Hello people who may care about me; O-week in chicago has been a drunken frenzy; I have not had a single dry night since I got here; in fact, as I'm writing this, I'm slightly shit-faced and having a hell of a time; I've really bonded with some of these people; I figure I could grow to like most of them, because they is nice peoples. As in, seriously nice peoples. Some of them, anyway.

And so, tonight, after the latest party in a long, long, long-ass list of parties, I'm hanging out in my suitemate's room, on my suitemates computer, writing a little spiel about how much I love life over here in chicago. The raucous noises have died down a little bit; I am alone in my wakefulness, with a cup of tea and the silence of a hallway that has long since gone to sleep. The buzzing in my head means that I'm not completely sober, and this is good; the first week is far, far too complicated to cope with sober.

I bought a new diary the other day at the bookstore; busy times don't allow pause for reflection, or even the occasional rant. I'm not complaining, of course, you have to imply things from what's left unsaid.

So this is college. I'm finally here. The question is, why do I feel like the door is closing already?

I hate math. I really do. I hate it with a passion that wells up from my gut and pops around in my brain before making my skull clot and fizz and feel like exploding. I don't ever want to do math again in my life, but I will have to, because it is there.

I have been flipping through my old assignments; I still don't believe I did them, then I realise, oh wait, I copied all of them. This clarifies several things for me, I suppose, like why I'm so stupid. Oh wait, no it doesn't - that will forever be a mystery.

On the bright side, I've started running again; I mention this now, as I've just stopped running. I'm such a clever person. Oh wait, no, I forgot, I'm a stupid person. See how stupid I am? I'm so stupid I forget and think I'm clever. But anyway, yes, I've started running, but then I stopped, or rather, 'took a break' today. I'm so lazy.

Also, I've been driving around Terre Haute in a Taurus, terrorizing American motorists. This makes me happy and adds a great deal of meaning to my life. Clever me. Oh, wait, no, stupid me. I'm so stupid.

It looks like I'm running out of things to say. This is not good, because when I stop writing, math beckons, and I hate math. Ugh.

In hopes of getting a comment on that last entry, I have notably not written for a long time (yes, three days is an eternity to hold my electronic tongue); I've now given up all hopes of getting comments on that post, so here's another rant from your not-most-favourite person.

Hello, do you people not realize that I am a comment slut, pandering to your perceived whims just so you will pat me on the head? I'm a shout-out whore, itching for any form of feedback whatsoever; a bottom feeder thriving on your discarded opinions. So, well, comment already!

Today in church I was screwing with my head again; I tried to imagine the joys of being a father; I imagined I was in a hospital pacing the corridor, and a doctor came out and said, 'it's a boy!'; my heart started swelling up with pride and all that shit - it's scary how realistic my hallucinations are when I'm not even on drugs; I attribute it to being incredibly tired; everyone should give it a try - stay up through the night and try to project your thoughts onto reality - it's such a rush, it's incredible. I think they should give me an advanced medal for fucking with my own head.

In case you haven't realised yet, I'm incredibly tired, hence the total lack of coherence - forcing myself to stay awake, whipping my body clock into shape. I love this self-inflicted punishment. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Do I have issues, or am I just a normal person pretending to be fucked up?

I have a real poser in front of me - do I write something brooding, just because I can, or do I revert to my usual semi-upbeat style? Today was another day in my long string of days where nothing happened, and I have no clue what to say about this. Strangely enough, I find myself compelled to give some sort of account, as if I have an audience, waiting to see me dance around naked on the stage. Well, ladies and gents, there'll be no strip-show tonight!

Yesterday I had a dream - I was in Malaysia and they were executing political prisoners (yes, I know this doesn't actually happen, but it was MY dream, and strange things happen in my dreams); the crowd was given little consoles with buttons marked 'drop', 'release' and 'crucify', and based on the results, the subject would either be dashed against the ground, set free, or nailed to a tree. I watched for a while, decided it was rigged, and then started taking side bets. I won quite a bit of money. Too bad this was all a dream.

