good as my own.
Hemingway agrees. My apologies to Mr. Lacrosse, but I never had much love for Hemingway.
Of course, like most of my opinions, this opinion is a pre-conceived crock of hanky-panky that I had concocted after taking a very small dose of what Hemingway had to offer and declaring myself an expert.
That, my friends, is why no one should listen to me. These things, my dear fellows, is why I am not an intelligent man, why I shall never excel. Too much of my life thus far has been ruled by my anxieties. If I could count all the lies and fabrications I have made to date, then perhaps I would have some mental capacity to brag about after all. Unluckily for me, I cannot count all of my lies and fabrications. I cannot even count half of them, nor a third. Of course, I do not know that for sure. If I cannot count the number as a whole, then I do not know how large a half or a third of that number is, and therefore cannot say whether I could or could not count it if given the opportunity.
But why get caught up in technicalities? A mathematical genius I am not, and it seems that even the basest of brilliances is beyond me.
That is another one of the all-too-numerous depressing things about this world. Not everyone is above-average. The majority of the people in the world are average, obviously. For every main character in every story ever told, there is a countless multitude of background faces who do nothing but add colour to the lives of the important ones.
What is this I am writing? I take some sort of perverse pleasure in sticking words together, even words as mindless and directionless as this. I have used the phrase "..take(s) some sort of perverse pleasure in.." about twenty times in the past three days. Funny how you do that, sometimes. You find something you like to say, and it suddenly seems to fit into way too many situations. Soon people are making fun of you for it, I walk into a room and I hear an angelic host proclaiming aloud, "John takes some sort of perverse pleasure in walking into rooms!!"
Roars of heavenly laughter ensue. Red in the face, I flee to fight another day.

This reminds me of something that happened when I was young. I had heard the phrase, "I am aware of that." in school, someone said it in some dumb argument, and it stuck in my head for some reason. I used it at every available opportunity for the next three or four weeks. I would be arguing with someone and they would raise some point, and SHAZAM! I'd whip out the big guns. "I am aware of that." I'd say, and I would go on to pummel them with my counter-point until they fell to their knees before me and begged for mercy.
Then, one fateful day, my older sister took me down a peg. I do not remember how it happened, or when it happened. I remember that it happened, and I remember WHAT happened; but that is pretty much it.
It went a little something like this...

John: Hey, (raises some arbitrary fact)
Maria: (Replies with some kind of counter-fact)
John: (opens mouth to say "I am aware of that.")
Maria: (Pre-empts John's use of "I am aware of that." by saying it before he could in a mocking tone, forever rendering him argumentatively crippled.)

Don't get me wrong, I bear Maria no ill will for this exchange, I am more than positive that I deserved what I got, and far, far more. I am merely expressing a point.
Learn good phrases, dear boy, learn them as hard as you can--but be careful how you use them, and use them sparingly, or one day it could prove your undoing.

I am supposed to be cleaning my house right now. Of course, I am not cleaning my house. I will clean it sometime tonight, as I am currently an insomniac psychopath, but I will put it off as long as I can by writing this crap.
I don't know what strikes me, that makes me write these kinds of posts. It's not like I think anyone would be interested in these words, I just get in the writing mood, and for some reason, despite all the "ideas" I have for cool stories or essays or exercises in journalism or whatever the hell it is I think of, the only thing I ever actually genuinely enjoy writing is this strange, introspective bullshit that does no good to anyone but myself. All it does is release the pressure in my head. I have a lot of pressure in my head, chums. You are lucky that I am not releasing all of it, or you would probably be dead.

Today is Easter. I get to see Maria, Keith, Teresa, and SAMMY! I am very excited. I think I want to have Katie over for a little while during our family Easter celebration, just so that my family can meet her. Ha, she'd probably have a conniption and die if she had to meet my family, maybe I won't make her do that.

I am going to go clean my house now. I apologize for this post, to anyone who was offended, I also apologize to those of you who weren't offended but may have a lower opinion of me now. Believe me, I could lower it a lot more, if I weren't so ashamed of my vile brain.
Anyway, goodnight one and all.

