Fasten Your Seatbelts, etc.

I stayed up ‘til 5 a.m. killing an old bottle of Merlot and watching this British soap called Skins. All these kids just fuck and do drugs and shit, it’s pretty good. Miles ahead of anything out of the States, as expected. I wish life were as simple as it is in these shows. I think relationships of any kind would be quite more enjoyable if you only had to keep track of like seven characters, like if God could only be bothered to cast so many roles and so, for instance, the chick who is very forward (as is the wont of her archetype—though of course she harbors a relatable sensitive side due to her sympathetically trying home life) would eventually run out of bit players to shag and would have to come around to you. I turned around to pour another glass of sour wine and found a box of Cruncha Buncha (Buncha Crunchas? Crunch Buddies? It’s already lost to me) on the shelf that I had forgotten I’d left there after purchasing for no reason. It was like my birthday come early.

Today I woke up around four. I made my sister some spaghetti and went to mow the lawn. I hate mowing the goddamn lawn. Adding to my general annoyance is the difficulty incurred by the thick tree roots protruding on the right-hand side of the yard, which cause the mower to make a terrifying sputtering as the spinning death-blades whack-whack-whack against the wood. Tomorrow (today) I have to finish the lawn and go to the dentist, who will likely wrench all my teeth from their sockets with an electrified pincer, the bastard.

Four more days until Frisbee. Then, if it works out, back to Massachusetts for a weekend of petty revelry. Jesus Christ, this summer needs to be over.