There is absolutely nothing better than to pour out your thoughts into virtual space because you can.

I currently have been [was] awake since 6 am yesterday so that's a running total of 32 [37] hours awake right now [6 hours ago] and likely to be more, much more, yes, hmm [nope i slept]. I haven't been doing much except watching the sunrise [and sunset] and all this high tech machinery hum alot [alot], but Argonne is an okay [great] place. For two [three] days. Anyway I can't wait to get back [yup]. I spent my night and most of the day [yesterday night] reading somethingawful.com so you can probably tell I'd be happy to do anything, and in fact something a little special has been cooking up in my mind [still is]. I think I'm gonna go win myself a bet [unlikely]. It seems to me a brilliant plan, although it's not much of a plan and more like a course of action, yes... But anyhoo don't expect anything because it is much too grandiose to actually consider executing in the limited time I have available [and I suck]. And you probably won't care or know. So there. [fubar]

On a separate note I want to become British. And I mean that in the worst way possible (Barr: Hi Grinols) mind you. I will become the most exquisite, snobbish Englishman I can, yes, and I will do everything within my power to hack every person I see with my fake British culture as a lmberjack hacks his wife into delicious bloody bits for cheating on him with the milkman who doesn't even come to their home because they live in the middle of the woods far from anything you'd call rudimentary civilization, but is just generally an easy kind of guy who would go even for a lumberjack's wife, which I presume implies that lumberjacks are not the most excellent of girl magnets, because as we all know lumberjacks and their families live in small barren one room cabins far in the woods because lumberjacks are terribly prone to misanthropy and also so terrible stories of things happening to them can be told to our children and so the lumberjack and the mayor of the town he is providing for have to arrange a cart to move the lumber from the lumberjack's far out abode to somewhere where the mayor will put lots of cash into his pocket for selling the lumber for twice its worth and not giving the lumberjack a fair cut so one day the lumberjack can walk into town and see that everyone is cold because there is no wood and then hack the mayor to delicious bloody bits for lying to him so we have real stories about the lumberjack to scare our children with and so that same mayor before his inevitable bloody death can hire the most skittish and unsure of the adolescents who grew from the children we scared with these stories to run the cart during the darkest time of the night to the lumberjack's far out abode, but who always get scared before they make it there because of some stupid shadow in the forest and just cut some lumber themselves on the edge of the forest to sell for four times its worth in an arbitrary location of the mayor's choice and leave the lumberjack's pay for the lumber they were too afraid to get because of all the stories we told them when they were children, on a rock in the middle of a small meadow near the edge of the forest where they cut their lumber because it's gone every time they come back and they absolutely falsely assume that only they and the lumberjack wander through that part of the woods even though it would make no sense for the lumberjack to go so far for lumber he doesn't sell to anyone anyways because the rotten cart never shows up and they have never agreed with him for a drop off point, seeing as they never had the guts to reach him even once, much less mumble something to him while pissing their pants in fear because those stories we told them were really quite foul and tastelessly gruesome and cruel, much like our entire method of raising children, which leaves a few of them scarred to such a degree that they become misanthropes, mysogynists, misogamists, and pedophobes, seeming as a result quite unattractive to girls their age which results in them marrying D grade or even F grade women which push them completely over the edge with their constant nagging and insecurities so these men who are in truth still only insecure boys because we make them marry so early to get them out of our damn houses because they become rotten bad because of our rotten upbringing, turn completely away from society and become lumberjacks and live in small one room cabins in the deeps of the forest not because the lumber is better there but because the only place where their wives and inevitable children are afraid of following them is far into the darkness of the forest where they can relax alone and pretend to cut wood while their stupid D and F wives actually think that's what they're doing in the pitch darkness far beyond their range of hearing, as though it's normal to cut wood in the dark as far away from your drop off point as possible so as to endanger yourself to all sorts of unnecessary injuries which could be easily avoidable given proper lighting, but alas D and F wives aren't very bright and never realize this, only coaxing their husbands' conditions into more severe states at which they actually are liable to do the sorts of terrible things we tell our chilren about after being away from society for so long, so hah! we were just being honest to our kids when we told them those stories, except the very first time of course, and how can being honest to a child spoil it, but this whole cycle would not be possible without the continued participation of the milkman who is actually the father of every single kid in town and who is clearly the one who contributes all the bad genes to everyone's children that make them into antisocial lumberjacks, so it wasn't upbringing, or our fault at all! which explains everything except how the milkman actually found the lumberjack's cabin and was enticed by a creature so vile as a lumberjack's wife seeing as he doesn't even deliver milk there, and also what was some puerto rican guy of average puerto rican height doing at the lumberjack's cabin and why he was responsible for the brutal hacking into delicious bloody bits of the lumberjack's wife and children, so akin to how hacking my fake British culture will be when I put this most recent plan of mine into motion. Wil these questions be answered? Look for it in the next issue! If I still haven't been cleaved with an axe from ear to ear that is.

