04.18.2002 -> 04.19.2002 - All Looks

Fuck off, Lesions of Doom. Fuck right off.

Thursday's pleasant tone ran completely perpindicular to the sour mood of the few days preceeding. Work wasn't even so bad because I found a task to complete that gave me both a sense of pleasure and accomplishment. The manager (not mine) that works in my neighboring cubicle bitched and moaned about having to draw something. In an effort to stop the whining, I asked if I could do anything to help. He told me he had to design a postcard to announce the opening of the department website and it just isn't his thing. Since it is my thing, I hopped on it, making the both of us happy. Rather than my department sending out an ugly postcard assembled from MSWord clip art files, they're sending out a professional looking reminder, courtesy of The Jeffy.

Hey, look at that. I just snapped my arm clean off patting myself on the back.

Job number two was actually chill too. Music made the hours pass fast, as did being alone in an office again. I want to work at a small business again so badly. Corporate life ain't for me.

When I got home, I actually felt energized for the first time in a long, long time. I stood outside busily chirping and annoying the shit out of Jackson while he cleaned out his car. We decided to order a pizza and drink most of the liquor in the house while cleaning it in anticipation of a visit from his parents. What happened was slim consumption of alcohol and lots of sitting on the couch watching "Gilmore Girls" before I called it a night at nine thirty. That's two nights of sleep at nine thirty in a row. I need to cut this out.

Friday, being a sheep to Thursday's cool rebel, went along with the rest of the week and huffed roughly enough dong to keep all of congress satisfied. The motherfucking Lesions of Doom came back, and because of them, I don't want to leave the house at all. When I don't want to see anyone I know, I inevitably run into everyone I've ever met. Not wanting to face anyone with this face, my best bet would be to stay in my room all day, but I couldn't. I had things to do.

Aside from the fact that I said I'd go into work for a while, I had to sell my car. Trading my key and pinkslip for a check was a bittersweet experience. I'm in that period where I think only about the good things, and not getting stranded on the side of the road on a weekly basis. Even though I had a sizeable check in my pocket, I wasn't fully able to enjoy it.

Besides, the basketball sized cysts on my face drained most of my happiness, so if the check had made me feel good, the feeling only would have stuck around as long as I could avoid mirrors or anyone I know.

Not feeling like punching numbers, I ended up just hanging out off the clock talking with the awesome person who sort of took my place. We agreed that it would be great if we still worked together, but I had to remind her that regardless of how much we clicked on a personality level, my ineptitude would have eventually made her hate me. Still, talking to her was nice.

I came home very intent on spending my Friday evening in the comfort of my own home, and a splitting headache that hit sometime around eight o'clock helped me accomplish that. After a sit-down shower and a fistful of ibuprofen pills, I felt almost up to answering Mr. Bestfriendinthewholewideworld's request to trade cars for Friday Evening/Saturday. Dragging Jackson along to switch up and maybe pick up a movie, I wearily trudged out on the streets. Thankfully the drugs had kicked in by that point, and I once again saw only one of everything.

We spent more time than planned at Mr. Bestfriendinthewholewideworld's place, and by the time we were ready to leave, Rodzilla showed up. He and Mr. Bestfriendinthewholewideworld enjoyed my suggestion that they call their band Girth, Wind and Fire, and with that, hopefully I can ride some coattails. That's what I'm all about.

Before heading home, we stopped by the video shop and picked up Wet Hot American Summer and Sexy Beast on DVD. Jackson and I tried watching the former, but being old farts, we didn't make it to the end without passing out. A second attempt will be made soon, but not tomorrow, as it is Picnic Day. Since there normally isn't shit all to do in Davis, this one day is a very big deal, and I look forward to enjoying it.

Liquored up, hopefully.

When did I become a hoodlum?

Enjoy your weekend, kids.

-- Jeffy