2003-10-28 - 7:56 p.m.
I’m sick. I don’t know exactly how I got sick, but who ever really does. I was really sleepy today and tonight I just got extremely achy. It was really bad. I felt, and still feel to some degree, out of my head and delirious. I took some Tylenol Cold which is supposed to be a ‘night-time formula’. Instead of feeling drowsy and sedate I feel half better but wide-awake. I think that last sentence loosely rhymed. Anyway, I’ve been tossing and turning in bed having extended conversations with myself, God, and Lindsay in French. I don’t know why. For some reason, I feel a little better about talking to myself out loud in French because I can justify it as practicing. As I lay there I could hear the girl living in the other half of my duplex throwing up. I felt really bad for her. Pauvre femme. She’s a really nice girl, and very pretty. Her boyfriend that she lives with seems like a semi-ok guy, but I suspect he treats her like crap. The walls are very thin and I hear them arguing and he curses at her a lot. I don’t know both sides, she could be a nutty girl, but from my vibes I suspect he’s the asshole not her. She seems pretty smart and studious. I used to see her all the time at school always studying intently never distracted by the others at PJ’s…always doing her math homework. I of course respect that because I NEVER wanted to do my math homework, but she always seemed to just get down to business without hesitation. When I said she was pretty I mean beyond normal pretty. She falls in the category of striking and fine and fucking hot. Her boyfriend doesn’t seem all that good looking, but he seems rather confident. Maybe that’s what she liked. Maybe she was drawn to some redeeming hidden qualities, but I don’t see them. He plays his guitar very loud all the time. He always plays the same flashy/cheesy blues lick. He’s perfected this one technique and I’m under the impression he thinks himself to be good guitarist. He’s completely one-dimensional, and he just plays this one really fast lick over and over. He’s one of those people that plays his instrument in a very competitive and athletic way. The result is usually boring trite music…but hey, that’s his thing. I’m jotting all this stuff down to add to my diary later, because I need something to do with myself. Tossing and turning all night isn’t fun. I think I feel a little sleepier than I did before, so I’m going to try to sleep again. If that attempt doesn’t work I’m going to read some.
