Here in Wisconsin
It's seven below zero.
South pole is warmer.

Sometimes I really wish you were here. That's not gonna change when you move back to the states, but at least I'll be able to call you then. Speaking of which, I don't exactly know what will become of this blog once you're back in Washington. Since i'll be able to call and text you, it seems a little silly to keep the blog going, but I still kind of want to. I dunno.

That girl over there,
with the perfect eyes and smile,
is NOT my girlfriend.

So I'm hoping to schedule an appointment with a psychiatrist next week to finally diagnose and hopefully treat my ADD. I've been told that the ADD medication cuts way back on the hundred-mile-a-minute multidirectional brain activity. What this means is that I have an outside shot at beginning a semi-normal semi-functional human life. But what that also means is I'm going to be far less entertaining. I'm having mixed feelings about it. Without the trademark overthinking and signature randomness of my brain, I don't know quite how much of me will even be left. I'm not sure if I'm ready to be normal.

It would be nice, I think, to go one stupid week without behaving like a desperate, love-starved idiot. That would be nice.

The things people buy at Walgreens amuse me. For instance, one ambitious young man bought condoms and earplugs...hmmm...let your imagination wander on that one:)

Perkins is a place
Where your wildest dreams come true
If you dream of food

I'm at Perkins right now, and Mitch is totally working. That is all.

Hooray for ancient Greek...i just learned that the word mammos means grandmother. So for those of you playing at home, Mammogram really means grandma-letter. Hmm.

I am uninspired,
and cannot write a haiku.
Oh. Wait. Nevermind.

So, I've been getting into a new band lately, The Old 97s (if you have some extra cash laying around, pick up the album Satellite Rides on iTunes, I'm pretty sure you'd love it to death.) Anyway, there's a lyric in one song that always makes me smile and think of you:

"Ain't nobody gonna see eye to eye
with a girl that's only gonna stand collarbone-high..."

I know, I know. Don't worry, I punched my own shoulder.

The child looks distressed.
His ice cream fell on the ground.
Stupid little turd.

So I'm at play practice right now, sitting on that crazy-comfortable brown leather couch, and something seems to be missing. I can't quite put my finger on it...

Six dead fish for sale!
Varied degrees of freshness!
Get em while they stink!

Soooo, remember when we instituted the lesson that when clean shaven, I look like a Fat Ugly Sherman (which for some unknown reason became another word for penis) Baby douche, commonly abbreviated as FUSBUD? well, I had to shave for the Alice promo photo. So yeah, right now I look like a total fusbud.

What's better than poetry fragments? EMO POETRY FRAGMENTS!!! Ahem...

My heart refuses to bend to the will of another, which is why it so often breaks. But to keep one's soul-fire stoked, pain is acceptable payment. BAM! Poetry.

I saw a man today,
pushing an empty stroller.
Terrorist, perhaps?

Don't throw that at me.
I mean it, don't throw that pie!
That's it, I'm telling!

The sun's in the sky.
Where else would it be, Libby?
Oh. Nevermind then.

Since the Cannonball couldn't be in Alice, Jordyn has decided to take her place in the "physical discomfort" department. She invented what she calls the "shin-kicking dance..." she holds my hands, sways side to side, and kicks me in the shins in an alternating rhythmic fashion. Dontcha just love kids?

My mouth tastes like puke
I think my pants are next door
Typical morning

1. Don't ask me where I got this...I couldn't tell you even if I knew.

2. You don't know where you got it?

1. Of course I do...but I can't tell you.

I'm skipping Greek today. Yes, it's only been two weeks and already I'm so sick of school that I'm skipping classes.

A single leaf falls.
Several more drop from the tree.
There's a cat up there.