*Edit*
Furthermore, I am god-DAMN sick of being out of the loop! I am always out of the loop! Society moves on and leaves the socially crippled little dropout behind and I am sick to death of it. I have never in all my days been in the know about anything, people laugh and talk with their inside jokes and their friendly companionship and their understanding and it makes me sick, I hate every person alive, if it were up to me, at least seventy percent of the population would be dragged out into the street and shot twice in the face.
Go on, live your lives, I don't need to know about it, do I? I don't need to know anything, this time next year I'll be gone, and I won't have to sit silently next to these living people and watch them smirk and giggle and mock me.
Why do I even bother? Why do I try to live in the same place as everyone else? I will never be able to feel comfortable in society, I will never be able to feel like I am on equal footing with all of my companions. Sometimes I just want to cut my goddamn throat.
Make of this what you will, I'm totally blasted out of my head right now, and I really don't see a point to censoring myself.

And I STILL haven't cleaned the damn house!

*Edit Again*
Eh, who am I kidding, I'm just another wannabe-enlightened dumbass. I guess my retarded angst can't be helped, right?
Yeah.

*Edit YET a third time*
Alright then. My late-night phobia fest has once again come to a close. As usual, now that I have spent a good eight hours in sociopathic agony, I feel footloose and fancy free. None to worry, my friends, all is well in Johnny town. Now, to go clean the damn house.

What brave new things will my drug-addled mind come up with this morning?
The world may never know, my friends. Until my mind comes up with them, at which point the world will know quite well.
My mind is not really drug-addled, that was just a phrase I felt like saying. That happens to me a lot, I say or write things without really knowing where they come from. Apparently my cousins have one of my notebooks, and Merry told me about this page with a huge drawing of a really weird-looking guy who is saying, "Suzy Creamcheese, what has happened to you?!" or something. I don't remember writing that, I don't remember if it is a quote from anything or if I just made it up. Alls I know is, it's kinda funny.

I think I shall have a second cup of coffee, if I ever get the energy to get up out of my chair. I sincerely doubt I will.

Man, I'm tired. I guess that is all I am writing for today.

Hey hey mama. I am at Tim's house right now, I got out of work early today. Man, I gotta tell you, all those musicians and writers and so on who say that their artistic talents increase with the use of mind-altering substances are full of crap. It is WAY harder to write when I am doped up. I am doped up right now, fiorecets, and all. They work great for headaches, but they knock me for a loop every time.
Though, if I am just trying to right free-form poetic nonsense, being drugged works well. What I am talking about is anything that actually requires skill or talent as opposed to raw mental exploration, if you dig what I am saying.
Long story short, even writing this mundane, run-of-the-mill post is incredibly difficult for me right now, mainly because my eyes can't really focus on the monitor.

Anyway. My hair is beginning to develop some length again, which brings me to a crossroads. Should I let it grow as it will, or should I attempt to tame it, thereby joining the ranks of the normal looking Imperial forces?
Methinks I shall let it grow as it will. This is an act of rebellion my friends. Rebellion, and laziness. Mainly laziness.

Alright, I am massively sedated right now, so I am going to go take a nap on Tim's bed. Thank you all for your time!

P.S. The anti-depressants I am on seem to be working, I am currently in love with all of you!

So I went to the Doctor, to see what he could give me.
He said, "Son, son, you've gone too far.
Cause smokin' and drinkin' is all that you do."

I went to the Doctor today, talked to him of many things. He gave me a larger prescription of Lexapro, prescribed me some sleeping pills, and gave me some LEGAL headache medicines that ought to fix me up Ok.
Sucks though, cause I had a blinding death pain all today, but I have to go to school so I can't take the Fiorecet that he gave me yet, I have to wait till after class. I can barely see, it's awful. Oh well, though, later on I'll be fine.
This is exactly the reason I should have saved some of my "Allowed Absences". Welp, live and learn, right?

I have to go get an MRI and talk to a neurologist, too.

