Shouting the Poetic Truths of High School Journal Keepers

Saturday, January 15, 2005

January 15, 1995

Just about a half-hour ago, I finished typing up my chemistry notes for the final, a process that took about five hours, including time for dinner. This is killer, how they put you through this insane finals ritual. But I'm feeling more than confident, especially since all I need is an 80% on this thing, as I have just barely managed to get A's in the class the last two quarters. Enough already though. I should be using this time for cooling off. Veruca Salt's, been in my mind the last two days, with their highly infectious song "Number One Blind." And this is another thing about this studying business -- because of course, I must have some audio stimulation, I am bombarded by song after song on the radio, most songs I have no desire to hear because I've heard them damn often enough -- and everything new sounds the same anyway -- I keep running through CDs I haven't listened to for a good long time -- and sometimes, I just need not silence, but anything different. But God, did I ever accomplish what I needed to. You know, the day's over, but I feel good about what I did. I'm growing weary. I think I've just about exhausted this issue of Rolling Stone ... where's that soda pop I had? Aaah ... It was over sitting on my "wonderfully cluttered" desk, amid cassette tapes & first-aid kits & magazines & books & trophies & Canadian flags. You know, the usual. The point is I found my drink. Let's see ... I should set some goals for myself, actually not really goals -- but Things to Do. What I really mean to say is -- Jesus, I can't concentrate at all tonight -- I want to see that movie Pulp Fiction and everyone keeps saying -- well nothing really specific -- but talkin & talkin good shit about this intriguing flick. And I, myself, have to wait for Marie & Chris to be able to see it with me -- because we made a promise to see it together. But I wanna wanna wanna. Kill me. Shame on me. Immerse me in culture and tell me all I want to know. I thought this didn't have caffeine in it -- why does it make me jittery? I want to be independent. If this mood were a band, it would be Luscious Jackson. Then again, I've got other shit swimming in my cool red liquified mind. Stop me please. (No affectations here; I mean, I'm not trying to be all "angsty" or whatnot -- I just seriously feel like this. Shut up.1)
--JMC 10:14 PM

1 In some ways, the stilted pretentiousness of this entry embarrasses me more than anything else I've posted so far!


Post a Comment

<< Home