So...I'm sitting in my dorm room and I'm actually cold. I don't know if my defenses are dropping in my old age, or if I'm about to get sick, or maybe it has something to do with the fact that my room is a hollowed out concrete cube...I dunno. But all I can think of is two seperate images of you...one of them is you in mom mode, with that "I-told-you-so, Nina-knows-best" look on your face, rushing to get me blankets and a winter coat and an embarrassing knit woolen ski cap and matching mittens. The other image is a slightly sunburnt Nina in a short-sleeve shirt and khaki shorts, digging your sandals into the flawless beach of your island home, hands on your hips laughing in such a boisterous and mirthful manner that it can only be described as "jolly." But it's not your voice laughing, since as we both know jolly laughter is not in your reportoire (the two main types of Nina laughter being tee-her giggle and evil maniacal cackle.) No, for some reason, the voice coming out of your 5-foot frame is that of a large Jamaican (or shall we say Trinidadadidadian) man. Why? I haven't the foggiest. I can't control my imagination. If anything, it's the other way around.

And of course the late-night haiku. Ain't I the little poet?

Watching nature's ways
As I lay on the sidewalk
There's gum in my hair.

Also a fragment of some poetry I've been tooling around with...uncapitalized letters are more out of laziness than an homage to e.e. cummings;)

overlooked
overshadowed
overqualified
constantly being told the only
real
pure
honest
perfect
thing I can offer this world
is invalid
insufficient
ineligible.
it's enough to make a man
die of old age
before he turns 25.

So I realize now that if I come up with snippets of dialogue for something, I can drop it here without forgetting. So that'll be happening from time to time. Like right now.

1: I can't go back to that dance club, man. I just can't.

2: Why not?

1: Well, last time I was there, I had one too many five-dollar beers.

3. Dude, at five bucks? One IS too many.

1. Yeah, anyway...I had a little too much to drink, and I had just learned the Electric Slide...

2. Oh, so this was in 1982.

1. Wouldja just shut up and let me tell my story? Anyway, I was a little disoriented by the beers and the frenetic dancing, and...well, I accidentally...peed my pants.

3. You PEED YOUR PANTS at a public dance club????

1. Did you not hear me say "accidentally?"

You have no idea how boring these last couple days have been. Seriously, I'm really excited about this blog and i've been trying to come up with thoughts to put on here...but I'm not quite sure that I've had a single thought all day. But I will have a haiku for you at midnight:)

The liquor flows free
At the dark watering hole.
I'm hungry and tired

I think that instead of using asterisks to censor swear words (Dirty Mother****er,) people should use underscores (You ___-licking son of a _____!) That way, people who aren't offended by profanity can fill in the blanks with whatever dirty word they choose...like a kind of obscene mad-lib.

Midnight Haiku, cuz why not:
The fog drapes like silk
I cannot see sidewalk
I step in dog poop

I figured out a way to control this crazy thing from my phone, so updates are gonna be flying atcha at cellular speeds! Basically, it's gonna be just like texting you, only you don't get a chance to respond. Mwahaha.

Greetings, Nina and anyone else who has the fortune of stumbling upon this treasure trove. Welcome to The Nina Project! "WTF is The Nina Project?", you might be thinking to yourself or screaming aloud. Well, it goes like this. My dearest darling friend Nina Hartsel has a habit of going as far away from me as possible. First she moves all the way to the west coast to go to college, then she comes back for Christmas break, only to skedaddle over to South Dakota, AKA Boyfriendland, THEN she brings Boyfriendland back home with her, thus disappearing, and THEN, when Boyfriend is safely returned to where he belongs, spends the rest of her time near me getting ready to spend six months on a deserted island nobody's ever heard of before! Well anyway, despite this behavior I still love the girl. And, because her phone doesn't work on the Deserted Island, I can't talk to or text her. Sad face. But that's where this blog comes in. Happy face! For the next six months or so, I'm gonna try to bundle up all my crazy in snack-sized 100 calorie bags, and serve them to Nina in blog form, whether she likes it or not. Updates will occur semi-regularly, and will be just about as random as possible. You're welcome.