So I now have an validated Indiana learner's permit. I look like a real dick in the photo; it's reminiscent of my 5 SIR camp pass, except without the bride of frankenstein hair. But I'm boring you with my tales from suburbia.

Suddenly it hits you again; it can really strike at any time; five minutes ago I was mowing the lawn - in five minutes the yawning chasm catches up with you, and you're left with that gaping hole again, trying to reach into yourself but finding that your hands can never go quite deep enough, that the world's giant phallus can't really stuff you hard enough to fill the stretching emptiness.

I'm not depressive - not at all. I'm actually remarkably well adjusted for an occasional sociopath.

And to think that, five minutes ago, while I was mowing the lawn, I decided the theme for today's entry would be 'my parents worked hard so I could be this lazy'.

I have something on the tip of my tongue but I can't say it; I'm feeling strangely conflicted inside because that's just the way it is, today. Today is just one of those hallucinogenic days; time is standing on its head and just to the left of the screen so that it's sort of left the picture; everything else does strange cartwheels and sticks out its collective tongue at me - these are the days of hellfire and brimstone, lovingly shrinkwrapped into handy takeaway packages.

I have an epic on the tip of my fingers but it won't come out; constipated words trickle off the keyboard into this electronic void - I'm sure I'll hate all of them after this, but for now, it just feels so good, like you're on the toilet bowl with your pants down farting; it isn't the real shit, but at least you're working towards it. But at the same time, I'm clenching my buttcheeks, because when this monster shit comes out, it will be a stench unlike any the world has ever known, and that really cute girl is standing outside, waiting for the bathroom. This is a sticky situation. Hello, welcome to life.

I have opinions forming at the tip of my head but they're still-born; truth be told, I don't have many opinions about anything, but there you go. It's not that I'm apathetic, that's just the easy way out of it - what is the truth, though? I think that's beyond my comprehension, or rather, beyond what I want to get into right now - I don't want to get into anything, and yet I do - I want you to know what I'm saying without me saying it, but you don't, do you? If I can't get into my own head, you probably can't get in either. Don't say you can; I hate being obvious - it's only a short step away from vulgar.

I have dropped enough hints for one night - is your picture any clearer?

So I was eating pig in church today, because it was the pork roast and all, and yeah, I figured, dude, I'm actually a cabbage, so why is I eating all these pigs? I mean, we're all cosmically linked, except we're not, and I'm actually a friggin cabbage, so we should cut these pigs and things a break, right?

Think, for a while, of all the hot cabbage sex, fornicating in the ground with all those hot foreign cabbages! Is it just me, or did this chatroom get a little steamy? Oooh, cabbages.

And so, off I go on another tribute to cabbage life:

Today, dear humans, hear my cries!
I am a cabbage in disguise!
Abandon all your hows and whys,
I am a cabbage in disguise!
Unlike the fruit that merely tries,
I AM a cabbage in disguise!
And while our number multiplies,
I am A cabbage in disguise!
No other vegetable applies!
I am a CABBAGE in disguise!
About time that you realise,
I am a cabbage IN disguise!
So why do I not attract flies?
I am a cabbage in DISGUISE!
And so my friends, hear my reprise;
I am a cabbage in disguise!
I AM A CABBAGE, IN DISGUIIIIIIIISSSSSEEEEE!!!!!!!

I am back in Terre Haute after an amazing week in New York. I spent all of yesterday playing my guitar (which I still think I absolutely suck at) and doing push-ups (oh, my aching back) - I figure if I'm going to be bored, I might as well be productively bored. Yes, I know this flies in the face of my 'less productivity, more goofing off' philosophy, but hey, it's not like I have anything better to do...

I think I will refrain from the whole 'what a good time I had in New York' spiel; that would only bore my faithful readers (who I love and appreciate); instead, a little light music.

Tralala, tralaladdyda, tralala.

Thank you.