The next person to make a patronizing comment gets stabbed in the neck.
Well, I learned a valuable lesson from my last post: if you ever write anything that you feel is even half-way decent, don't share it with your friends. Only give them the shallow things that can be safely enjoyed at face value. Anything else will be a startling dissapointment.
By the way, thanks to Rich for making an effort. Even sugar-coated, it's nice to know someone will give you the benefit of the doubt that you have some talent as a writer, even if it's only enough to fill a shot glass.
Goddamn, I hate you people. I'll probably end up closing this blog, too.
On a COMPLETELY unrelated note to my irritability, tonight marks my fourth night without sleep. Usually, when a person says "I haven't slept in two days," it's a slight exagerration to describe a period of little sleep, say three or five hours among two days. This, sadly, is not the case. I have not had one minute of sleep. Not one. In four days.
My roommate came back from Japan with lots of work, oh yes he did. So he starts working, all through every night (must be nice to be able to sleep in during the day, eh?). Now, noise doesn't bother me, but light does. I can't sleep with any light (hey, light. A symbol from my story. Heh, symbols . . .), so for three days, I was frustratingly prone in bed while fully awake. Sure, I should have asked him to go work in the library, but I would have felt like a jerk. I don't know. Maybe I felt bad because he's actually been doing work.
So Masa does eventually get tired. Glee. Not as much as me, but whatever. Sleep time for both of us. No lights; it is dark.
I still can't sleep. Why? I don't know. Too much pressure to perform? (or not perform?) Randomly, I'm hit with insomnia. Masa wakes up from his early sleep to play video games (which he's doing now), but it doesn't really matter. I can't sleep regardless.
I reason that however taxed my mind and eyes are, my body was still resting all these nights since I was still in bed. I mean, I have this crazy jack-hammer leg going on, so it must have energy. Maybe my body is just out of sync with my mind.
So what is the effect of all this? Well, I shaved my hand today. Yeah, that's right. I shaved my hand. Why? I have no freaking idea. There wasn't even really any hair on the tops of my hands, but it seemed like a good idea. I also shaved my wrists. I have some hair on my arms (which is normal) but no hair on the underside. Except this one spot where it kind of grows together. Well, suddenly that pissed me off, so it had to go.
Neurotic grooming aside, I also noticed that I talk to myself a lot. Now, I usually talk to myself (yes, I have internal conversations frequently), but not out loud. I noticed I was mumbling, which is just not my style. I was trying to decide if anything was bothering me that could be keeping me up, but all I got was the aforementioned frustration. I feel quite cleansed of that now.
So now what? I could write something, but I'm quite put out by that idea. I suppose I'll play video games, murder my roommate, shave off my eyebrows, and fly out the window.
By the way, thanks to Rich for making an effort. Even sugar-coated, it's nice to know someone will give you the benefit of the doubt that you have some talent as a writer, even if it's only enough to fill a shot glass.
Goddamn, I hate you people. I'll probably end up closing this blog, too.
On a COMPLETELY unrelated note to my irritability, tonight marks my fourth night without sleep. Usually, when a person says "I haven't slept in two days," it's a slight exagerration to describe a period of little sleep, say three or five hours among two days. This, sadly, is not the case. I have not had one minute of sleep. Not one. In four days.
My roommate came back from Japan with lots of work, oh yes he did. So he starts working, all through every night (must be nice to be able to sleep in during the day, eh?). Now, noise doesn't bother me, but light does. I can't sleep with any light (hey, light. A symbol from my story. Heh, symbols . . .), so for three days, I was frustratingly prone in bed while fully awake. Sure, I should have asked him to go work in the library, but I would have felt like a jerk. I don't know. Maybe I felt bad because he's actually been doing work.
So Masa does eventually get tired. Glee. Not as much as me, but whatever. Sleep time for both of us. No lights; it is dark.
I still can't sleep. Why? I don't know. Too much pressure to perform? (or not perform?) Randomly, I'm hit with insomnia. Masa wakes up from his early sleep to play video games (which he's doing now), but it doesn't really matter. I can't sleep regardless.
I reason that however taxed my mind and eyes are, my body was still resting all these nights since I was still in bed. I mean, I have this crazy jack-hammer leg going on, so it must have energy. Maybe my body is just out of sync with my mind.
So what is the effect of all this? Well, I shaved my hand today. Yeah, that's right. I shaved my hand. Why? I have no freaking idea. There wasn't even really any hair on the tops of my hands, but it seemed like a good idea. I also shaved my wrists. I have some hair on my arms (which is normal) but no hair on the underside. Except this one spot where it kind of grows together. Well, suddenly that pissed me off, so it had to go.
