September 30, 1998.

notes for 30th:

Connection's gone screwy. Modem makes noises like a radio, like some poor kid's elaborate orthodontic masterpiece that tunes in Radio Berlin when he's trying to speak. But with zero percent anecdotal value. It's pathetic what junkies like me will resort to in order to get another stupid forward.

Bad day yesterday didn't improve by evening. Missed Sister Sunshine. Missed "Pecker." Highlight was producing the performance art piece "Trevor Eats A Pound of Burritos." Taco Hell had a special. Making the most of our youth, that's us. Hey, I thought I was cursed. Glad to know I'm not anymore.

"Man is born free, but everywhere he is eating burritos."

- palaver & I, once written on my wall in res

He bought me "The Birthday Party: Hits." Wanted to spend all night listening to Nick Cave scream, moan & yip his way through 20 songs of 80's Australian punk par excellance. Didn't manage that, but still didn't get to bed until obscenely late. Feel like I've been run over a few times. Sore throat.

Hormonal flood has finally crested, with the expected outcome. Why do I have to walk so much on days like this?? Took a nap on Galadrial's welfare application by mistake. Ate cold KD from the pot, 4 hours after I cooked it. Doesn't improve with age. But neither do I. Children of the 80's make me feel old...like I should have a cell phone holster on my hip & be making something of myself.

Too much red meat. So tired. Yesterday I had priorities, remember? We won. I'll do it tomorrow.

Stupid Bunyan.