Real quick to explain the above: Saw Galactic a few hours ago, an acid jazz/funk band--absolutely fucking incredible--just went wild. I've heard so much good shit about 'em from other traders, and they were all right.
I got to *dance*! Recording off the soundboard is *so* fucking nice that way...no stand farely still and don't move much or you'll fuck up your tape kind of thing...
I still a little wet from all the sweat...such a wonderful release of pent up energy and emotion, dancing like that is...all your cares just float away and you are one with the groove...

I hate every journalist I've been reading lately. Why? Because thigns are so fucked up for *all* of them. Nrrdboy lost her girfriend, Ray's lost his sleep *and* is forced to live with his newly ex girlfriend. Darcie broke up with her boyfriend, doesn't know why things changed between them, and is now absolutely fucking emotionally confused up the ass. Luny is probably the least unhappy of them all, but still has problems...Sarah's entry for today *almost* felt happy, until about page 6 or 7 or so...*sigh* I hate you all...you make me feel terrible that I *am* happy--probably the least most deserving of the lot, gets happiness. Life is fucked up, I can't change anything for any of them, except a word of encouragement here or there...but little real help that is in your day to day life--"oh yeah, great, got an email about my problems, sure, that's a comfort"...these ppl need a person there, and now, not stupid pixels on a screen.

I go out, see a kick ass show, have an incredible time, then come home and find out I'm the only journalist that had a good time tonight...the only one that seems to be capable of sustaning that good time. I feel guilty, like I've been stealing happiness...what *real* problems have I had that makes happiness such a blessing? Few that I see.

SO don't get me wrong, any of you journalists I currently hate, cuz it's not you per se, it's me. I'm fucked up, but I'm still rather happy...sick i suppose

It's 2:30AM. I'm debating whether or not I should sleep. I have to get up at 8AM anyway...5.5 hours. I guess it's better than nothing--good for a bit of REM sleep.

And one last thing--*no* I did not pick up the new Pearl Jam disc...too busy. I've had those demos for about three months anyway, so I know the songs already...

Amazing how much an impact your journals have made on my own life...far more than I had originally imagined. I was picturing you today, living your life, doing your things...comparing it with what I was doing, pondering stylistic issues, i.e. yours vs. mine. I was projecting my existance into meaninglessness.

OK, so now it's 3:11AM. I was just about to get changed for bed when my body gave me that "what do you think you're doing pal, get in the kitchen now and fix somethign to eat" thing that happens when I'm up past midnight, just b4 bed...It gave me a it of time to think as the cheese melted on my toaster ovened cheese sammich...

Helpless. That's how I feel, and that's what I was trying to say earlier. Now I can finish this cig and sleep.