Pursuit
We'll pretend for a few minutes that the majority of people have, at some time, decided to save a can of soda for a lengthy period for whatever reason, and that it is common knowledge that after about a year the can will simply explode of its own accord as vengeance for the neglect that it's faced.
Understanding that I definitely did not want a cascade of caffeine running down my kitchen wall, I went ahead and took down the four Arabic-enscribed cans that my sister's recently acquired husband gifted to me and went to work preserving them, so that when I ultimately move and lose them or they get crushed, they'll have been aesthetically pleasing in the meantime.
How you do this is by puncturing the bottom of the can with a nail so that it can drain and the top is left in tact. But halfway through draining my hajicolas (better known as Pepsi, Orange Fanta, Sprite, and Mountain Dew) I realized something very important.
Aside from the fact that Sprite can pee vertically a foot and a half into the air.
A mixture of sodas is commonly referred to as a kamikaze, or as a suicide.
SUICIDE CAFFEINE BOMBING OF MUH GUTSZ. There is no cola but Pepsi, and Mountain Dew is his prophet. The jihad against my stomach begins now, and I partake of it willingly knowing that if I should choke from the delicious pan-Arabism contained in every drop that I will go to heaven and be received by 72 unopened colas to enjoy for the rest of eternity.
Drinking this much caffeine is probably a terrible idea, not for the (lack of) nutritional value, but for the fact it dehydrates you. Several not-quite-dead-yet experiences and about a month of experimenting (i.e. getting inexcusably drunken), and I've found that my continually declining health owes part of its persistence to my lack of water. More specifically, oxygen.
It was always a mystery why I would have seizures. I'm not light sensitive, sound sensitive, anything like that. Although migraines often accompany light sensitive patients, we could never figure out why I would have them or why the medications never did anything. It's just a hypothesis, but lack of oxygenation would cover a lot of bases.
Too bad it takes about six months and a lot of cash to talk to a neurologist, otherwise I'd probably find out rather than trying to sleep all the time so I don't have to be conscious of the million needles stabbing into my skull and chest.
Besides, living or not is never that big of a question. It doesn't matter if you die. Dying takes no preparation and has no consequence on you that you'll ever be aware of. Living, on the other hand, takes a whole lot of work and willpower if you don't want what time you have to be made of suck and fail.
That in mind, I'm enrolled in the one class I need to finally get my first degree (albeit I'm getting it a few years late for various reasons). Public speaking. It makes me vomit a little just waking up to go to the class. Not because I have any fear of doing it, but because it's such a stereotypical self-help bullshit class that I have absolutely no use for. When you see just under 100% of the people you meet as meatbags that serve no purpose, their judgment of you really doesn't weigh in so much anymore, and speaking about random crap in front of them doesn't register on the scale of difficulty at all.
I actually got docked on my first speech for "moving around too much." Not fidgeting. Confident visual suggestions that pretty much any professional speaker would probably include. Good fucking game.
My other courses: Spanish and Plant Biology.
Now, both of those were electives. Plant Biology for three hours a day when I could've taken any blowoff class the school offers was probably not a wise decision, but I'm strange and it interests me. What can I say?
Because my friend who was supposed to make it to Puerto Rico with me has already bailed, and one of my contacts there is being a whiny little bitch, I figured it would be cheaper, easier, and more fun to get back to Canada for a visit like I've been talking about doing for the better part of the decade. It'll depend on what funds I can come up with after having paid every last cent of my tuition...again...because my mother didn't give me FAFSA information on time...again.
I hope it works out, but that goes without saying. The simplest way to say it is that I'm just really tired of Americans.
Other things. My sister got married on January somethingorother, I think the 9th, and since we have no father, I was the one to walk her down the aisle. Her daughter is now a year old and is still on the fast track to being a fatty with low moral standards.
I'm mean, I know.
Things have been pretty empty and apathetic. A little more than normal. I've stopped sleeping all the time despite my best efforts, but picked up drinking like a fish whenever it's around. I'm pretty sure I professed love for someone who's taken and entirely above me, but honestly I don't remember or care to. I don't have too much money to blow on the shit, don't miss any school for it, and since it seems to be wanting very badly to kill me, I haven't overdone it much lately.
No one's around anymore. The SyK tactic of simply not updating anything until people give up on checking seems to work quite well, intentional or not. The downside is that things are so boring that I considered buying a flower just to consume the two minutes a day it would take to water it.