On second thought this is going to be a great weekend. A weekend of mind numbing, but rare, precise routine where I am mostly left to my thoughts and ocassionally my music. No one to tell me to go anywhere, no one to tell me what to do and when. As far as I can tell I'm not very useful here, but I do things occassionally. It's a pretty great place if you ask me. The relatively loud hum of machines around and barely any speech, people biking [very rarely] around the ring. Even though time is short, everyone is a bit slow and relaxed. It's probably because of the general lack of sleep here. If they were smart they'd put beds right in this place because they sure would be appreciated. I rode around the ring on a tricycle earlier today at walking pace [the speed limit], a distance of an entire kilometer, which actually is surprisingly small considering they have to bend the path of electrons going near the speed of light into a ring. This machinery amazes me, I feel so at home in it. I would never want to work in this place of course, it would be terrible because of the hours and remote location, but you know, it's a nice place to be, it's just got that feel. You feel like you're standing in something magnificent. I never get that feeling when I walk into a church or something. To me it's just some colored glass in a dome, columns and walls, but this place has a magic. It's very important that it has a purpose I respect and its intricacies of design amaze me. It really is a monument of human achievment in my eyes. Unlike a pyramid where I just imagine a bunch of sweaty, likely naked Egyptian slaves (or virtually slaves) hauling blocks up with crude cranes ropes and logs in the cooking sun. I also imagine a fat pharaoh sitting in a palanquin watching them toil and watching a painter paint his image as he's reclining in his chair eating grapes and dates, and he just keeps telling the painter that he made him (the pharaoh) too fat and that he'll have his head for that. The old Egyptian painter with a long thin white beard and a Mahatma Gandhi face as well as a French elitist hat (you know one of those purple bowl like hats that curve in on the edges, have creases along the outside edge, stick out like a cap on one side [a little] and have a huge button/bun on top), and no shirt on his weak, malnourished body is sweating in the sun just out of the palanquins huge shade and keeps making the pharaoh thinner and thinner till he look like he's a starved 6 year old boy who bears nearly no resemblance to the actual pharaoh. Yeah I hate pharaohs alot, they piss me off. I don't have anything against fat in particular, but fat as a result of blunt stupid excess disgusts me. It's ok to involve in awesome excess as long as you don't get too pretentious or run out of ideas for what kind of excess to indulge in. That's when things go bad. I have a tolerance for everything, but at a certain point I consider every activity excessive. For example for drugs excess is more than 0. It's tolerance mind you, just a tolerance of 0. With food the tolerance is you eat only when you need to normally and can indulge in good/unnecessary food for an occassion such as friends getting together, etc. There is of course a point where friend gatherings also become excesive in their frequency and so on. You get the idea, you're all smart my dear readers (notice that the qualification of "reader" is one I did not define and won't. Although they might lie to you when you ask them, any one of my closest friends would be able to correctly classify who I consider a reader and who I don't without any prior instruction from me). I really wish I had the guts and charisma to tell shitty people they were shitty and persuade them to change. That would be a humane thing to do, at least in my meaning of the word, which is not some bullshit, "every human has a right to think what they want". A human has a right to think and say what they want when they aren't simply copying the words of others. You could never make a law like that but you know, it makes sense to people like me or those who don't mind me. Contrary to what I've been told by studies and all kind of scientific date I don't think I'm blindly following an ideal of individualism that is grafted onto out generation. I chose individuallism myself when I became old enough to understand that people who were just like other people might as well not exist. You could just be with one of them and it would be exactly the same as being with ten. So I set out to always fit a niche that was missing in whatever community I was in, simply because I want to promote individualism so that I can encourage people to be interesting to me rather than all the same and so I hopefully am interesting to other people. Of course I can't fill each role equally well, but I've gone anywhere from dude who never hurts a fly to bully, to bullied to computer/video game/card game nerd, to a dude who's crazy/russian. All these things happened in my life and I'm happy they did because I got to experience different treatment from people because I acted differently. Some things imprinted in my behavior such as computers and craziness. I like those two alot. But I think I'm also moving on, hopefully to something new and interesting. I could be emo, that would be fun for like 3 days tops though. Or I could be calm as hell. I've always wanted to be calm as hell, not a complete phlegmatic, but you know remain calm while I'm doing something I'm excited about. It happens when I work in a routine on something. For example it's happening right now. I'm perfectly quiet, I'm thinking my own thoughts, not disturbing anyone and being reasonable and understanding in conversation. It brings enjoyment to me and the exerience is new enough that I'm actually happier here than I would be with you guys at the moment. Here time passes slowly without intervals. It doesn't matter if it's day or night, everything's always the same. To a reasonable degree of course but it's nice to put something down somewhere and then find it where you left it. The noise also has alot to do with it. I guess sounds tend to startle me alot. Whenever I'm doing anything I tend to listen for sounds and I can usually pick out exactly who is ringing my doorbell or who is simply walking in my house. I also tend to try to make as little noise as possible, especially at night [har-har]. It's involuntary but satisfying at the same time which is a combination I don't encounter very often in my life. Sound for me is a proclomation of snobbiness, prudeness and selfishness. "Look at me, I can be as loud as I want, what are you going to do about it?" It just makes me want to sneak up on them and stand just beside and behind them (nothing against you Kyle, it's just fun to see your reaction) while not making a sound and wait till they notice. And even if they don't you always know that no matter how loud they are you can always stab'em right in the liver (figuratively speaking of course). All but purposefully loud noises here are drowned out sufficially that I don't have to worry about this kind of thing almost. And as I said I think that's calming. To quote random lyrics that are actually meaningless but are sung like they're a comforting fact from a band that sold out, "I'm not here, this isn't happening." That is from some Radiohead song on Kid A by the way. Predictable music, just the way I need it right now, quiet, predictable and drawling. Good bye, we will talk once again once I calmly walk to take care of my duties here. I hope you liked this excursion into my mind which I hope to continue.

