Ode to my Migraine

Today my head feels about
 six sizes too small
The tightness around my temples 
	The pain in the back of my head.

Today the world seems about
	ten times too bright.
a little too loud, 
		a little too fast.

Today was 3 times too fast for me
	And my little old head.
Too bright for my sensitive eyes
	And my brain on sensory overload.

Today wasn’t a very good day
	Twice as bad as normal.
Work was slow today
	But not slow enough 

Today all the words I heard were babble
	Three times as incoherent as usual
All the sounds were three times as loud though
	Making them unbearable.

Today I think everyone was twice as grumpy,
	I think people were five times as mean.
People with their demands,
	And their impatient needs.

So I am moving slower.
So I wince at every clashing pan,
Every raised voice….
So I feel like crying from the pain….

        And throwing up from nausea 
I feel like closing my eyes and hiding from life.
I am apathetic to your problems, because
	They no longer matter.

Nothing but the ice-pick behind my eyes matters anymore.

I know I haven't noded in a while; not even a day log. But, I have been superinsainlybusy ™ with school and work. I worked five days this week…. I am soooo tired. I don’t feel well either. My friends (or at least the only one whose opinion matters) keep telling me to quit. *sigh* I donno… it's a tough call. But, I am loosing my mind at work. Sainity, or money…the greatest debate ever.

Sorry for complaining, but my head hurts, I feel like I have the right to complain.

Everytime I call him like this, he sounds so disappointed. Almost as if my behavior somehow shows that I don't love him enough to quit. I could make so many excuses. It's my last year to be really crazy. It's my last year with him so far away. It's my last year with my college friends, and we've always done drugs. Right now I'm not ready to say without a doubt that I'm completely done with drugs. I know that would be a lie. Last night as I was rollin' all I could think about was him, and if he only knew how sublimely happy I was thinking about our future together. I didn't care if that was my last roll or my last party. I just wanted him. He loves me no matter what, but I always get the distinct impression that his heart breaks just a little bit every time he hears about me ingesting some sort of mind-altering chemical. And when he got off the phone with me last night all I could do was cry and think, what a huge disappointment I am.

Today I realized that I had my first physical contact with a female in atleast 2 years. I can't believe it has been that long. This was an accidental brush up. I mean i have greeted friends of my family and relatives with a kiss or a hug. Those were obligated by societies standard. I come from a family of Italians if it matters. This was contact that was not force by societies standards. She slowly leaned against me as I did my “Desk Attendants” job of signing her in to the dormitories. This is not some erotic node though.

I saw this node to be one who internalizes a few feelings about my existence of the last four years. In those four years I have sworn off females. I made a simple rule. I would not chase after girls but I would still try to befriend them. Now after my four years I have a simple conclusion to state. I have decided to make this noded into a letter to all womankind.

Dear Womankind,

You all have one flaw that must be fixed before our race relations can be perfected. This flaw is not physical but ideological. It is simply....


This letter is to inform you that this is simply not true. Is it that you think "He's not overly gay so he must want me because I am just so sexy and hot?" Don't make me laugh. I rather have a smart woman then some pieces of fluff I see floating around. Yes you have huge breasts but do you have a large brain. I may like you but because you think all I want is sex I rather date trash. Screw off "Mrs. Perfect".

I am a 21 year old virgin. I call my self a dateless virgin but when I was 17 I had a friend who forced her friend to date me. Why? So that I would "owe" her and drive her to get drugs and have meaningless sex. I never have been kissed. I never felt up a girl. Guess what? I don't care. I just want a couple female friends but all you want to believe is I am only after sex.

You females believe I am some animal who is horny every minute of the day. Guess what? I do get horny. I won't lie to you. My penis gets hard sometimes but I do masturbate to relieve it and am extremely happy with that arrangement. I love masturbating to erotic stories. I do happen to have cybersex. Yes those are my releases. Guess what?