I don't really have much else to say right now, I am mentally crippled today. Have a good night, evumboddy!

Hey fellas! Here is a picture of my niece holding my new nephew.
Clicksy Bicksy!
Enjoy!

By the time we came to Woodstock, we were half a million strong.
Three hours and an unnecessary dip into the Bostonian underworld later, and I am back where I started, sitting at my computer desk, wondering where all the time went. Wasn't it just five minutes ago, when I complained about how tired I was? "Dude, I'll probably just conk out when I get to your house." I believe was what I said to Taylor.
I felt like a lonely pirate, driving into a hole in the frozen construction paper sky. Can you see that? I doubt it, you would have to be me, at the time. All the jazz noise addles your brains, and you have to wonder what you are doing in a place like this, at a time like this, feeling this way at such a crucial turning point in your evening.
Then you remember: You are lost, literally and metaphorically. You found your way home.
Or, to be precise, you found your way back.
But you still do not know where you are.

My matches and my pipe have disappeared, and I know not where I have mislaid them. I have some scents that I would like to waft at this current time, but I seem to be nasally crippled, and as I am sure you can all infer, my situation is dire.
I am ever-thankful to ever-loving God for everything drawers; I am ever scornful of the vile Mephistopheles for cursing my matches with his wretched sin.
Credit cards are the sign of the Beast, or so I am told. One of the many inevitable conclusions that must be drawn from this little tidbit of religious humzummery is that there must, inarguably and without a doubt, be a special island in the lake of fire for those most evil of persons who dare to max them out.
But, who am I kidding? Eternal damnation is a small price to pay for immediate satisfaction. Heed my words, love, for I am the poster-child for the irresponsible American public.

One sharp rap on the head with a stick and you lose your thoughts; and you call yourself a Man?
Actually, Sir, I do not call myself a Man.
Then what DO you call yourself, dare I ask?
The answer is obvious, good Sir! I am a capitalist!

To those of you who endeavor to interpret this most DECIDUOUS data, I tip my hat.
Luckily, we live in a temperate climate. If you get my meaning, and I do hope you don't.

Tonight I discovered cruise control.
Well, that isn't telling the whole truth. Tonight I figured out how to make my cruise control WORK. Let me tell you, man, I don't know how I lived without it. Oh wait, now I remember how: Very Difficultly.

My brain does not feel tired, but my body has begun to ache with fatigue, so I am afraid I must leave you all. Apologies and condolences, my many mirthful marsupials. Now, leave us make haste! Post-haste, not waste.
....taste.

I don't have work tomorrow, nothing makes me feel more relaxed than knowing that I can have whatever enormous fun I want to today without the risk of screwing up work tomorrow morning. As far as I am concerned, tomorrow does not exist. Now--bring on the violence, booze, and hookers!
Yes, today is St. Patrick's Day. The one day of the year when the one Irish quarter of my body stands with upraised arms and clenched fists, and it screams aloud for all the universe to hear, "I DO exist!"
Then it sits back down again, because I am tired. Better luck next year, oh foul slice of my larger self. Assimilate yourself into the Puerto Rican flesh!
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: The.

I baked a good zillion cookies today. Roughly a zillion.

I got my first big check today, $322. Pretty good, huh? I thought so. I can't cash it till tomorrow though. But when I do, MAN! I am gonna dilligently SAVE!
Pfft, yeah right. I probably owe it all away already. I know 200 of it is going in to my night school payment. That leaves like SIX dollars to my name.
My arithmetic is flawless. It is times like these when I wonder how I ended up in night-school and not in the Very Easy, Fun, and Hedonistic School For Godlike Geniuses.
I think I would do well in that kind of environment.

I'm all out of writing-juice for the day. I'm trying to ease back into writing like I used to, taking it a little bit at a time, y'know?
Talk to you all later!

