4:20 p.m. x 2003-10-06

moments ago, i wondered all of the sudden how i got from vegging about my room watching a documentary on michael alig to sweating in a messy little myssi puddle on clare's steps. i concluded that i'd walked, because my legs HURT, and there must've been a day in there somewhere.

i remember english and from there on in, and when i began to recall earlier than that it seemed as if it took place last year. the rest sped up quite quickly (and "sped" up is a perfect description - i acted like a raving hyperkenetic moron for the last third of today @_@). paul, heather and i discussed extremely important art club-related things (like ninjas and male models) after school at a meeting, in which bethany, manda, clare, amanda b., ashley and i also reeked a certain amount of havok on the poor unsuspecting art teachers.

that's about it for the memory department. i'm half-dead as i write this @_@.

THIS LOVE
sarah brightman

this love
is a strange love
a faded kind of day love
this love
i think i'm gonna fall again
and even when you held my hand
it didn't mean a thing
this love
never has to say it is love
doesn't know it is love
this love
doesn't have to feel love
it doesn't need to be love
it doesn't mean a thing
this love

if anybody should ask i'm going to a seminar
pieces of the moon
JOBJOBJOB
interviewinterviewinterview
sensitive heart, you're doomed from the start
(& etc)