Make it to the moon never have to crawl

Yesterday I was all suped up and ready to go with this whole school and thinking thing. Now I am just tired. I still like being in school and actually having that nice little motivation to use my brain, but now I am ready for a break again before I have to wake and go in.

Do you ever get that impression that you are in the middle of something that doesn't make any sense to you, and yet you suspect that it wouldn't make any sense to the people that it supposedly does make sense too? I suppose its just the idea of who the hell really is in charge around here. Well, not here, no ones in charge here. I used to like being in charge of things. I guess I still do. Of course the problem with being in charge of things is that you generally have to work with other people. I'm not really a networker sort of guy, and I don't like telling people what to do really. I was sitting in that class I ended up droping and the prof. was rearanging everyone into groups, and I just sat in one spot, deciding if I was going to drop the class or not, and I didn't really know for sure, but then I realized that in my personal obstance a group had just grown around me. Bag in hand I walked out, "where's he going?" they asked with pathetically disoriented faces. I don't blame them, people are always looking for a leader, I think what makes me seem more like a leader then some people is that I am not looking for a leader. But I'm not looking to lead. Group dynamics are not my strong suit. Autonomy leaves such a sweet taste in my mouth.

I need a bigger bookcase, or just another bookcase to add to my room. I bought a bookcase from walmart once. I had to put it together myself, which seemed easy enough because it was more like a giant wooden lego set than a piece of carpentry. A few little plastic pieces in a few little holes and it would be done, in twenty minutes or less. Of course, within eight minutes I had managed to clog three of the holes with tiny bits of broken plastic. I never got the bookcase put together. I blame it on walmart seeling crappy shit that breaks when all you do is bend it in three different directions at once. I havn't bought anything, save a couple of small things that I didn't realize I was buying until we were at the checkout stand, from walmart in nearly two years now. Usually if I say I'm going to boycott something it lasts about as long as I still give a crap, and although I stopped giving a crap about my brilliant plan of not spending upwards of 3o dollars a month at walmart, thus ruining them economically, I still havn't gone back to that place. I think its more than a political move, really, walmart is just a crappy place to shop.

Speaking of a materialistic culture, there is really only one item that I buy now with regularity that isn't a... disposable material? I don't know what word I'm looking for. But you know, things that get used up when you use them (used up when you use them, you brilliant man you! you thought of that all by yourself did you?) food and gas and such, the only thing that I don't need to buy to get around and, you know, survive, is books. Occasionally I buy movies. I guess I rent a lot of movies, and go to a lot of movies, so I guess I would need to include some sort of entertainment related category of things I buy. I don't know what the point of this whole paragraph really was. I'm not trying to say that I am a non-materialistic person, I very much am, I mean, shit, thats just how we live these days, but what I'm saying is that there are very few things that I want to buy and to have anymore, and books (and, yes, I count comic books here) are the only things I want to buy all the time. Its a strange feeling for me, because I used to buy everything like it was going out of style. And then some.

I really have still quite a bit of reading to do before 8am tommorow morning, so I should stop this little break in my reading to get back to what I was reading. Which was crap, by the way, never read anything by "Laxalt, Robert." Also, he's probably in some way affiliated with UNR, so you maybe heard of him? If not, watch yourself. I imagine a common scene in his day is walking around the UNR campus, finding a student that has fallen behind the pack and siddled up aside them "Hey, how's it going?" Asked Robert in a gentlemans voice, "Very well! And how are you today, sir?" says you, the common student in this steadily deterorating example, "Well, I am just wonderful. You know, the Nevada desert is such a nice place. I should now, I'm Robert Laxalt, I write about it all the time." Robert smiles and leans in, the stale stench of cigar smoke hovers over his head, and his eyes narrow. "You like Nevada, right?" insistantly his voice comes out, licking his lips he snarls "because if you like Nevada you should read my books! Because they are about Nevada, and Basque culture in Nevada." His large, hairy, sweating hands are on your shoulders, you try to squirm away but he holds you tight, and farts. "Oh, god!" sputtering, trying to spit the taste of the foul air from your mouth, but it is a tricky scent, and knows that your nose is in fact the place that smells are supposed to go. The smell stops for a moment in the small gap between the two of you, stretching and pulling a diving cap over its small, yet vile, odorous head. The infectious smell takes a deep breath and pulls a triple back flip with a swan closer and lands with only a slight sudder and swims deep into the vast caverns of your olfactory. "Oh god!" but its too late, and Robert smiles as he pushes you to the ground, for a few moments you try to scream for help, but the smell has infiltrated your brain by this point, and its nothing for it to stop the vocal cords for a few minutes. The water drips slowly from a rusty pipe. Your eyes finally open to the a single swinging 60 watt a few feet from your head. A blur of a black haired man, shorter than you, but with muscles bulging from places that no muscles have ever grown before, pulsating as the bulb casts shadows upon his face and devlish grin. No! Your mouth doesn't yeild to your plea, it has been handedly hogtied and left to dangle on the other side of the room. Okay, so you can't call for help, but you can run! Yes, all you need to do is slip out of these ropes, fortunatly you always carry a pocket knife, if you can reach your pocket. But thats when you see that your pants have also been hogtied and left to dangle by your mouth. The fiend, he must have known about the knife. Although that doesn't explain why your legs are still in the pants. Unless... no! No! ""The Basque Hotel," he begins in a deep and somber voice, it reverberates off the walls, echoing ever louder, "By Robert Laxalt, Chapter One..."