Man, today isn't really my day.
I was at work this morning and I kept on messing things up. Well, that is to say: I messed one thing up. I looked at the list for what I had to do today, and it said, "24 double chocolate chunk cookie pops" but I didn't see the word "pops" or something, so I just baked 24 double chocolate chunk cookies, and then found out after they were all completely done (which took like half an hour!) that I had baked the wrong thing, and I had to bake a whole extra batch of double chocolate chunk cookies, on STICKS.
I was very frustrated. Also, because I was frustrated and flustered, I burned myself real badly on three different places, which I haven't done for a week or two now. So I am angry and scalded, and I'm tired, and for some reason I can't draw well today. It's not a good day to be a Johnny.
On the plus side, I got to eat a couple unused double chocolate chunk cookies.

I feel so woozy right now. I think maybe I'm anemic, except I eat a lot of cheeseburgers and stuff, so I doubt it. Jeez, maybe I should go lie down.
Yeah, I think I'll do that. Toodle-oo ladies and gents.

I got to see my new nephew this morning, it was the most beautiful thing in the world. I never thought that I would be so captivated by a little baby squirming around on the other side of a nursery window, but I could have stood there watching him for hours.
I'm not the most religious person in the world, I know a lot of you who read this are far less religious than I; but right now I have to thank God for this child. He is such a blessing, especially considering what my older sister has dealt with in her pregnancies up till this one.
"Samuel" means Asked of God. We lost Elijah, and nothing could ever make that hurt less, but we were given Samuel--and I will do my best to make his days on this Earth as bright as they can be.

Sorry to get all weird on you guys.

We officially have a new member in our family!! 6 pounds, 2 ounces! Sammy Johnson has arrived!

Hello ladies and philanthropists! Good Neeeeeeeeeeeews!!
My older sister is in labor right now!! She is only one very long, excruciatingly experience away from having a new baby boy, "Sammy Johnson" we'll call him! I think. MAN! I'm so excited!!
I had a killer headache, so I took some Perk, but I am also really coffee-ed up, because I want to know the SECOND the baby is out. So I am not really going to be sleeping tonight, and there is nobody online to talk to. Therefore, I think I am going to devote a large amount of this morning to writing on this here blogarium. Sound good to you? It sounds good to me!

Our furnace went out again yesterday morning, and the temperature in here went down to like 58 or something. I was staying over Tim's house because I couldn't get a ride to work from here, so the low temperature didn't bother me, as I wasn't... y'know... here. Unfortunately, once the furnace got working again (at an immense cost to my parents *sigh*) my dad put it up to like 72 degrees or something, just so that the house would heat up quickly, but we failed to turn it back down in time, and my house is the kind of house that is hard to start heating and harder to STOP, y'know? So it's like 75 degrees in here right now, which is a bit too hot even for my taste. So I've got my pantlegs rolled up, and I put a fan the den here so that there is a bit of air circulation.

I think I'm going to try and go to Europe. Just for the experience of doing so, y'know? I'll just put away most of my cash for a while and then go travelling. I am not quite sure what it is I want to do with college yet, I think I may want to put it off for a year or so just to try to experience a somewhat unfettered adult life; I am just worried that I would and up putting it off too long and just not going at all.
I'd like to wait a year or so to go anyway, because the majority of my friends are a year behind me in school. I know it's kind of naive for me to think that I'd stay in real close touch with them in college and stuff, but it would be really cool, you know? So I was thinking maybe I could just spend half a year working and saving, and then half a year travelling around and writing and such, and then come back and get an apartment with a chum or two and go to school. That would be cool, right?
I don't know if I would be able to get accepted anywhere, though. My highschool transcript is horrendous. I did do pretty well on the SAT, but people keep on giving me different answers on how much that counts. Some people say, "Oh yeah, if you do good on the SAT then nobody'll care about your transcript." and then some other people say, "Oh yeah, the SAT is 10 percent of what colleges look at, and the transcript is the other 90." or something. I've been told that they look at the verbal score more than the math score though, so that's cool. My math was a 510, (which is low average, for those of you who don't know haha) but in English I got a 720. I guess that makes sense, I spent the bulk of my high-school career reading an average of 6 books a week in my classes. Ha, my Algebra teacher once took away copy of Crime and Punishment because I was reading it during a big exam. I failed the test utterly, but I just took a different copy of Crime and Punishment out from the library and finished it by 6th period. If only I'd done a little bit of schoolwork, I might have been able to give my life some sort of purpose.
But who needs purpose, anyway? Seriously. I mean, come on!