Neurotic grooming aside, I also noticed that I talk to myself a lot. Now, I usually talk to myself (yes, I have internal conversations frequently), but not out loud. I noticed I was mumbling, which is just not my style. I was trying to decide if anything was bothering me that could be keeping me up, but all I got was the aforementioned frustration. I feel quite cleansed of that now.
So now what? I could write something, but I'm quite put out by that idea. I suppose I'll play video games, murder my roommate, shave off my eyebrows, and fly out the window.
posted by Zoopers at 11:37 PM
12 Comments:
I didn't sugar coat . . .
I said it was cryptic and ended too soon.
And I'm the only one that can rail against my audience! No one but me is aloud to hate blog readers.
And did you call my comment patronizing?
I was the only one who commented, so . . .
And quit the self-deprecation. Who do you think you are, Rodney Dangerfield?
You got several kegs full of talent, at least.
You could sleep in the common room . . . or on a park bench like a goddamn hobo.
I think you're going mad.
If you want to take on Masa, have that window open behind you. He's a crafty bastard, and damnably hard to kill!
Buck up, Tones.
You're awesome.
About the readers, though.
Fuck yes!
Hate them!
Hate them with every drop of your red blood!
I'll hate them with you.
Fuckers . . .
I'm off to publish some fiction.
1) I commented. You didn't like it, and tossed it. Eh.
2) Everyone hates the people that read their blog. They're a great form of masochism.
3) It's a physical impossiblity to last more then 40 hours without sleep. You'd be dead. Your body starts to engage in brief "micro-sleeps" when you blink. Like when you sleep during a class, close your eyes, but snap your head up again in a few seconds? That is a micro-sleep.
4) You have a lot of talent. If anyone here has ego and talent that almost match, it's you, or possibly me. No ego, no talent. Big ego, lots of talent. This has been disproved numerous occasions by the boys that attend my highschool, but! It works for you.
Now, onto something that doesn't involve lists. I hate lists. Grah! Whoever made them and french grammar should be shot. Anyway, your insomnia could be from quite a few things, but my main theory is that you haven't seriously bitched me out in a while, and so you haven't had to go to bed pissed off and tired. Think about it. It's logical if you're as drugged up, worn out and disturbed as I am, and you seem to be oftentimes.
But chin up, you wet noodle. It can always be worse. Example: You could be me. =]
♥bisbis
Another thing: My post just now wasn't patronizing. You know I detest you most of the time =]
Interesting theory, there.
I did delete your comments, partly because they were annoying, and partly because I still owed you from when you deleted my comments on your blog.
I loved my readers on my old blog. But that was pure nonsense.
I have no idea how sleep actually works. I just know that I was not getting any significant amount of it, and I was actually getting quite pale and senile. I did sleep last night, after drawing a picture in MS Paint until I got tired. I was both physically tired and in a situation deprieved of activity, and so I was able to sleep.
And it's ok, dear. I think deep down, we're both incredible masochists, which is why we still have a working relationship. ;-)
I tend to avoid posting serious comments like fire, i usually tend to stick to nonsensical, one-sentence quips of no retaining value. This is alrgely because I have neither the time or the inclination. Mostly the time part.
I quite enjoyed the story, even if I may have missed the point, although I honestly hadn't given it the thought it merited. I'd like to see more, although I can't necessarily provide an analysis on it. Too tired. Always.
Rich: I think part of the reason's Andrew's stories are so popular (although I've given them only a passing glance at best) are that they are intended to be taken at face value rather than be the subject of analysis. Not to make a judgement value on either side, just an observation.
Anyway, I think that's one of the longest comments I've ever posted, but I do dislike seeing you in such a state, you're reminding me too much of myself.
Start drinking scotch and I kill you ;)
Chin up buddy, let me know when you're in town.
~Pawel
P.S. Susan, stop being creepy. ;)
I AM NOT CREEPY!
I'm psychotic, you senile old man.
No, just creepy. Get out of here all ready; you bother the regulars.
I believe Rich was venting some playful spite over the fact that Andrew and Rich wrote "24 Hour Diner" together, a fact that Andy chose to originally omit for some reason or another. Something that surprised me a great deal, but it's in the past.
And yes, Susan, you deleted comments on your blog just because I told one of your readers to kill him or herself.
But mostly, your comments just annoy me, so I take pleasure in deleting them. =)
I must continue to like Pawel.
I must continue to like Pawel.
I must continue to like Pawel.
Keep your mouth closed, Rich.
Take deep breaths.
. . .
. . .
Oh fuck.
I can't do both of those at once.
I must continue to like Pawel.
That's not nice.
Sometimes, Tony, I think you and I are like James and Mary.. And that really frightens me.
Sometimes I think you can't take a hint, and that frightens me.
Sometimes I get frightened of ponchos.
That's because you were anally raped by a rain-slicker. Remember?
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