AC was nice, but didn't have some of the perks we had last year--like Landis the commentator, Freaky Fucker Staredown, or the like. Overall, things went reasonably well. I even got to see "protesters" and guys in suits with signs that said "pool's closed"...because of aids. =3 Spi's car had troubles on the way home, though; noises coming from under the car, which worried me a bit. But we lived. No big deal. In the end, we stole the Bible from the hotel room again, dubbed the GTFO Bible, and Stylix's daikon radish, AKA the Woot Root, was left in the elevators for future patrons.

I've learned that by being reserved and not talking about meself, I've actually hurt people in the process of getting to know me better. I wasn't aware of this at first, but if one friend has told me it's painful when I say "I hate talking about myself", then it probably holds true for most. This strikes me as weird. I truly do hate talking about myself, nothing makes me feel so selfish. And the last thing I want to do is hurt someone, like the hundreds of times I have before. But...sacrifice personal comfort to please others, which is my overall goal anyway...it's a dilemma, through and through. Quite honestly, if someone asks, I'll talk about myself, but outrightly, I don't say much. Perhaps I'm going back into recluse mode, who knows. In the same vein, I don't know why I also feel shut away from intimacy. Not on the level of sex or whatever, but sleeping in the same room as someone...it's not the same as it used to be. Before, I condoned group naps and the like. Now, I go in my room and bury myself in eight blankets, turn the fan on, and veg for a few hours, waiting for REM fallout. Spi says I had bad influences from my parents, which might be true. According to him, apparently, since my parents have never had much of a healthy relationship, it rubbed off on me, and all I know is failure times 10. That was a harsh way to put it, but hey, if it's true, it's true.

Outside of all that, working, sleeping, and drawing is most of what I do. I still don't know what's going to happen to school, because FAFSA has not notified me of anything.

Jeesus, I turn 23 soon. Can we say Granny Murph? Can we?! Yes we can. This is the age where everyone's starting to get married, have children, and start new, and inspiring lives that center around sucking Jesus' cock in a white, office cubicle, all the while pumping out shell-shocked children to follow in the bloody footsteps of Ma and Pa Normal. And what am I doing? Starting a studio with my best friend, writing metafiction, relearning the violin, and playing Guilty Gear in a fuzzy bommber hat, armed with a rootbeer float, while Billie Holiday sings to me over a crackling speaker that's covered in stickers.

Fuck your standards. I will do as I please. You normals.


I love you all. Even if you've hurt me in the past. I'm still all-forgiving, and always will be. Just know that, please.










Anywhere you go, let me go too.

--MURPHY--