Preoccupation is a key to longevity. Unfortunately, I've never been one too in favor of a long life. In any case, short or long, I'm slowly understanding why most people spend the majority of the time they do have in the pursuit of distraction.
Understanding that I definitely did not want a cascade of caffeine running down my kitchen wall, I went ahead and took down the four Arabic-enscribed cans that my sister's recently acquired husband gifted to me and went to work preserving them, so that when I ultimately move and lose them or they get crushed, they'll have been aesthetically pleasing in the meantime.
How you do this is by puncturing the bottom of the can with a nail so that it can drain and the top is left in tact. But halfway through draining my hajicolas (better known as Pepsi, Orange Fanta, Sprite, and Mountain Dew) I realized something very important.
Aside from the fact that Sprite can pee vertically a foot and a half into the air.
A mixture of sodas is commonly referred to as a kamikaze, or as a suicide.
SUICIDE CAFFEINE BOMBING OF MUH GUTSZ. There is no cola but Pepsi, and Mountain Dew is his prophet. The jihad against my stomach begins now, and I partake of it willingly knowing that if I should choke from the delicious pan-Arabism contained in every drop that I will go to heaven and be received by 72 unopened colas to enjoy for the rest of eternity.
Drinking this much caffeine is probably a terrible idea, not for the (lack of) nutritional value, but for the fact it dehydrates you. Several not-quite-dead-yet experiences and about a month of experimenting (i.e. getting inexcusably drunken), and I've found that my continually declining health owes part of its persistence to my lack of water. More specifically, oxygen.
It was always a mystery why I would have seizures. I'm not light sensitive, sound sensitive, anything like that. Although migraines often accompany light sensitive patients, we could never figure out why I would have them or why the medications never did anything. It's just a hypothesis, but lack of oxygenation would cover a lot of bases.
Too bad it takes about six months and a lot of cash to talk to a neurologist, otherwise I'd probably find out rather than trying to sleep all the time so I don't have to be conscious of the million needles stabbing into my skull and chest.
Besides, living or not is never that big of a question. It doesn't matter if you die. Dying takes no preparation and has no consequence on you that you'll ever be aware of. Living, on the other hand, takes a whole lot of work and willpower if you don't want what time you have to be made of suck and fail.
That in mind, I'm enrolled in the one class I need to finally get my first degree (albeit I'm getting it a few years late for various reasons). Public speaking. It makes me vomit a little just waking up to go to the class. Not because I have any fear of doing it, but because it's such a stereotypical self-help bullshit class that I have absolutely no use for. When you see just under 100% of the people you meet as meatbags that serve no purpose, their judgment of you really doesn't weigh in so much anymore, and speaking about random crap in front of them doesn't register on the scale of difficulty at all.
I actually got docked on my first speech for "moving around too much." Not fidgeting. Confident visual suggestions that pretty much any professional speaker would probably include. Good fucking game.
My other courses: Spanish and Plant Biology.
Now, both of those were electives. Plant Biology for three hours a day when I could've taken any blowoff class the school offers was probably not a wise decision, but I'm strange and it interests me. What can I say?
Because my friend who was supposed to make it to Puerto Rico with me has already bailed, and one of my contacts there is being a whiny little bitch, I figured it would be cheaper, easier, and more fun to get back to Canada for a visit like I've been talking about doing for the better part of the decade. It'll depend on what funds I can come up with after having paid every last cent of my tuition...again...because my mother didn't give me FAFSA information on time...again.
I hope it works out, but that goes without saying. The simplest way to say it is that I'm just really tired of Americans.
Other things. My sister got married on January somethingorother, I think the 9th, and since we have no father, I was the one to walk her down the aisle. Her daughter is now a year old and is still on the fast track to being a fatty with low moral standards.
I'm mean, I know.
Things have been pretty empty and apathetic. A little more than normal. I've stopped sleeping all the time despite my best efforts, but picked up drinking like a fish whenever it's around. I'm pretty sure I professed love for someone who's taken and entirely above me, but honestly I don't remember or care to. I don't have too much money to blow on the shit, don't miss any school for it, and since it seems to be wanting very badly to kill me, I haven't overdone it much lately.
No one's around anymore. The SyK tactic of simply not updating anything until people give up on checking seems to work quite well, intentional or not. The downside is that things are so boring that I considered buying a flower just to consume the two minutes a day it would take to water it.
Preoccupation is a key to longevity. Unfortunately, I've never been one too in favor of a long life. In any case, short or long, I'm slowly understanding why most people spend the majority of the time they do have in the pursuit of distraction.
posted by red at 19:46
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