I have a little thing called honor. I have a little thing called pride. I am happy to be a virgin. I am happy I waited until my 21st birthday to start drinking. That shows my character. I am unlike most of you in that I am saving myself for someone special. I am not a guy who wants to have a million sex partners like Sam Malone. I am someone who wants a lover who I marry. Perhaps I might even have a second lover before I get married. But I will have someone who is faithful devoted, and who loves me, not just for money or power but for me being me.

Someone may ask what if I die a virgin? Well I will get special attention if there is a God.

That is who I am, and you know what? I am fine with that.

Frank Reese

Suggestions for a cheap way to have the most fun in one sunday.

well maybe this kind of sunday is something that isn't very easy to orchestrate, some will even condemn me for the kind of things i do which gives me enjoyment.

start off with a trip to the store, buy some cola, beer, and a pack of uhmm prophylactics, heh, now yer intrigued huh?

Go home, put drinks in fridge. get an old door from the storage fashion a makeshift backstop, load newly acquired marlin 60 sb with remington subsonic .22 lr (ok at this point, i have probly just earned a dv from 90% of e2) fire at shoot n c targets and awe audience. be humble, say thanks for the compliments on shooting and on the nice rifle.

11:00 the spongebob a thon starts, unload rifle. watch TV. in between episodes squeeze in a few shots. repeat til noon. time to eat, heat pizza and burgers from last night, WASH HANDS lead is poisonous! (.22 lr bullets are mostly lead) eat.

repeat TV and shooting.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh! Glorious!

ok now i need more ammo.

I tried hedonism, but it didn’t make me happy. It’s astonishing how long it took me to realise that.

I added a write-up to "A one sentence description of Everything", and it came to the notice of Yosarian, who nuked the whole node. It's a fair cop.

What I said is what I usually use to describe E2 to my friends:
"everything2 started out as an online dictionary, but got way out of hand."
Sometimes, when the catbox becomes a bit wild, I also describe it as
"the glass bead game for the morally challenged".
I like it like that, but it might just be setting off alarms at work's firewalls. I shouldn't be on, but I feel no pain.

The oddest things make me happy. I was laughing for minutes on the way to work on Friday, thinking that it probably wouldn’t get any better than this, and I should therefor throw myself off a building or something before they got worse.

I haven’t daylogged much lately. Some of you are now cheering. But I know people who do read this, and get something out of it. Some of them don’t even have E2 accounts. The reason why is that nothing much of interest has happened. Life is OK. I have joined a gym. I play Warcraft III. I have set it to 'hard' as my brother found it too easy on 'easy' and well, it’s hard. Significantly harder than the previous ones. Either that or I suck at it. I’m doing about 1 level per week.

Work is. Just is. Some of the people are great, some are annoying, some are pathetic. It gets colder and darker outside. I listen to Pixies a lot. I get older slowly. Time passes.

I saw old friends from Cape Town, all Londoners now, this Saturday, getting older but not changing much. Familiar, comfortable and uninspiring.

I don’t need more human contact. Yes I do. No I don’t. I get enough human contact on the tube twice daily. Packed like sardines in a crushed tin can. We’re too much contact and no more feeling. I wouldn’t have time for it. I’m bored and need to get out more. I like it in here. Has it really been a year since I was engaged in that drama of convincing myself and another that it was a good idea to get together? It seems far less. The absence bugs me a little, but not much. There have been to many important things happening in my life to worry about that.

How can one person sleep so much and still feel tired?

Friday-Sunday: awake for 20 hours, sleep for 10 hours, awake for 5 hours, sleep for 4 hours, awake for 4 hours, sleep for 10 hours, awake for 6 hours... and I want to fall back asleep. I don't know if you can understand this, but that is an awful lot of messed up sleeping patterns right there.

Does this contribute to lengthy philosophical thoughts?

Does this contribute to bouts of depression?

Does this contribute to the usual procrastination?

