Waffling in THREE dimensions.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006


I wrote a paper about it. I tried so hard to make it clear, have you experience it. Even now, writing this, I am struggling to find the right words to communicate what I'm thinking. It's hard, you see, because thoughts are fleeting things. In seven pages, I was unable to show you.

I hate formating on this thing; It is awful. Ambiguous Buttons stick. For shame, Blooger, Myspace does a better job than this.

Damn home teachers.

I'm glad they left, it would have been awkward and they were interrupting. I would have asked them to come back some other time, I think. Anyways..

In seven pages, I had hoped to show you what it is like, but honestly, I cannot tell you what that is; I have nothing with which to contrast it. I can try to tell you the differences between Derek and derek, but it is a construction, and I can not be sure of its accuracy in its imitation.

I was thinking, between the sparkling snowflakes that I struggle to distinguish from a side-effect that manifests in a similar flashing fashion and plots of snow-warriors, that film would be-or might be- a more ideal medium to communicate the condition.

The worst part is not knowing how different it is on the other side.

If I were to direct a film about it, or a person with it, or whatever, I think I know how I would do. I doubt I could, it seems far too ambitious for me and I would tire of it-or rather lose interest rather quickly. But if I were consulting a director on how to film it, something I feel far more capable of doing, or something (damn self-doubt, you plague me!). I run on in sentences often. I apologize; I do not wish to bore you. I may never manage to distance my self from myself in this posting to speak it, so I present a fractional bit I wrote down as I started to channel myself into a final of mine:

How I would direct a movie about a person with Adhd, spotlight camera>only one, or few things could be seen at once, other things would jump out at other times, the camera would not always be focused on what was happening, dialogue would sometimes fade into the background, things would speed up and slow down, things like that [mention this to show what I wanted to express in the paper]

Later I realized the best way to put it was that my mind has tunnel vision. Only one thought can occupy me at a time, and they shift frequently to compensate for the (precieved) capacity of others to focus on more than one thing at a time. So often I lament the brilliantly phrased idea that flees my narration, it rarely persists long enough for me to write it down, by that time it is so muddled by my trying to remember it that it looks so little like the original idea, which I suppose I merely could have thought to be grander than it really was, that it scarcely seems like I should have writ it down at all. See? There I just did it. Shame.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006


I went to some sports games; it was a mistake. It was just my roommates playing, but I still felt competitive. I shouted somethings...was silenced. The ref was nuts.

I had many things I wanted to say, but I transferred my blog to the new version, and lost the fire. Maybe later. There are things, but saying them now would require effort. They had surfaced, but aren't so easy to scoop out now. Whatever. Maybe I'll just checkout the new features..

Do they have glow-in-the-dark tattoos? Why not? What about temperature dependant tattoos? Imagine tattoos that, like action figures that you dip in hot water to change their color, became visible as blood rushed to your skin, raising the temperature. War paint that appears as you play. Can you imagine?

Thursday, November 09, 2006


Blooger is a superior name. It has euphony about it that blogger misses in it's hard consonants.

Worst Thursday yet. Although the Office was absolutely lovely, the conditions we had to watching it under were far from ideal. Kier has taken the tv back into his room, and when I proposed to move it back, as he would be gone for the duration of the night with his Dodgeball team, Andy objected because it was his tv. Excuse me while I take back a third of the dishes which I contribute. Including the plastic cups I bought for myself, which are now being used in some manner to wash Jon's teeth. I don't care to know the details, nor am I sure I really want them back. Sharing is caring, don't they care?

The more I think about it, the more I am certain that Kier excised the tv because of M2 (for his is the lesser of the two Mikes). None of us enjoy putting up with his anime shit, and I am the only one unfortunate enough to have to walk in and see him watching it on his laptop when I need to get some calculus homework. Nothing good comes from fetching homework, you see. M2 really pisses me off. I can't sleep with his stupid "Classy 97" on they way he does, so I stay up an hour later (which isn't hard since he goes to bed at 9). The kid has some problems, he seems to be suffering from depression, or for some other reason requires an excess of sleep. Not my problem, I don't care to get involved. Often when he talks, apparently to me as I am in the room and for some reason feels compelled to talk, I don't respond. I have nothing to say. Eventually, I hope he'll stop talking to me. Unless he specifically addresses me, I will continue to assume he is talking to himself.

Even more frustrating is the sink. Kier and Jons like things clean. I do to some extent, but that extent involves a dishwasher and me not touching food which is being metabolized by microbes. They periodically go on sprees of cleaning. Kier is so paranoid that he mixes acidic and basic cleaning utilities; the reaction is noxious. Last night I heard them discussing whether of Andy and Misty or me and Kirsten which would become the more slobbish household, because Kier can just picture himself visiting his roommates years later saying "why am I not surprized?" They even posted a sign up that says they'll put dishes discarded by anyone in the bed of person that used them. I use very few dishes, as I largely have been eating away or simple meals. Currently in the sink are several items which I contributed to the total utensils, I don't care to get up and check but its near five. Wah wah.

I'll spare the mustard story. Basically, I gleened that the best weapon to wield against Kier is a plunger. Ala Quackshot.

It's ok though. It's ok. It's ok because we control both Houses now. Soon gay marriage will be mandatory and schools will be handing out condoms full of pot. Life will be good.

Monday, November 06, 2006

My love

I love NPR. I just cruised over to their sight, because I'm still procrastinating.. And the header on one of their pages was "Arggh, WhyDoes The Shower Curtain Attack Me?" This is the same page that states: Kids, don't put Mr. Fork in the microwave, or sparks could fly!

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Danger! Risk! Head!

My family never finished reading that essay I wrote, probably for the best. They were in it. They won't mind if they never know. That's why writing about the dead and nature is so much easier, they don't care. It's quite fitting that they couldn't stay with it long enough to finish, or start, from my last hearing of them. But oh well.

There was a lot I left out. Many insights came to me after I had finished, some that should not have been shared in the essay. Other things I purposely left out. Will I redo it? Perhaps someday, I don't want to touch it now. I don't have enough to add and it's not worth fussing.
Have you ever noticed those people that speak with N's? Everything has an N to it. Words begin, end, and are spaced with the consonant N. Its like that hum your computer's fan makes, but with the letter N. Its hard to tell its Stark if they speak fast enough. Mike is a groaner. He groans. Sometimes he grunts. He always sounds like whatever he is doing is a labor to him. It may well be, if my greatest joys in life were the collection of anime series (he has the complete saber marionette collection now! all 7 seasons or something!), then I would probably groan alot too. When Jon needed to rotate his laundry last night, he needed to return Mike's, I told him to wake him up by snapping; it worked. Then we hid the remote. He spent an hour and a half yesterday freaking out when he couldn't find it. That's where we got the idea to hide it. It's in the lamp shade now. He claims to have been turned down by 3 girls this week "because they all had boyfriends". If he asked me out, I'd have a boyfriend too.

I got a hair cut tonight. I don't think it looks good. I don't want it to look good. I already have someone, why advertise with a haircut? It's all about the testing-facists. Long hair is of the devil. It's right up there with flip-flops on the road to hell. I don't think it was bad before, quite conservative for anywhere else, but you know, we are a peculiar people. Even more so because we take pride in it. I probably made a mess with it, but whatever; it was free. I like semi-colons; I think they are the puncuation that best expresses the fluid transition of my thoughts. He only used a razor, those that rattle your skull. I don't know how I feel about that, but it was probably the safest bet. But what do I care? I rarely have to view my own hair.

Seriously, sometimes he sounds like he's just freaking constipated.