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Wednesday, April 07, 2004

(written yesterday)

Tally-ho, chaps! Yesterday I was thinking about what a loser I was and stumbled upon a site called Secrets of Sonic Team, compiling every possible known revision in every Sonic game (this screenshot shows Sonic running through the Emerald Hill Zone, but the sprite is OBVIOUSLY that of Sonic 1! Conspiracy?), and the combination of loneliness, boredom, and not doing my homework resulted in me staying up until 3 am reading all these revisions. (Did you know that, until very late in development, Sonic 1 used the word "Ring" in the HUD instead of "Rings?" Now you know!) Yes, I was bored to tears and could have stopped, but stopping would have meant thinking about how stupid I was for staying up until 3am voraciously reading this silly website, because I didn't want to think about how sad I was.

But! For some reason, when I finally fought myself to sleep (Suzy said, "go to your room! Masturbate! I don't care, you need sleep!"), and then I woke up, I felt GREAT. So, I wrote down my really weird anxiety dream (my school was performing a musical about sexuality, and I was invited on at the last minute to perform as leader of a group of dancers, and I pretended to know what I was doing but couldn't hack it, so I ran off and cried), and took a bath.

Ohh man. This felt GREAT. I sat in the bath and dreamed that I was Rhyth, the character from Jet Grind Radio and Jet Set Radio Future that I am very attached to, and the boys ganged up on me and Beat held up a spraycan and Combo playfully shoved me into it, launching me by my buns and throwing my into its vortex as Beat pushed the button to suck me in. Jazz stared at it and cradled it, wondering what happened to me (Jazz and Rhyth, in my opinion, should be very best friends). Beat took the Rhyth Spraycan and painted the wall with me; I was now a graffiti, and Beat posed in front of the Camera and grinned, showing off his work of art. In the background, I animated as best I could, grinning and lifting my leg playfully. The logo for the National Heart Lung and Blood Institute appeared at the bottom, and the fantasy was over and my regularly scheduled programming continued. (You see, the fantasy was actually a public relations spot. No, for some reason, I thought the combination of Beat painting me on the wall, and then the image of him grinning, me trying to animate happily, and some charity logo appearing across the bottom made me come like nobody's business. Call me crazy.)

(Now a charity fetish might be really fun. I've tried to imagine me giving myself up to be eaten by a poor family, but it just hasn't turn me on. Maybe if I added strawberries. Moving on...)

So I drained the water, confident in my well-being (and I also just love taking baths; besides being an excuse to get naked, I love the fact that nobody's watching me and I can just forget the world exists), my clothes on, and looked at the clock. Oh my god. I had allotted an hour and a half for this bath, but I had been lulling so pleasurably that it took me THREE HOURS. I was late for class. So, I put on my coat, got my keys, and ran for the bus. I made it there, luckily, in only about half an hour.

So, I went to the room where the writing class was. There was a different teacher in there. Was this the right room? Yes. Maybe it's just a substitute teacher. Then I looked at the class. I didn't recognize the class either. Was this the right room? Yes. Was this the right building? ... Yes. Maybe it's just a substitute class. So I walk in, take my seat, and realize... I'm not only late for my class, my class starts two hours before I thought it did. This is the wrong class! So, I sulked home, secretly happy that I wouldn't have to go to my silly writing class, because...

Then I got to write my silly inspirational story for lonely teenagers, and even though I'm liable to say that anything I've just written is the best thing ever, I'm very pleased with how it's coming along, and I want to submit it to some compilation of inspirational stories for lonely teenagers. So, if one of my fine readers could put in a good word for me down at Chicken Soup & Co. (or someplace else), that'd be swell. Thanks.

Finally, thoroughly inspired and satisfied with my well-being, I sat down to write for my silly blog.

Good night.
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