I'm not sick, so I know I don’t have mono or anything... I just love sleeping. Is that a bad thing?

"Hey, you guys got any strippers?"

The frat boys were yelling-distance away on the porch; me and Kevin were walking on the sidewalk. "I'm a stripper!", Kevin shouted.

I felt like a mad scientist watching helplessly as a bumbling detective flips a switch to awaken the monster before it is properly constrained. No! You fool! You don't understand what that will do!

"What?" yelled one.

Two subcultures mixing like acid and base -- Kevin, goateed, spectacled, in the outfit of the irreverent working-class intellectual, the frat boys in their frat boy uniforms from Abercrombie and Fitch. The joke is ruined but he's gone too far already; he can't just shut up and keep walking. (Well, he can, and should, but he doesn't realize.) Kevin turns toward them, raises his arms, and smiles. "I said, I'm a stripper! We're stripping at the party on South Forest! You guys are missing a great show!"

I'm not entirely sure whether the word faggot entered the air, but there was a atmosphere of what the hell?-ness and not pleasant-ness and general discontent. Some sorts of words were exchanged.

Kevin was slightly embarrassed and pissed as hell. "Why don't you suck my dick, you fucking frat boy fuckwit?"

Laughter and mock "oh!"s. We started down the sidewalk again; shortly I could hear footsteps pounding the cement behind us, approaching fast, and I managed not to break stride or look back; they stopped 20 feet behind us, laughing.

So anyway, we decided to go to this frat party on Washtenaw.

Long line out front (30 minute line, it turns out). Most of the surrounding conversations (and ours) centered on how to get inside without knowing anyone. Kevin was thoroughly convinced of the absurdity of having a guest list at something like this and of the general phat-ness and hype-ness of the party; I was less convinced of either but willing to be dragged along.

"I have a dream!" Shouted a dark-skinned man in front of us, doing a pretty good impression. "I have a dream that one day, a black kid from the ghetto will be able to go to a white party! I have a dream that all the white children and all the black children will sit down at the table of brotherhood and party together!" (It was slightly cooler than that, actually, but I can't remember his exact words.) When they got to the front, his group tried to pass off a name to the gatekeeper, to no avail. ("But we know John." "Look, if you're not on the list, you're not on the list." "But we know John!" "If you call him and have him come out here I can do something for you.")

We were similarly rebuffed, and shortly thereafter sprayed with water while trying to climb in a side window ("Cmon, honey! You can make it!" The girl staring down at us was too drunk to fully realize what was going on.) The wet spot on my pants appeared to have been strategically placed to make me look like I had produced it myself.

Back at the front, we loitered, hopelessly, debating whether to head for the South Forest party, in the (now much-shorter) line with some others. "Those two," said one of the frat boys, pointing at us. And they let us in.

Lots of people, lots of lights, lots of music, no permanent decoration -- people who get most of their enjoyment from mind-altering substances don't put much on their walls. Also no beer; it ran out just as we arrived (a bad thing; I'm even worse at parties sober than drunk).

A room in the basement contained soap suds (and red lasers, and a throbbing baseline), ankle deep at the entrance and gradually increasing until at the far edge they were floor-to-ceiling, cascading from somewhere. A chubby kid emerged from the waterfall, bubbles clinging to the sides of his glasses, and proclaimed it awesome. Couples danced/made out. Kevin dived into the fray; I leaned stubbornly against the wall.

(I'm not completely sure, but I think the couple next to me was actually having sex. I saw fumbling with flies; I saw rhythmic motions subtly but significantly different from those of freaking.)

Eventually, Kevin managed to drag me in. I stood with red-shimmering bubbles floating around me, nodding my head slightly to the beat, envying the dancers who had managed to lose themselves completely in the flashing lights and drifting soap. Suddenly the machine increased and a wall of bubbles wafted into my back and seperated neatly around my head and, yes, I smiled in spite of myself.

