The Fourth Day

Four con­sec­u­tive writ­ing days in a row. Balls.

Pat called me yes­ter­day to see how I was doing. How fuck­ing amaz­ing is that? When I found out, the back of my nose felt tight­ly con­gest­ed, and the rims of my eyes start­ed to tin­gle. I need to be more like Pat. I real­ized yes­ter­day that he’s like my preach­er; he’s the only one I can talk to with­out fear­ing judg­ment or embar­rass­ment. It’s not that my oth­er friends aren’t under­stand­ing, it’s that Pat is able to see the moti­va­tions that dri­ve the actions one does, with­out wor­ry­ing about whether the con­se­quences are for bet­ter or worse. He’s able to see the good in many peo­ple, and I guess that I need to be remind­ed that I have some good in me on occa­sion.

I think I need boobs. I bought a turtle­neck dur­ing a box­ing day sale. I found it on a table stacked with oth­er mot­ley piles of clothes, in the mid­dle of the store, for 50% off. I did­n’t try it on, since the lines for the change rooms were ridicu­lous­ly long. I got home and tried it on, and it felt a little…large. I tried to shrink it in the wash, but it only slight­ly worked, because it still fit in an odd way. I real­ized today that it might be a girls’ turtle­neck, and that the extra room in it might be for a healthy rack. I’m not com­plete­ly sure, because I’ve nev­er tried on what I know to be a girls’ turtle­neck, and the beige colour isn’t par­tic­u­lar­ly fem­i­nine. I sup­pose I could try to return it since it has­n’t been worn yet, and has­n’t been (notice­ably) washed, but I’d rather have the boobs.

I’ve tried to change the date and time cod­ing in PHP, so that it more accu­rate­ly rep­re­sents when the entries were writ­ten, but no such luck. The serv­er this is host­ed on is locat­ed in Hong Kong, which is about 13 hours ahead, so all the entries seem like they’re writ­ten 13 hours into the future. I found out how to edit the val­ues of the date and time, but only when it’s from a cur­rent time­stamp, and not when it’s being retrieved from a data­base. I might just try to fig­ure out a way around every­thing if I real­ly feel the need to have accu­rate num­bers.

I think that I stop read­ing dur­ing par­tic­u­lar­ly stress­ful school terms. My free time alone is gen­er­al­ly divid­ed between gam­ing and read­ing, and when I need some stress relief then gam­ing is just able to deliv­er much bet­ter. As Doug and I dis­cussed, we’re able to lose our­selves, to just let go of every­thing else and be com­plete­ly absorbed. Sometimes my stress will spill over though, and I’ll feel the need to write.

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