I'm actually knee deep in DEJA VU, holy shit that was weird. I was here before. Fuck me. Hold on.

Okay it passed. Well look I had a phenominal day which included me talking to the VP of F-P describing Camus' ideas of absurdity, as analagous to a working corporate America. I hope I get some work out of it.

And then I saw my buddy with his girlfriend and lost all hope that indivuality can occur in a relationship. Oh I remember being there. It's great, but it blows. Imagine a healthy relationship? I can't at this point, although me and chapter 19 are hitting it off pretty well.

I shake my head at stupid boys who would rather lose who they are than find out who they might be. Fuck it.

funny journal entry forthcoming.

Anyone else feel like screaming or taking a run or walking down the middle of elmwood? I'm here and I do have a jacket for the winter-like weather.

hey, let me know.

I would really like a goddamn cigarette. Whiskey is no longer working.

Okay . . . the polls are in, the cards are dealt, the coffin is shut, here's what happened.

I did not get up early despite ample opportunities. I didn't get up late, but not early either.

But what's more, I dreamt last night. Oh my God did I dream. And guess what came back . . . yes, horrific tidal wave dreams. It was amazing. I haven't had those in I don't even know when.The only thing I do know is that something is wrong when I have those dreams. So what's wrong?

Ironically, I was fishing when the waves started to come in. Does that mean that I wanted them to come back, subconsciously?

I'm going to work sans coffee. I ran out of filters.

Life is so hard sometimes

we're going to try something here.

I'm going to go to bed early. Right after I'm done typing. I've been falling asleep everywhere lately, and I'm hoping this will cure it. More of a problem is the complete opposition my body has to waking up. In either case, let it be known, I will sleep soon.

Oh yes. This is an experiment. I will attempt to wake up at 7am tomorrow morning and take a walk with me dog to get a cup of coffee and potentially read a book before I have to work. We shall see if this works.

It's sort of like when you were a kid playing basketball, even though people without hands were better than you, and you said, I'll ask her/him out if I make this shot. It's come down to that.

If this doesn't work, I will boycott sleep all together. Who's with me . . .

Would it be too much to ask for a small bout with insomnia?

wake up.

wake up you have stuff to do. You know you want to get it out, but the sleep wants you. But hell, like it matters. wake up.

As he says this to himself, head bobbing over the keyboard, rain falling, cars whizzing by, sirens wailing, the phone rings. He thinks it's her, but of course it's Greg.

I'm in love.

Really.

I think so.

That's great man. I think, well no . . .

Shit no parking spots can I call you back.

Call me tomorrow. Thanks brother, you did it.

Did what.

I'm awake.

You in love?

That depends. I have to write. It's a good night for it.

I found a spot.

Me too.

I'm pissed off because I haven't had a truly disturbing, metaphorical dream in which I'm about to die, in at least a month. About last year at this time, forget it, it was nightly. And they were good. The good ones turned out to be tattoo's on my arms. Maybe that's it. Maybe I'm pining for another tattoo, but I have no horrifying symbolic dreams to interpret. Damn.

That Tears for Fears song is true though, "I think it's kind of funny, I think it's kind of sad, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had."

If you've ever came face to face with a 40 foot tidal wave about to drop on you, you know how alive you feel in your sleep. I can't describe the feeling.

God I miss those days.

Well . . . there's always tonight.