In 1657 AD, the emperor of Gustonia called upon his manservants to find him a special elixer. Hed heard that a drink that would both prolong and enhance his waking hours existed and, seeing as how his wife had been complaining that hed been putting in too many hours on the throne, the Emporer (whos name was Kazookazoo) was determined to find said drink. So, the manservants set out on a quest to fulfill the Emporers wish.

Along the way, the servants encountered many interesting people and had many an adventure, but rather than bore you with all of that, Ill cut right to the chase.

Upon their return to Gustonia, Emporer Kazookazoo rejoiced at the discovery of his servants. He threw an elaborate banquet featuring this new-found drink. Needless to say, the people of New Gustonia loved the drink and began enjoying it everyday. Soon, they needed it everyday just to survive. Their eyes became sore and their blood vessels narrowed. They became less prosperous. They became slaves to the drink. Then, a flood hit and they all drowned, thus ending the mighty reign of Gustonia.

Moral of the story: It’s not Starbucks, it’s the caffiene. No matter where you get it from, it will surely poison you.

When I was younger, maybe 9 or 10, I read the book Harriet the Spy. It was then that I began to fill my days with little notebooks that never held many words because I lacked the focus to stick with one activity for more than a few minutes. Although I observed many things, I rarely wrote them down. Realizing what a crummy spy I was, I abandoned my game for another, and that one for another, and so forth. Eventually, however, writing came back into my life and grew from something that I had to force into something that I had to do. Many a high school algebra II class was spent frantically scribbling scenes that never developed into anything more. When not inspired, I was moody, bitter. When inspired, Id sit until my hand cramped, notebook pages filling at lightening speed. One of the best summers I ever had was spent working on an epic exploration of character development. I have those notebooks stashed in my closet. They still smell sweet from the time bug repellant leaked in my bookbag.

I used to have to write for fear of my head exploding. Then life became real and I no longer needed to write. Even when I wanted to, words failed me, blank paper staring up, mocking my emptiness. I dont remember ever being happier. Unfortunately, Im finding myself forced to write again. I suppose this means my life has somehow slipped away into that place where memories go. The less I experience, the more I write. Im currently chained to my notebook which is, in a way, depressing, and in another way, a relief. Fortunately, no one expects much from someone who hides under the bed.

Last night I got a back-alley body piercing. Im now sporting two rings in my right eyebrow, one 16 gauge with a blue ball, the other 14 gauge with a silver ball. Yeah, yeah, Im big pimpin, true ghetto stylee.

I did learn a valuable lesson, tho. If youve been drinking, dont pierce a part of the body thats prone to bleeding. Im pretty sure my khakis are ruined now :p

At this point, Im almost certain that Ryan is hiding behind the shrubs in front of my house brandishing a knife and chanting, “If she doesnt up-date to-night, Ill kill her..” In order to avoid an early and grisly death, Im writing, even though I really dont have anything to say. Ive been busy moving my website to a new server and pissing around with the HTML for my friends site, so Im kinda strapped for material right now. I just finished reading Memoirs of a Beatnik, and Ive been wanting to write about that. Maybe tomorrow..