Read The Entry Carefully And You'll Find A Surprise Announcement!
I watched Supersize Me today and learned that fast food is pretty much the worst ever. It doesn't really affect me, though, because how often do I ever, EVER eat out? Yeah, exactly.
But I'm drinking a Sprite right now as I type this. I NEVER drink carbonated beverages. Well, rarely. (I've been known to make exceptions, especially on accident.) But on today of all days, when I witnessed some guy's liver turn to pâté because of the evils of high fructose corn syrup and fry grease, I'm sitting here, happily drinking a Sprite.
My only explanation is that the stress is beginning to get to me. I'm cracking under the pressure, clearly, and I don't know how long it will be before I try heroin. You see, for most people, marijuana or sniffing glue are gateway drugs (I'm assuming; that's what they taught us in high school health class, but I'm remembering now that most of what they taught us in high school was a pack of lies...like those lies they kept repeating about gravity and 9.8 m/s² and how you're never supposed to split an infinitive, well I KNOW BETTER NOW MRS. SMALLWOOD. Anyway, all I'm saying is, I have no idea what a "gateway" drug really is, but let's just pretend that marijuana and Elmer's are, okay?), but I'm not most people. As you probably noticed while reading my parenthetical above. Since simple, non-drowsy Claritin has the power to knock me out for 24 hours, I'm guessing that Sprite will lead directly to dark alleys and hypodermic needles. I'm guessing. Which is why I'm putting the can down now, half-finished; well, and also because there's no way my stomach will eb able to hold any more of the stuff.
[What I love the most about this entry is how, even though you've never read any of my poetry, you can see exactly why my professor would have had occasion to refer to me as "Plath-esque." See? Stress is bad. Moving 2,000 miles is a bad bad idea. But I'm going to do it anyway.]
But I'm drinking a Sprite right now as I type this. I NEVER drink carbonated beverages. Well, rarely. (I've been known to make exceptions, especially on accident.) But on today of all days, when I witnessed some guy's liver turn to pâté because of the evils of high fructose corn syrup and fry grease, I'm sitting here, happily drinking a Sprite.
My only explanation is that the stress is beginning to get to me. I'm cracking under the pressure, clearly, and I don't know how long it will be before I try heroin. You see, for most people, marijuana or sniffing glue are gateway drugs (I'm assuming; that's what they taught us in high school health class, but I'm remembering now that most of what they taught us in high school was a pack of lies...like those lies they kept repeating about gravity and 9.8 m/s² and how you're never supposed to split an infinitive, well I KNOW BETTER NOW MRS. SMALLWOOD. Anyway, all I'm saying is, I have no idea what a "gateway" drug really is, but let's just pretend that marijuana and Elmer's are, okay?), but I'm not most people. As you probably noticed while reading my parenthetical above. Since simple, non-drowsy Claritin has the power to knock me out for 24 hours, I'm guessing that Sprite will lead directly to dark alleys and hypodermic needles. I'm guessing. Which is why I'm putting the can down now, half-finished; well, and also because there's no way my stomach will eb able to hold any more of the stuff.
[What I love the most about this entry is how, even though you've never read any of my poetry, you can see exactly why my professor would have had occasion to refer to me as "Plath-esque." See? Stress is bad. Moving 2,000 miles is a bad bad idea. But I'm going to do it anyway.]
posted by juxtaposer at 1:15 AM
6 Comments:
2000 miles? If you look at the map, you'll find that you can shave off 500 of those miles on your trip to Univ. Minnesota - Twin Cities. Congratulations!
Oh, Tyson - you are persistent, I'll give you that. Why don't YOU come with ME?
Did I miss something? Where the hell you moving?
You know...both Sylvia Plath AND Virginia Woolf (two fair mistresses that you liken yourself to) both ended up committing suicide... I guess you can say "Plath-esqueness" is conducive to only one inevitable fate.
(we'll delve more into that in the beautiful land of sunshine and relaxation. You only have 30 minutes however... and it's not looking good) ;)
Y.I.
2000 miles wood put you about here,should I stock up on non-toxic vegetables ?
Why stop at two? Make it an even ten. Come to Uruguay. Make my life complete. Run your toes through the sand.
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