Want to know what rocks?

Buying an album by one of your favorite musicians and seeing "lyrics by William Burroughs" in the notes.

That just makes me happy.

Anyway, quite some time has passed since I started writing this entry. I keep getting side-tracked by all sorts of things that are only interesting in the late night.

Like my vision.

I just got some new glasses yesterday and I'm both amazed and frightened at how much more clear everything is. I mean, I only had my old glasses for not even two years. The only reason I got new ones was because I'm still holding fast to the false notion that I Can Fix Anything and broke my old pair while trying to adjust them. I go to the doctor's only to find out that hey, my eyes have gotten worse.

I'm guessing I'll be legally blind by the time I hit thirty. Fun times.

So now I keep looking around the house and seeing things that I hadn't noticed before. Like how my bird's orange cheeks really stand out in the moonlight and how my hands look freaky when I'm typing by the glow of the computer screen.

This is why it is now midnight and I haven't finished this entry.

Library story!

So I was in the video room, right? I'm walking to the shelves to get this dude his movies when I notice a faint smell. A faint bad smell. I think, eh, it's probably mold in the air conditioner or something and go about my way.

I walk back to the counter and am scanning the dude's card when it hits me.

The over-powering, eye-watering, I'm-gonna-fucking-yak stench of a dead SOMETHING. I swear, it was like a possum or elephant or something kicked it and was being flung around by the tail in the middle of the library while a thousand fans spread the funk. It was that bad.

I glare at the guy I'm helping, thinking he's the offender and am just about to ask why the fuck he thought rolling around in a pile of dead walruses was a good idea when I see that he, too, has a green sheen to his face.

That was when I noticed the dude looking through the video boards some ten feet away. He was a tiny little man wearing a black mesh shirt and parachute pants. He had the crazy eyes...you know what I mean, right? Those jumpy, intense, red-rimmed eyes. I stared at him and the dude I was helping stared at him and he just kept flipping through the video boards.

I quickly finished checking out the movies and ran over to the circulation counter where I tried very, very hard not to blow chunks all over the books on hold. My coworker asked what was wrong as I scampered to the bathroom and I could only mutter something along the lines of "Must get clean." I washed my hands a dozen times even though I hadn't been near the stinky man cuz it kind of made me feel better.

When I was finally able to tell the story, my supervisor offered this advice: "Tell him that his stench offends you and you will not help him. That's what I would do." Luckily, the man was gone by the time I got back over there so I was able to go about my job.

I mean, seriously, how do you NOT notice that you reek of rotting flesh? At first, I honestly thought that a couple of rats had died in the vents or something. There's no mistaking that smell. But coming from a person? A living, breathing person? Fucking Christ, man. Is there some kind of medical disorder that makes you reek of dead things? Because if there is, I'll be a little more sensitive. I mean, that would really suck ass.

I told my father this story on the way home from work and the first words out of his mouth were "Maybe he was dead."

Thanks, Dad. That makes perfect sense.

A zombie.

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