Continuation: I figured it out, I feel drugged, I feel like a woman on prozac except it's great. I'm mellow, relaxed calm but able to concentrate and complete tasks [and women can't do that with or without prozac so I guess theres not as much of a similarity as i thought]. Thoughts are running through my head in organized patterns and I'm able to write easily. I'm more at peace than a hippie. I'm still listening to the same Kid A album, by now I should just set it on repeat but I don't want to mess with the crumbling cord. I told one of the dudes here with me how great I felt and he just looked at me weird and said he'd give almost anything to not be here right now. Then again he's doing work in all the in between moments too where I'm just thinking with a keyboard. I finally caught someone on aim. Apparently mine broke down so I had to restart it in order to update my buddy list. I was wondering why no one was on except Jerry who didn't respond once. Oh well, I don't mind, all I know is that I don't want this feeling of total and complete satisfaction to stop. Maybe I'm just one of those people who can really enjoy a routine. Or maybe I have so few routines in my life that I don't rethink every day that it's just a different experience for me. I mean I had fun gluing a sheet of plastic to a metal part. Now even if you ask me right now, I'd say that's a pretty dang mundane activity, but it was fun. I had real fun doing it, and doing it well. This could be a real gem in me I've never tapped before. There isn't a job in the world that doesn't include a mundane component such as this. Of course I don't want to be stuck just doing a repetitive component, but at least I can deal with it well which is good.

No time right now to finish, gotta converse, converse, converse. I'm mad, mad in love and I ain't holding back.

