john irving has the enviable ability to make me cry, even when i'm just reading a fucking story about a unicycling bear. damn you, garp!
thinking about that story and listening to phantom planet, i'm a goner. what is one supposed to do with lyrics like "i could tell from the minute i woke up it was gonna be a lonely lonely lonely lonely day. rise and shine wipe the sleep out from my eyes and try to tell myself i can't go back to bed"?
at peter's house, watching lord of the rings, waiting for a tow truck to get the keys out from my entirely too-locked car.
fuck. i called my brother practically crying to tell him that i have an unconditional love for him, so no matter what he does and how much he fucks up i'll always be there for him. he was like...oh, i love you too. not sure what i expected, but whatev. i wanted him to know that more than i wanted him to react.
i think the only way i'm going to get through this life is if i write how things should be. so now i'm all inspired to write semi-fiction...the things that happen to me, and how they should turn out. then i can live vicariously through my stories.
dont' think we don't know we're fucking losers -- washed up old men...we ain't shit.
hell yeah, nofx. hells fuckin yeah.
(and i'm not even stoned yet. time to go to wasted.)