I swore to myself early on that I wouldn't make my SAT scores public, but for some reason I don't really care about that right now. The college thing is on my mind right now, so it is coming out. It's the perk that's doing it, I'm sure. But I know I will probably be deathly embarassed about it later on.

I've been contemplating starting work on actually writing one of the books I think about so much. There was a time, last spring and early summer, where I was writing for about 4 hours a day. I wasn't writing anything in particular, I'd just sit down in front of the computer at some point during the day and I would start typing, and then all of a sudden it would be an hour or two later and something would interrupt me and I'd go do something, and then later on I'd come back and repeat that sequence again, and again, and sometimes again and again and possibly even again. That would be it.
The point is, it'd be cool to get my brain out like that, and use the little talent I seem to possess for something useful.

Man, I was thinking that I would write more than this, but I'm pretty sure I am done now. I just write for a while, and then it feels like I am full, or something. Dig?
Anyway, goodnight, ladies and philanthropists. And, keep Maria and the new baby in your thoughts and prayers! I can't wait for lil' Sammy Johnson!

Man, it feels like a century since I last updated. Then again, the last time I updated I was entirely out of my head, so I guess that makes a bit of sense.
I haven't really been in a writing mood for a while now. I was sitting here just now, violently perusing the internet for about twenty minutes, and suddenly I was struck with the enormous realization that I could be updating my blog. I then made haste to the Edit Blog page, and began forthwith to write.

I am also making macaroni and cheese. This is turning out to be a GOOD DAY!
Man, I had forgotten what it was like to have a budget on your lifestyle, because our house-payments didn't start for like two months after we moved in here. So they started up at the beginning of this month and all of a sudden we are all dead broke again. I'm glad I have a job that I can get money from now, but I don't get my next paycheck for two weeks, and almost all of my last one is paying for part of my night-school debt.
I am now eating macaroni and cheese.

I was talking to Tim just now, and I came to a strange realization. I have gotten so used to cheap store-brand food (such as Stop and Shop Macaroni and Cheese, my personal favorite) that when I have the rare treat of eating actual "quality" brandname vittles I find myself not liking it.
That last sentence reminds me of the Brian Jacques books. You know, Mossflower and Redwall and all that, with the anthropromorphic animals who always killed each other? Yeah, those ones. They would always call their food "vittles". Never "food" or "grub" or anything, it was ALWAYS "vittles"; and I spent a long time trying to figure out what "vittles" were. The little cockney mole things would go, "Oy! Oi dunee zee wunt sum vittles, gum grimmy gam guvna!" To which the fearless warrior mouse would reply, "Forsooth, my weary gullet dost cry out in sorry agony, for it is in want of vittles!"
And then along comes those WILEY stoats who..beh, you get the idea. And I would read this strange dialogue, and of course being like 8 years old I was unable to understand a good half of it, which made unravelling the mystery of "vittles" all the more difficult. After reading like 4 Redwall books I finally associated the word "vittles" with the food that would be described in long, confusing detail immediately following it, and the books suddenly made a vastly larger amount of sense to me.
I was never a very smart child.

Anyway, I guess this blog update is done. I'm think I might go take a nap because I've been pretty short on sleep lately. I have no school tonight or tomorrow night, go me!
Toodle-oo, ladies and PHILANTHROPISTS!

I am a time traveller, a distant moon stands before me. A world has erupted beneath my feet and is challenging the eons of venus. Around me all I can see is a rotating land mass of utter damnation and it is hurting my brain that I can not come up with words, even under the experience of my lifetime this fateful day in november. The creaking keeps my cosmic time and does not understand the questions it may ask of my ugly uncle child. I think now I must go to bed lest the shakes wake my Mother.