Beginning @ MindSay

This is me making a new blog because a fresh start is refreshing.

Today, I became a blond. I love it. I do like change.

I got stoned twice today.

Me and Nicole were totally chinked staring at each other. It was flipping hilarious.
"HEROIN NEXT, BIIIIIITCH."

Tomorrow, I plan to chill with the K and Big T. That should be joyous.

BYE.

I'm trying to catch up with everyone's entries from this weekend.  I was internet-less from Friday morning through yesterday afternoon.  I moved into my apartment on Friday.  So, other than a few odds and ends that I still need to move over, I'm done with the house.

 

I wasn't sure how I'd feel about it, but I think it's the best move I could have made.  I talked to six24  Friday evening after the moving was done and he said I sounded more excited than I have since this all started.  My dad said the same thing when I talked to him Saturday night.  He thought I sounded really good.  Personally, I don't notice the difference when I'm talking to people, but I know I feel better.  It's nice to know that there aren't any pictures of her sitting around, and there are no memories that include her in this place.  I think there were times this weekend when I forgot all about her, and it's a great feeling when I realize I've been able to do that for awhile.

 

This situation sucks, but I am a lucky man.  I have one of the greatest groups of friends anyone could ever hope for.  Eight people came to help me move, another one or two would have if they didn't have to work.  Most of these are people who are also friends with my wife, and the amount of support they're showing for me is really overwhelming. 

 

The separation agreement has been completed.  I reviewed it again on Sunday and gave my attorney the OK to send it out to my wife yesterday.  She should be getting it this week.  In my last meeting with the attorney, we decided to put a statement in the agreement attempting to get half of the down payment on the house back.  It will be interesting to see what my wife has to say about that.  I think it's more than fair, but we'll see.

 

So, other than that stuff, my weekend was mainly spent organizing the apartment, unpacking boxes.  Played some pool and drank some beers at my friends' place Friday night, tried Indian food for the first time on Saturday.  A good weekend, really.  A starting point.

   There are numerous stories that depict the beginning of Christmas. Each story is impressive in its own right. This is just another story I would like to add to the list.The Christmas tree is often explained as a Christianization of the ancient Pagan idea that the evergreen tree represents a celebration of the renewal of life. In actuality, the Roman Empire was converted en masse to Christianity, many cultures did not give up their Pagan ideals and traditions and so they were incorporated into the Christmas tradition.

   Many of the symbols associated with the modern holiday of Christmas such as the burning of the Yule log, the eating of ham, the hanging of boughs, holly, mistletoe, etc. are apparently derived from traditional northern European Yule celebrations. When the first missionaries began converting the Germanic peoples to Christianity, they found it convenient to provide a Christian reinterpretation for popular feasts such as Yule and allow the celebrations themselves to go on largely unchanged, versus trying to confront and suppress them. The Scandinavian tradition of slaughtering a pig at Christmas (see Christmas ham), and not in the autumn, is probably the most salient evidence for this. The tradition derives from the sacrifice to the god Freyr at the Yule celebrations. Halloween and Easter are likewise assimilated from northern European Pagan festivals.

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Jim Heitmeyer and Editorial Staff

I am eighteen years old and about to die. Oh, not in the sense that you're thinking. I don't have a knife to my throat; I'm not being held at gunpoint; I don't have three bottles of aspirin in my stomach. But as I'm about to die, I figure this is as good a time as any to start documenting my life, before it ends.

I'm not someone special. I haven't accomplished great feats in my life. I haven't saved children and I haven't created a new program of charity nor have I discovered the cure to anything. Reading this is pointless, because you won't discover anything. I'm as unincredible and as unremarkable as they come. They won't talk about me in the media, and if you google my name, I'm not any of the people that show up. This autobiography is not meant to be something special. It's not meant to have theories written after it and it's not meant to be studied nor discussed in book clubs. In fact, I hope this never gets published, if only for the fact that there are enough worthless books on the shelves and I'd hate to add my own to it. This autobiography is worthless.

My life, however, is not.

There will be no chronological order to this. There will be no... sense to be had, no index to reference. There will be no timeline; no people that you recognize; no explanation and no apologies throughout this. Just me. Just me, and the clicking of the keys on the laptop before my life ends.

I woke up this morning with a terrible hangover from this weekend, sore in the face and sick to my head. I spent the weekend with Westi and Josh, getting blitzed beyond belief, to the point of not being able to remember much of it. I'm not even sure how I got home last night, but my car is here and in one piece so I guess I drove. Liquor is something that's still relatively new to me, so I while it doesn't take much to get me wasted, I still like to think that I can hold my own. My roommates are watching something in the other room, some sort of... angry thrashing and yelling is going on the television. It always makes me wonder: with all of the anger on television these days, what would happen if I heard a struggle going on in one of the nearby apartments? How easy would it be for me to write it off as a television show turned up too loud? And what's more, if I came back to find a police line and people being questioned and a distressed college girl with her blonde hair draping her face in her hands sobbing, would I feel guilty?

How desensitized am I?

I took a punch to the face yesterday. There was a guy in a button-up shirt a size too small and pants that looked like they'd fit his girlfriend saying something terrible about Shae. Doesn't matter if what he was saying was true or not, all that mattered was that he was saying it. I decked him and as he was going down he decked me. Nick had to pull me off and throw me in the car and tell me, "Drive." I might be violent with a little alcohol in me. Or at least, my violent tendancies are on the surface far more than when I'm sober. Something to consider in the short time I have left.

Ah. Dinner.