all in a day's time

There's a real possibility come summer, I'll read the Bible for the first time and get my blood drawn for the first time.

My head is slightly aching from the moment where all I could see was black.  It's nice to know that I can close my eyes to see more black.  It doesn't cost a penny and I can do it whenever I want.  If that's not awesome, I don't know what is.  Because the darkness behind my eyes is so much more welcoming than what I see with open ones.

Lone Peak's library has one copy of The Catcher in the Rye that has been checked out 38 times since May 15th, 1998.  I was one and it's been sixteen ones since then.  Well, I guess I wasn't quite one yet, but I'm going to go with it.  Which means that sixteen ones ago, someone walked the same carpet floors across the media center and picked up the book I was holding in my hand today.  I wonder who he was.  Or if he was a she.  What heshe thought about high school.  What heshe loved about craning heshe's neck up towards the starry night sky.  What heshe hated and made heshe tick.  Heshe must be around thirty by now.  I wonder if there are little heshes running around on hardwood floors and tripping over poodles and not contemplating the meaning of life.  My copy has a worn spine even though it's only been read two and a half times.  The reread now, the past read, and my brother's past read.  I don't like worn spines but I love them too.  My old guitar teacher said that his guitar is his because of those scars upon it.  He remembers most of them but not all.  Mine came with some and I like that it has a history without me and is now making steady history with me.

There was one copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower.  It's been checked out 52 times since May 5th, 1999.  That date is approximate.  I can't seem to remember immediate things too well anymore.  I wonder if the people I associate with the stamps of due dates read it because they had a teacher like Bill.  A friend like Charlie.  Or if they returned it without opening it because they didn't have the time.  If years later they came across the book again and read it.  And read it again.  I wonder if they regretted not reading it years ago when they were in an inferno filled with adolescent hormonal kids who walk past each other never saying hello.

There were three copies of Atlas Shrugged and one copy of The Fountainhead.  It kind of bothered me that I couldn't look up Naked Lunch on the computers without being censored and that there are no copies of Naked Lunch in the library.  I don't know what objectivism is but Atlas Shrugged; daaaaaamnnnn. That's a long one.  I'm debating whether I should make it another one of my firsts this summer because there are 84 $10 000 max scholarships being given away for writing an essay on one of three topics concerning the novel.  I'd be spending months on dissecting it, and I don't think I'd get one of the 84.  So I guess I'm just wondering if it would be worth it to win $0.  I'd like to read it for the right reasons and money doesn't seem like the best one.

There's one copy of the English translated version of The Little Prince - checked out approximately 13 times since January 4th, 2000ish - and one copy of the original The Little Prince - checked out 6 times since October 15th, 2003ish.  I regret not having read it when I could.  Always too busy but I guess that statement has holes in it.  I was waiting for the day when I felt like I knew French well enough to read the original.  I didn't wait for that for The Stranger though.  By that time, I knew I'd never really master French.  I think in language jumping, you lose a bit of that something.  What that something is, I couldn't tell you.  I'm going to add it to my summer firsts; the English version.  But since there's more than one, the indecision's come back.  Instead of choosing a version to order on Amazon a few years back, I'm pretty sure I just ordered The Happy Prince and Other Stories and I never even finished that one.  Firsts are important, but I've got to learn to just dive into it without worrying about about how it's done.

You might think these numbers are pointless and I'd say my existence is pretty pointless and since I have a lot of time during lunch these days I like to spend them how I like to.

I've been thinking.  If I've ever wanted you to know one thing, it's that I'm a friend first.  Albeit, not a great one.  But if I'm not in a trance-like disorientation, I'm almost all ears.  You may have to snap your fingers in front of my face or say my name ten times - sorry Sasha - but I think I am almost all ears.  I may not look like it, but I think I am almost all ears.  I'm a friend first.  I'm not here to judge you if you pick your nose or like corny pop songs.  I'm not here for that.

I've been putting Fight to Keep on repeat lately.  I wonder why they changed their name.  I really like Monsters Calling Home, it's got nostalgia in the spaces between the letters.  I was just barely listening to John Hiatt's Have A Little Faith In Me.  And I know faith isn't only about religion, but I still can't help feeling on the outskirts if I use the word.

The biggest lie I've ever been told is that I'm here for a reason.  The name Nobody Owens has nice ring to it, I checked all three of my email accounts today, and I love my mom.

Tomorrow I'm the Cheshire Cat at a tea party in the house pulled right out of Up, but today I think Nobody Owens has a nice ring to it, I checked all three of my email accounts, and I love my mom forever.