Box eyed

Sitting at my computer, my left arm always falls asleep to the point where it gets extremely hard to type and is painful for a few hours afterward. I think it might be that the top of my desk is a split level and my left elbow always hangs off a little bit. Perhaps that cuts off my circulation or pinches a nerve or something.

I guess that really means that I spend too much time in front of the computer, but there isn't much else to do out here. I suppose I could be drinking or smoking or getting pregnant. I'd like to say I'm too smart to do these things, but the reality is that I'm much too square. So I sit here, staring at my screen. The internet is my tv, slowly eating my brain.

I have a million and a half different things that I want to say here, but I just can't bring myself to write them down. They're a little too personal right now. Maybe later.

I keep thinking that I'm a fairly interesting person, but I don't think that really comes across in my blog. I'm afraid I just haven't been very inspired lately. After being chewed up by several papers and exams in short succession, I'm a little out of it, and the most interesting parts of my life right now also happen to be things I don't want to talk about. I don't even have any good bus stories to tell right now, because lately, I just haven't been able to stay awake.

Excuses, excuses. I have little respect for people who make excuses for themselves, even though I myself am quick to excuse them. What can I say? I am a hypocrite, but I have a funny feeling that the rest of the world is the same.

Matt Good says that the concert in Vancouver yesterday was the end of an era for him. While I definitely love his old stuff, the thought of him doing something different is kind of exciting. Variety is the spice of life.

In other news, my sister just forwarded this to me:

*With all the sadness and trauma going on in the world at moment, it is
worth reflecting on the death of a very important person, which almost
went unnoticed last week.

*Larry LaPrise, the man who wrote The Hokey Pokey died peacefully at age
93. The most traumatic part for his family was getting him into the
coffin.They put his left leg in. And then the trouble started.

"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter."
Martin Luther King