So yeah, it was cool. Plus, my jeans were now completely soaked and no longer giving the illusion of incontinence.

Back at the front, there was like a race war. A sea of dark faces outside the doorway/porch thingy (most just there to watch) and a sea of light ones inside/on it (most just there to watch) and a few people fighting at the center (fighting to get in or fighting to hurt the ones who kept them out; I couldn't tell). Someone had blood at the corners of his mouth. It was broken up fast, and the announcement was broadcast to the crowd: "Everybody out! The police are on their way!"

From there to the co-op. Empty kegs, a fair amount of marijuana smoke, a thouroughly mixed-race crowd (not quite dense enough to be a crowd, really). A good DJ; an amazing MC. Back in Kansas, on the right side of the looking glass.

Day 2: Ernest Goes to Sea

An “at sea” day. Always my favorite. These are the days where you are forced to relax. There’s nowhere to go, and you’re five minutes from everything you need. Today went like this. Wake up, eat breakfast, activity, lunch, activity, dinner, drink, sleep. The perfect day. A day that feels like it wasn’t nearly long enough but still lasted an eternity.

I signed up for my Ocho Rios excursion. Brimmer Hall Plantation and Dunn’s River Falls. I know next to nothing about either of them but it was the one excursion that covered the most territory. There were other Dunn’s River Falls excursions that included drinking on a boat, or drinking on a beach, or drinking at the falls but I’d like to see a little of Jamaica. My mother has decided to come along. A couple we ate lunch with said the climb isn’t too rough and that my mom shouldn’t have much of a problem.

After lunch, I sat by the pool where Ernest from Milwaukee became the most famous passenger. He was crowned champion of the Belly Flop competition. There wasn’t much of competition, however. Ernest was the only contestant to actually belly flop. The others would lift their pelvic region just before impact. But not Ernest. He leaped from the platform, put his hands behind his head, stuck out his gut, and welcomed the pain. My guess is that he already has kids, has no desire to have kids, or had his testicles removed.

Tonight was formal night for dinner. I forgot a tie. Surprise, surprise. Lucky for me that we live in the 21st Century and ties are out of style. Before dinner, the family stopped by the Captain’s cocktail party. We got to shake hands with the captain! And he bought us drinks! I guess that’s the least he can do while he makes his underlings steer the boat. Funny thing is... I never would have known we had a captain had he not had a cocktail party. One of those jobs you just assume is being done correctly. The party was lame. They served two kinds of cocktails, Tom Collins’ and Bacardi cocktails. I had the latter even though it was pink and obviously the more girly drink.

Filet Mignon for dinner. Good choice. I couldn’t decide what I wanted for desert, cheesecake or cherries jubilee. I had them both. I love cruises. In retrospect, I should have put the cherries on top of the cheesecake. Maybe tomorrow.

Went to the show. Worst cruise show ever. I know that there is a certain cheese factor required of all resort entertainment. But does it have to be boring too? The first act was a blacklight puppet show. One of those shows where you can’t see the puppeteers because they’re dressed in black. Their puppets float around and dance and do “funny” things. I guess it’s funny because they’re puppets. The same premise the Greg the Bunny show relied on. I’ve seen this act performed better on the subway. The comedian was decent. He only told married jokes, though. Makes me wonder if marriage turns everyone into a one-dimensional human. I still got most of the jokes. And they were funny. The comic was smart. He only told jokes that made the men look like asses.

Evan kicked my ass in chess. I lasted about 15 minutes. In a deliberate attempt to avoid the casino, we went to see A Beautiful Mind. Lord of the Rings was better.

Tomorrow I find out how fat I am. Should be enlightening.

The Voyage Continues

Day 1: It rained on my Paradise
Day 3: Labadee, Labada, Life Goes on, Bra!
Day 4: I seis the Rios, I siete the Rios, I Ocho the Rios
Day 5: The Voyage Home

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