What would you tell'em?
So much done, say. New old red-bike with the metal wheel-covers from a gears-and-hippies bike-nerd co-op. Hyphens. Try it out tomorrow/monday. $115 without the new sitter, $140 with and plus lock-up bulldog chain. Old mattress softener returned and total the bike leaves me only $40 down and able to go out. No rain gear yet, but it'll come. Replacement cords for electrics ordered. Parents updated on all of many issues and talks of eyeballs school students friends food sleep. Keep forgetting to buy two calendar, tweezer, nail trimmer, something else.
Uni no so bad. Three hour-to-two obligations and one with work. Research seems straightforward and its focus just fine but eventually I'll have to have that uncomfortable talk where I admit I don't care as much about cataloging the mechanisms of thought of mechanisms as I do about how to add function on function on function. "Honestly, all I really want is to make cyborg supersoldiers." It's an awkward thing to admit, like coming out of the closet but more embarassing because it's not a change of orientation here, it's flaw science and weak rationalities. It's monster science and unprofessional nerdery of a bad bad kid. Upside, of course: machine men and cellphone hands.
Turning my office, with the blessings of the officemate, into a personal lounge for lunch, unwind, and background noise. Big TV, view, VCR, loveseat. It's a good life if you don't let it get to you.
To meet people, I'm going to have to start going stupid, being forward and so on and so forth. Not just coming in to conversations when I'm not on the list and got no invitation, but remembering the bold where you ask out after near-to-nothing. Three chances, gone nowhere. Battleback, here we are. Soon we'll pretty again and then acrumble go some armies. Biking again and the slow diet shift: Art of War.
If I could go back in time and give my younger self a piece of advice, it'd be "Vaseline helps prevent scarring".
Because it's true and simple enough for the dumb kid to understand.
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