I have been foolish.

Again?

Yes, again...

First off, some recognition for someone who deserves it.

I have known Jenny Leung for over sixth months now. Through the foolishness that is my comic library I met her, and via e-mail and phone and ICQ and reality, good friends we did become.
    Yet something has been true since near the beginning. Whilst she has sent me innumerable (okay, six) cassettes, and lent me many films and comics, I have done sweet sod-all in return. Not that she expects it, generous person that she is. But not only am I woefully lax in my expressing of appreciation in private, I also forget to even mention her when in one of my happiest mood swings for a while. In 41 mucho happiness was had by me because of many wonderful things such as Tchaikovsky in the background and the recent viewing of the last half hour of Beautiful Girls and the reading of the really - quite - awesome Chasing Dogma. And the drinking of Dr Pepper. All of which I had experienced thanks to going to London earlier that day and meeting up with Jenny.
    So, after all that, what is my point? It is that I am truly grateful to Jenny for all the things she has done for me, that I am sorry I forgot to mention her in 42 (as I had promised) and that I value her friendship most highly.

This leads me on to something else. A few weeks ago, after writing I think it was four hypotheticals, I had the idea of doing character-studies of all the people I e-mail this to. Well, not really character-studies... what I think of that person, you know? My feelings about them. And then I completely forgot about this idea until now, 11:54am on Monday 6th November, 2000. So I may start it next week. Not now, for I really should give it some more thought. But later.

Incidentally, how can I be writing this now, in school time? Quite simple, Forrest. I am in the shitty old computer room in Grenville (dodgy part of school) and am using one of the old 486s. Since all I need is Notepad, this is proving quite a sufficient machine. It doesn't have a mouse, and only uses Windows 3.1, but it's fast and quiet for typing. Unlike my PII 300...

I must go for lunch now, so as to beat the stinking hordes of years 7-9. I shall return.

I am returned.

How else have I been foolish? Well, there was that incident with the yellow rubber duck. But that was a long time ago, and is better left forgotten.

More recent.

My attempts at joviality are becoming more and more inappropriate. In the last week there have been at least three occasions on which seriousness was called for on my part. Yet I persisted in trying to be funny. Which was bad.

The body pushing continues.

According to Gareth I am hairy. According to Grimsdale I am hirsute.

I keep forgetting things I promised myself I wouldn't.
Not because I don't think they're important.
Not because I don't care.
I just keep forgetting.

My legs are hairier than they were last time I looked! Used to be they were just totally hairy from the knees down. And that's what I combed. But now it's growing upwards! The front of my legs are now totally covered in fairly thick hair, all the way up! Just got to grow some on the back of the top of my legs and I shall be a true goat-dude.

Pushing my body as far as I can is probably affecting my memory.
This morning I spent half an hour halfway between dream and real, and I couldn't tell the difference.
I needs to get me some of that Mescaline.

Victoria Friedman! She is my new best friend! And I meet her this Saturday! Which I probably should have done first...
Bob bless the Internet.
And the telephone.

So I don't believe in fate.
But if I hadn't stayed back a year, things would have turned out very differently...
Obviously.

Those few of you who will actually witness my assembly this Thursday know what to expect. It'll be one of my weeklies. Performed live.

I just read about how Ernest Hemingway killed himself.
I've never read any of his work.
But it was related how he got more mediocre as he grew older.
How his initial surge of energy faded, and his black and white view of the world was taken away.
38 was me being the best I've been in a long time.
42 was pure shite.
The shite far outweighs the good stuff.
Frank Miller writes good comics.
I read an original script of his.
It was dire. Full of clichés and unconvincing characters.
But the finished product was very good.
Hail to the whorehoppers (editors).
I am editing a story written by a friend.
I find editing a much more freeing experience than writing.
With writing I am responsible for all of it.
With editing I get to polish a story, make it better, make it work... but the responsibility lies with the writer.
I don't think I like responsibility.

It's hard work to be profound all of the time.

Why don't they have beds in school? I want to sleep! But there's nowhere to go. Dagnammit!

I received an e-mail last night. And it was a fairly big one. It was 1 of 1. And, as the status bar filled up, I was begging for it to be from someone. And it was! And I was happy.

What the hell am I doing here?! It's lunch time! There are over 250 beautiful girls (not below year 11, else I shall be bad) in this school! Why am I not out there, living?!
I don't know.
Too much like hard work.
-SLAP- upside the head.

Would it hurt terribly to cut off the top digit of your left little finger?

hirsute /'ha:-/ a. hairy, shaggy.

Not shaving is not itchy. If anything, it's less so. Because of the lack of stubble.

The hum of the computer is sending me to sleep.

'Night.

That was at 1:20pm. I slept for 20 very hectic minutes, only to awake with pins and needles in my arms. I pulled them out as best I could and then moseyed on over to registration...

Anyway.

Foolishness.

There have to be shite weeklies! Else my brilliance would overwhelm you! Hoom...

Remember! I write of inconsequential happenings so as to remind you of their insignificance! Some of you are actually experiencing stuff way more important and hurtful than what I write. My condolences.