I like the thought of being an english major a lot, since it'll force me to write. I enjoy writing. The problem is that I don't have anything to write about. I figure once I get back up to Huntington and things start happening to me again, I won't have any trouble writing in here. In fact, I expect things around here to really pick up. I plan to make myself sit down and write for a few hours a day. The way I figure, Seth and Rob are awesome trumpet and guitar players (respectively), and they practice all the time. I don't think it's a coincidence.

Speaking of getting back to Huntington, it should happen by maybe Monday. I called Dad the other day, and he mailed Ye Olde Fabled Cheque while I was on the phone with him, so either I'll have it by the end of the week, or he's switched to blatantly lying to me. I don't believe it's the latter.

I just want to let everyone know that about a year ago, I met Brittany one time at Rob's house. I talked to her on ICQ for a while after that, and I relized that I think she's a very cool person. A person that I probably wouldn't be pissed off at for getting famous some day. A, "friend," if you will. Well, once I went back to Marshall last year, I stopped getting on ICQ entirely. No one was ever on. As time went on, I forgot about dear Brittany. I hadn't so much forgotten about her -- I still wondered what she was up to from time to time -- but forgotten that I met her in person. All of this set me up for a meeting at the BHS Band's spring concert that was, speaking in terms of social grace, the worst thing that ever happened to me in my entire life (I'd rather not recount it, it being the worst thing that ever happened to me in my entire life and all, but Brittany's free to put it in the guestbook if she feels the story must be told). Anyway, I just want Brittany to know that I'm very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very sorry about it.

As an aside, the word very doesn't look like a word to me anymore.

Oh, I cleaned out my closet the other day. You see, my closet has been full of clothes that no one ever wears and junk that no one ever uses for years. The reason it went on for years is that after running out of room in the closet, I simply started putting things in a pile in front of the door. Anyway, I cleaned it out, my stuff is in it, and my floor is a welcome addition to my room.

I like to think that I, much like Uncle Kracker, keep it comin' with tha, "oooohh."

I hate my across-the-street neighbors. They've got the cutest little golden retriever puppy you've ever seen, but they leave it tied up outside the house alone all day. The littly guy sits all day barking, wanting someone to play with it. But the other day was abhorrent. I woke up to an almost unearthly yelping wailing noise, and looked out to see that they'd hit the puppy with their car. He made his way over to the yard, where they stood over him and looked down at him, and then, after a few minutes, they got in their car and left! The puppy hobbled over onto the front steps, yelping all the while, and laid down. He didn't move for the rest of the day. I told that to John on the way to Rob's the other day, and when we got there, he called the police and reported animal cruelty. I only wish I'd have done it.

Like it is most of the times I finish writing here, it's late. I'm going to bed.

Later.