On another note I had an awesome dream when I went to sleep. I have a recurring alternate universe in some of my dreams where I have like 3 or 4 siblings and my entire family is pretty hick. We live in the same house but I have this jalopy of a car. Last night I drove my slightly older brother and his huge [HUGE - like more than person sized] stuffed bear home from some place which could be anything from alcoholism therapy to school. We went inside after parking along the road before my driveway and I told my Mom I was off to go on a date with my girlfriend so she said not to be home late or something and I went. Then I went out to my car and was surprised not to see Billy (I think that's my older brother's name) and his stuffed bear in the car. I went back and I was like, "Mom, now where's Billy and that silly toy of his?" and she says, "They wanted to come along with you but I told them no because you're going out with a girl." to which i said, "Now why would you go and hurt his feelings like that, of course I'm taking him with me, and that stupid toy too [stupid in an affectionate way]." So I got my brother who seemed severely distraught because he had an apparently strong emotional bond to me even though he looks like a 40 year old trucker out of texas (you know one of this thin wrinkly ones with the white dirty straight hair sticking out at odd angles out under from their trucker cap). So he's all happy and shit and we go to my car and he hops in and i say, "Bro, I'd take you anywhere, you mean that much to me."

A number of fucked up stories have happened in that alternate reality but it's quite cohesive and interesting. Now that I think about it I have 2 to 3 sisters only one of which participates in my dreams alot because she's a bit of a tomboy and the others are prudes and at least 3 brothers, 2 younger twins or close born and billy who might be mentally retarded because my mom drank during pregnancy. Everything that happens in that reality is either funny in a non make fun of hicks way or it's very emotional and powerful. I don't know why or how but I wanna see some more in the near future. I remember one where me and my two younger brothers went out to harrass (like not sexually) a bunch of girls up the street from us and it was alot of fun for all of us as we ran around, drove around and howled like idiots and chased each other. I think that may be where my girlfriend came from, who incidentally doesn't look like a hick at all and is quite possibly my ideal of a female while I look and act a bit like a hick, although I am the more responsible one in the family [not saying much]. I haven't seen my Dad in it though. I should try to will it to happen. That would be sweet if it works. And it's a much more reasonable goal than to have your dreams become prophetic [ahem].

Even after sleeping for 5 hours I still feel pretty good, the feeling hasn't gone away really. Although it's a little wasted because no ne is here. It's Saturday night guys [technically Sunday morning], why is no one satying up? I don't currently have any thoughts other that the Space Cossacks are great and i should get their other album(s?). I will be back to satiate my imaginary readership at the first point where I have the time.

Man I read through Mark's blog and I feel like someone took a sledgehammer to my head. Powerful stuff. Emotions spawn emotions I guess. I missed so much about him. To think he was going through so much during senior year and I had no idea. I don't know if to wish that my life was as exciting as his. Next, all of Mark's old blog.

Ok Mark's old blog is fucking weird. Were we all like that sophomore year? I remember pretty clear being as unreasonable and opinionated as I am now. But damn with Mark it's like two different people. The stuff I wrote when I made this blog looks a little outdated and unpolished to me now, but it's not such a huge difference. Damn. I guess people grow.

Only a month left now and things start to get shitty. Summer has flown by like always with no memories left, not even dead husks of memories. I feel like I'm throwing my life away. And I'm completely calm about it. Relaxed and under control. Still a day longer before I can let go. After getting a good night's sleep. More like a good entire day's sleep. In the past 52 hours I have slept 5 hours. I got so tired that my imagination stopped working. I couldn't think of what things and people I know looked like. It was just descriptive phrases in my head with no images attached. It was fucking weird. So I slept. I want to let my energy manifest itself but I can't allow it till we're done, which is in 22 hours. And a drive home. But goddamn I can't take my mind off Mark. Nothing else really sinks in at the moment. Finally, I found someone who's like, interesting and original. And he's gone in a month. And then I'll move on to college where I cut myself off to make sure I don't fuck it up like I did Uni. I think that if I try for that extreme I'll hit somewhere right in the middle. And most people suck so it won't be as hard as Uni which you would miss. Or at least I would. Damn I'm hungry.

5 hours sleep in 60 right now and I feel melancholy that is so great I can't put it into words, although I bet Mark could. For once I'm unpestered enough to care for those who deserve it. I need to wake up and smell the coffee, and I think I'll make my transition before I have to get back. It's these terribly lonely long times away that cause changes in me, and if I don't expose myself to them from time to time I just become an asshole. And I don't want to be one. Really. Laugh and point all you want but I want to be nothing but nice to people, they just wear me out over time. When you're in a job envirnoment where the people are simply trying to get a job done and everyone wants it to end as soon as possible, it's as good as being alone. I want to thank anyone who read that entire post, or kept reading my updates over time, since I really could've said it all much quicker. Remind me to do that next time so my readership will be more satisfied.