Lately, while riding my bicycle I've been listening to "The Dark Knight" soundtrack. Originally, I just thought it'd be cool but now I feel like
The Batman on a mountain bike...
...and when I stopped off at Blockbuster I felt like
The Batman renting a movie. Also, I love how in "The Dark Knight" all of the citizens of Gotham call him "
The Batman" as though the city is populated by my parents.
One time, when I was a kid, I actually wrote a girl a poem... well, I copied a poem from an Encyclopedia but I attempted to pass it off as my own work and she caught me. Somehow. I don't know how she did it. I looked it up under P. I thought I was being slick but I got nailed... I also have that very same girls soccer card. Still. At one point I thought I was going to marry her but we were only twelve. It ended badly. She was uncool.
I'd like to be less judgmental and more dedicated.
Tonight is one of those nights where I could probably do anything. Pick one, of any number of paths to take, and still feel bored. If I ever felt this way growing up I'd have gone down to my cellar and made-pretend build something. I never actually built anything. One time my dad and I built a bookshelf. My dad did all of the work. When he finished he wrote "Chris 1987" on the back. He used the same fire-engine red paint for the front of it. Now that I think of it, that bookshelf is my favorite possession. It makes me wish I built more stuff with my dad when I had the chance... Really, he should have signed it "Dad 1987." And It's impossible for me to tell him how much I love him.
Sleep calls. But the call for comedy resounds in the hallowed halls of my head. I don't have call waiting.
I once said the same thing about God.
Personal quirk: I need to wash my hands pretty regularly. Mostly only before meals but sometimes I get scared that it'll slip into some O.C.D. It won't but the fear is there. It doesn't match up to my biggest fear: blindness. So, please everybody, don't throw bleach in my eyes.
I believe that the life you lead is based only on the decisions you make. Kinda like a choose your own adventure book...
I once wrote a paper that, I'm pretty sure, was in 14 point font and like quadruple spaced. There were three words per line and it was for a 400 level English class on sublime poetry... I got a C.
I wish I had super powers. Really good ones. I'd make a great superhero. I'd help everyone, especially the people who need it most. I'd use my powers to take out bank loans for folks who don't have a lot of cash that the banks, otherwise, wouldn't even bat an eyelash at. My only downfall would be my mouth. Much like in real life, I'm loquacious. (Word of the day.) I talk a lot. You could say that I have the gift of gab but it's more of a curse... such is the life of a superhero.
I'm stocking up on reams of paper, pens, notebooks, note-cards, reading materials, and ideas.
There's something on my back that I definitely need looked at and probably need removed. But I'm wondering why I can't just do it myself. There's gotta be a DIY video on youtube for mole removal. A little self surgery would save me time AND money.
While typing that last blurb I was reminded of how a nun once told me that you can't start a sentence with because. Yes you can. How bout this? Because of the Earthquake, my life was never the same. Or how bout just: "Because."
(If that's incorrect just remember: Mistakes are O.K.)
I bought a tube of Pillsbury cookie dough tonight. It's sitting in my fridge and I have no real intention of eating it.
Regularly, I hear noises from various open windows of my apartment and I imagine criminals climbing in through the screens but the fantasy doesn't stop there. Upon entering my house they have to deal with me and my newly, in the moment, discovered Jason Bourne-Kali fighting skills.
The noises are just my hamsters... and they're too small for a street fight.
Currently, I'm reading
Frankenstein written by Mary W. Shelley in 1817. She told me so in her preface. My book reading style is cover to cover. With no skipping. Imagine my surprise, when reading a book that traveled about Seventeen Hundred Ninety One years and finally arrived in my grubby mitts, to find that she's not the only person who's written in it. Oh, no no no... Several others have left their mark. Twelve souls to be exact. In the form of names, addresses, and telephone numbers. That makes me the Thirteenth.
Tomorrow, I have a few calls to make.
Brainstorm. I'm joining a woodworking class... next fathers day my dad gets a brand new, top o' the line, fire-engine red bookshelf. And there's plenty of time to do it.
How's YOUR brain?
Love,
-Chris
