Holy fucking shit, I hurt. But why complain? It won't change a goddamn thing.

Gin will, though.

Anyway, work was busy tonight, but at least I didn't have to clean up any blood. Did I ever mention how I've cleaned up blood three times since I started working at the library? No? Well, I have. The most recent was some spatter on a book of Sylvia Plath poems.

Yeah, I thought that, too.

So at least I didn't have to deal with any body fluids.

You see? Isn't being positive really fucking swell?

Yeah.

Anyway, while I listening to Nirvana on Saturday, I was reminded of my journalism teacher from 7th grade. He was this very religious and very creepy guy who could not understand why I liked Nirvana so much. He would interrogate me about it on an almost daily basis. He would also preach in class and yell at anybody who questioned.

Sometimes, he would keep my friend and I after class and tell us all the reasons why we were going to hell. There was also talk about all our supposed mental problems. Like how we were both anorexic and it made us look gross. Yes, he said "gross."

He went on and on and on until we were both near tears. When he finally let us go, we would run to the nearest bathroom and cry while breaking everything that was breakable. Skin included. I still have no idea why we did that instead of going to the administration, but I never really had any idea in middle school.

I hated the guy.

(Just a small aside- I rarely talk about 7th grade because it sucked so much. And how many years ago was it? Yeah. I only know one person who had a good time in the 7th grade and even she admits it was the drugs that helped.)

A few years ago, I was reading the paper and I saw his face on the front page of the local section. His house had burned to the ground and he lost everything. It was one of those "God-Man Prevails Over Strife" type stories.

Now, you ask, how did his entire house with everything in it burn down?

It was struck by lightning.

Assume what you will.

Goddamnit (ha ha), now I'm thinking about fucking 7th grade and getting all angry and shit.

Happy!

May and I have made plans to go camping for almost two weeks in September. We're going to campground-hop and live as minimally as possible. Like, even though we'll have a car, everything we need must fit into two backpacks, which we must carry. By the time we come home, we're going to be SO SEXY. Seriously. We may even have scurvy!

I think we should call this The Hardcore Camping Trip. Cuz it is, man.

I'm so excited.

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