feeling listless

History Tired. Stretch. Barf.

Sorry, but that’s my attempt at reactive poetry. I know it isn’t very good, but I was looking for a way to start the letter. I know its taken a while to write but you know how it is – things to do, places to go, people to see (rubs chin with tips of his fingers).

There was a massive Fair in town, and after dropping a video off at the city site library I decided to go on. Big mistake. The first couple of rides where fine. Effing scary, but fine. But the second two. Now I’ve never chucked my lunch (and isn’t that a nice turn of phrase?) before on rides, mostly because it isn’t usual for me to go on them. But this particular one was a doozy. It not only span you round by an axel, but each axel had four cars on it which span also – so you are spinning in two different directions at once – this was too much. I don’t think I hit anyone.

But after this I got the bus home – big mistake number two. We’re going out of town and next to the Uni and this guy from our hall pulls out, my tunmmy decides its had enough. I open the window and a fountain appears from my mouth, hitting a passing sports car. Eventually I have to rush off the bus and throw up into a bush. I am now known in the hall as ‘Spuey’ (so funny I nearly top myself).

[Life Laundrying my room the other day I found a print out of a letter I wrote some nine years ago next January. It was to a friend from school and taking into account the odd writing style sounds exactly like a weblog. It's quite long, but I'll post it in sections over the next few weeks for your edification. Or whatever. I think this first section points up how accurate some fraternity pictures actually are. And that I can never hold my lunch.]