Compose.

I have two papers to write.

One, a five page paper uniting Descartes and Milton's ideas of reason and the pursuit of knowledge. I hate five page papers. Just give me a term paper.

The other IS a term paper. It regards new media in the news and how it also creates a meta-society.

I do not want to do either paper.

time.

I am always suspicious that all my clocks are wrong when I wake up on time.

Notation.

I really hate the use of the exclamation point. It's not that I don't get excited when I read or write, I just feel like the words should excite me or the reader well enough. Punctuation shouldn't dictate emotion.

I'm at the point where I feel like the exclamation point is equal to "lol" and such.

oh, right.

Oh, right. This exists.

I should probably update it?

Hm. Well, I'm kind of out of shorts that I'm willing to share for the moment, and my life hasn't become interesting enough to write about. It's hardly interesting enough to tweet about, really.

What if I tweeted or blogged everything I did? That would be annoying.

Today, someone asked me why I was studying to be a journalist.

"Because I can't do math."

small talk.

“I have this theory,” he began, looking at her across the table while the flickering candle made his features look hollow, “that idle chatter and small talk shortens lives.”

“Well, that narrows down possible conversation starters,” she muttered, fiddling with her straw and wondering why he brought it up. She glanced up at him with a nervous smile and he nodded. “How does it kill people?”

“It doesn’t kill anyone,” he corrected lightly. “It just shortens lives. Like smoking, but with words.”

“That didn’t explain it.”

“I don’t really have anything besides the theory,” he said, leaning back and grabbing a piece of bread. “But I like saying I have a theory, it makes me feel important.”

She smiled unsurely and wondered what she could say that wouldn’t shorten their lives. He was one of the cleverest people she had ever met, but his social abilities seemed to be malfunctioning.

Looking down at his plate, he decided that was probably the last time he would say that to someone.

rhetoric.

“You never let lack of knowledge hold you back, do you?” I sighed, head resting on my hand while I propped myself up on the table. He looked over his shoulder at me before returning to the fridge.

“It does make arguing so fun,” he grinned as he put a bottled water in front of me. “Glowering is what you do best. Did you know that?”

“Hm,” I agreed with a murmur, “Sarcasm is your favorite form of flattery, isn’t it?”

“It seems we’re never happier than when we argue.”

one day.

“One day,” he said as they passed a puddle, “I’m going to buy a nice coat just so I can put it down over a puddle and you can walk on it.”

She looked up at him, head tilted to the side and a small smile crossing her face. He nodded, “And you’ll say, ‘Hey, couldn’t I have just as easily walked around that? That was a nice coat I bought you.’”

“I thought you were buying the coat,” she laughed, putting her hands in her pockets and her smile growing wider. He liked to see her smile so big.

He shrugged and said, “Just one day, I’m going to do that.”

update.

I am going to write short stories here.

Or, at least, I'm going to try to convince myself to write short stories here.

We will see.

dance.

How did all the kids know how to dance at the end of Footloose?

I guess the moves were just in their souls the whole time.

oops

I already forgot this existed.

dum dadi do

Remember when they made green ketchup? I couldn't handle that time in my life.

rain.

So, this morning, I am running on time, which is fairly unusual since I'm always late, and it's raining a little bit. And instead of walking back upstairs to get my rain boots- because it's raining when I go outside- I just decide to stick it out since my flats match my outfit better.

I'm jogging up some steps-- for no particular reason since, again, I'm running on time-- AND I LOOSE MY SHOE. I mean, it doesn't go down into the sewer or anything, but it does come off and go down a few steps, and I stepped into a puddle. The guy behind me was all, "Uh-oh, you lost that." Because I hadn't noticed or anything when I said, "Ahhh, my shoe." Instead of being embarassed though, my first thought was "Man, this totally going in my blog."

Blogs are the place for pointless stories.

type. type. type.

Now that I have a blog, I feel like I should update it a lot with really significant posts.

The problem is that I don't have anything significant to say.

The keyboards in the computer lab at school are really loud. It's like I'm making the sound effects for a stampede in a Western.