...I guess I'm back.... for a short period

... the bell woke me up.  the page I was sleeping on was a little damp and I tried to wipe it off with my arm before anyone in the class noticed then quickly closed the cover.  I  as I stood up I noticed I had an erection and covered it with my text book.  Walking was always the most efficient way of getting it down.  I was a little groggy.  Now especially but honestly I was always a little groggy in school.  As I look back on my time in high school it seems less like distinct memories and more like the haze you experience as you go through the motions in the morning. Roll out of bed.  Walk to the bathroom. Turn on the hot water.  Strip.  Get in the shower.  Soap. Rinse. Get out of the shower......  Enter your combination.  Grab your calculus book.  walk to class.  put head down. sleep.  bell rings.  walk to locker.  enter combination. grab physics book.....  I woke myself up a little as I realized it was the end of the day.  There was something I had to do.  Where was Brent?  Jostling myself through the crowded hallway I found him at his locker. 

"Hey dude..."

"Yo, what's up man!"

"Nothing.  You can still hook us up tonight, like around eight or so?"  I had already asked him about the deal.

"For sure.  How about the Ken's Pizza?"

"yea that will work."  I figured I would be finished eating dinner with my mom around 730 or so.

"Alright, just hit me up when you are on your way" 

"It's 30 right?"

"Heh heh, of course."

"Alright I'll see you tonight.  Later dude"

"Peace."  We did our faux gangster handshake before I walked back toward my locker.  I had rigged it 2 days earlier so I no longer needed to enter a combination to open it and simply tossed my books in the locker and headed towards my car.  It occurred to me that I only brought my books to class for show.  I almost never used them in class and I certainly never took them home.  I tried to walk with my head down so I wouldn't have to initiate the "hey" with people I never talked to on my way out to my car.   A few people said "hi" anyways.

  Dinner with my mom was essential on Thursdays.  She expected me to sit and talk with her for all the 45 minutes we were eating.  She expected me to tell her about my day.  She liked it when I asked her about her day.  For the most part I complied.  Sometimes I was not in the mood.  I knew it was an important part of her day but sometimes I just couldn't be pleasant with her.  Today was not one of those days.  Today was normal.  I was excited about tonight so I was in a fairly good mood.   I told her how I liked my psychology professor whose class I slept through today.  We talked about college.  I hadn't really heard anything so I couldn't say much about that.  She told me how her boss was a little wacky again today.  The story was funny.  I laughed.  I tried to sit with her a little longer today because usually she would let me leave quickly if I put a little extra effort into the dinner.  Sure enough, she let me go as soon as I cleaned up the dishes.  As I was walking out the door I remembered I needed to call Greg. The phone rang twice (it took about 45 second for him to pick up the phone).

"Hello"

"Hey, I'm on my way."

"Alright man."

"See you soon."

"Later."

       The drive to Greg's pisses me off sometimes but then other times it is a game.  The stretch of road you have to drive before you turn on to his road is a patchwork of potholes.  If you drive fast enough it becomes pretty difficult to avoid them in the amount of time you have between when you see them and when you drive past or over them.  I can't stand driving slow enough to avoid the potholes so it becomes a game of frogger.  But instead of a slow frog trying to avoid speeding cars, it is a speeding frog trying to avoid stationary cars ---- a lot like frogger.  So tonight it was fun.

I didn't expect a reception when I came back, thank you.  It seems unlikely that i will be able to continue this but we'll see.

"You use words too"

"I'm walking out on center circle" -- Elliott Smith

    I'll start from the middle  because I don't remember the beginning and I haven't been told the ending yet.......

"I know you've been interested for awhile.  I'll go in on an eighth with you."

"So it will only be 15 each?" I expected this question from Greg because money was always sparse when it came to recreation.  After spending 25 dollars on gas every other week it was hard to come by money for the weekends, especially when we were both unemployed. 

"Yea should be.  I think we should get it from Brent.   I'll ask him about it tomorrow at school.  It's kinda weird Alex doesn't want in."

"Whatever.  He has his 'morals.'"

"Yea, well I'll call you tomorrow after school."   It was necessary to call Greg because I would not see him at school.  Our school, or more appropriately my school had created a policy of not allowing Greg to attend classes.  This policy was necessary to keep the school safe and some how managed to also allow Greg to graduate.  

Family is defined as an institution.  The first time I heard this I was a little confused and my confusion was followed immediately by the discovery that marriage is also an institution.  This discovery was made while sifting through a free text book, book sitting on a 25 year old desk, sitting on white tiles with black speckles, underneath flourescent light bulbs.  This book and this desk were identical to the 29 other desks and books surrounding me.  Well not identical.  If I had sat at the desk in front when I entered the classroom I would have discovered a three K's etched in the lower right hand corner.  That desk was unique, even creative, in comparison to the blank slab supporting my book.  I'm sure in a few months some janitor would take care of that little burst of creativity and proudly look across these 30 truly identical desks.  For now though, these desks were not truly identical.  Still though I can't they all sat underneath flourescent bulbs (none of which, fortunately, were about to die), ontop of speckled white tiles, to the right of (to the left if you were looking from the back of the classroom) windows with nice grey metal frames and in front two large blackboards surrounded by grey metal frames.  It was not a room you would want to be drunk in, falling into anything would undoubtedly leave a bruise.   The best adjective for the room, institutional.  Family is not instutional but it is an institution. 

"i"m going to be a writer."

"You hate english."

"I don't have time for english classes."

"Well you better get writing.  If you wait to long you will be cured and you'll never be able to write again."