Coming Down The Hill

All I wanna do is listen to greasy funk from Guyana with a Jamaican bass line that jolts me like a Beaver Buzz. And see the Dog of the Sea. Even if the Scandinavian's latest record is unexceptional and grease-free, we gots the classics: go forth and buy her some candy now. Of course the former record being melancholic from Sarah's depression, whilst with this new record, she comes out into the sunshine. What happened to the nadir, my dear? Also I'd communicate in Godardesque eloquence, drifting in the Mediterranean with Odile, complaining about sunshine and spinach. If there is a time for happiness -- this is not it. You're not from a golden egg, you know, so stop acting like it. All I wanna do is toss a candy cane towards the stage on a Saturday night.

Ripe, almost rotten

The other day I was attempting to set-up Mouse Trap with a bunch of younglings. They were setting this puppy up far more efficiently than your anti-hero and so I remarked, "Wow, you guys are much better at setting this up than I." And one younglings responded: "That's because we're kids; we're good at setting up games". In this moment, I realized I am no longer a child.

In an unrelated announcement, I am using an agenda for the first time since grade seven. The madness of my life was paving way to a coup d'état against myself. This movement towards organization should deter the rising internal forces from conquering me. However, this whole organization business has illuminated me to the oncoming pestilence that may sink my rowboat anyway.
*Warning horn*
The nadir of the semester (and likely life) is coming. Work now, or embrace the plague and the woes that accompany it.
Frig! I even forgot to mention that I must find summer schooling now! Oh!