[size=11] My toe is "jammed". When a finger or toe is rapidly bent all the way back very quickly the injury the results is often called a "jam", but I don't know why. The finger or toe in question starts to hurt, particularly when in certain position. It will swell, and in many cases, be visibly bruised purple. It heals pretty quickly, but it is damn annoying for a few days. SO the summer virtually over now, and I am no worse for the wear SO to speak, excepting, of course, my jammed toe. Yes, the summer is over, and all I have to say is "****!", which is a thing I seem to say a lot, along with "I don' know..." There's a lot of things I don't know. I had this idea recently, it would sort of be like an extension into the REAL WORLD the kind of **** I do in Random Silliness: Any intresting anecdote or idea you have to write, you would write, on a little scrap of lined paper, and you'd tape it to a parkbench or a lamp-post or a drinking fountain some where, and some one would see it, and they would read it, and your idea would be read. I suppose I'm obsesed with this concept. If you read my posts here, I woudln't be suprised if you've already figured it out. Anecdotes and ideas being read, I mean, them being posted, and someone, somewhere, reads them, and you are published, you, in the form of this ****** little form of self-expression. This is what I am obsessed with, the postings, somewhere. 'Cuase though it is an infirior way of getting published, the postings in the corners of the internet, and on little scraps of paper taped to parkbenches, it is the only way for some people and some ideas. If you compiled all the little ideas you have, your little anecdotes, or your ramb'lings, or your short stories, or your bad poetry, into a book... no one would buy it. It's not worth buying, these little thoughts. People don't buy that ****, people buy novels, good, original, creative novels. Or nonfiction. Something longer, and more intresting. SO you'll never be famous, a bestseller, posting these little **** bits, but you will get published. Maybe someone will read, and note that it is clever. Maybe. If they like what you said, and they aren't to busy posting their own **** bits to notice anything else, like I often am. ****! What about music? Well, that's even worse. People buy CD's, you see, not little scraps of a refrain for a song you built in your head. Well, actually, they probably steal it off Kazaa. But that's no the point. The point is, even when you compose a little ditty in your head, that's a long way from acually being a rocksuperstar. It's just something in your head. To get published the real way, with your own album from some big corprate record company, it takes more. You need a band. You need to be able to play an instrament well, or be able to sing, or both. You need to figure out some way to get the melody in your head onto paper in music notation, so it can be played on a real instrument. And I just do melodies, you need baselines, and drums and **** for it to sound good, for it to sound Cee Dee Kwalihtee. Or rather, Kazaa quality. It takes practice! You need to get the band, and get along with the band, and practice, and practice, and practice 'till you hate the damn song, it takes a drive I don't have, and luck, to get noticed, to make it big, for the millions to hear your song, and figure out what it means, and love it, and love you and buy all your albums, well, actually, they'll just take it off Kazaa. It's a lot of work, and I won't persue it, I've got other things to persue, and I don't have the drive, and it's all to much work to let be heard the little rock ditties I scream in my head. SO I post the lyrics of this **** on line (size 9; italic), and someone might read it, although it's a for cry from the real ****. They'll never hear the tune I have in mind, the vocal intonations, the stuff of dreams and hero, the things I scream in to the microphone inside my head. THough most people who see it probably assume that it's not mine, that it's just lyrics from my favortie band that I am posting 'cause I can't think of anything my self. SO what? Okay. IT's cool. Well, ****. It doesn't matter, and it happens all the time. All the people out there, who create, but they haven't got the drive, or some thing. But even if I did have the drive, and I got a band, and notated everything, I suppose it's pretty damn egotistical to assume that people would like it, that they would buy it, or download it. But that's okay. I say my egotistical **** on line, and then I can be a nice person in real life, with all my steam blown off. In theory, anyway. It's at least some form of publishing, and most people in the world have no internet, and have to work hard to try and stay alive. I like the internet, you can publish, you can play games, ANY thing. It's like a good dream, it's amazing. I had a wierd dream last night. It's odd how dreams work. IT seems real when you are dreaming. And when you wake up, you forget everything, very quickly. It would be cool if there was a DreamWorld, an alternate universe where you go when you fall asleep. SO you'd be living two lives, and you switch between them whenever yo fall asleep in one. But it would have to be so that you'd remember the other life, when you were in one of them, otherwise, what would be the point of being able to do two things, if you could never remember one, while doing the other? It almost sort of reminds me of Dayworld, a book by someone else, Philip José Farmer. That's the kind of book people buy. And you should. Very good book. Maybe I will review it in the Reviews module on sluggy dot net. But about my dream, I can barely remember any of it, now, which is odd 'cause I do remember it being so real (like dreams usually do), I actually believed that it was happening. SO what do I remember? I was walking home, from school, let's say, and for some reason, in a neighborhood I know is not mine, and this guy I know and someone else smeared white paint on my head just because, and I complained to this woman, I guess it must have been the guy's mom or something and she just laughed or something, she had no sympathy. And then there was another part to the dream, that I barely remember at all. It involved some other people I know, and something about getting to a specific place at a specific time, and... ****, I don't remember. All I really remember from part 2 of the dream was the setting. The sidewalk of a specific road I know, and it was all dark and rainy. Perfect weather! Exciting, at the very least. Another thing that is odd about dreams is the way that, sometimes, when you are what they call "half-asleep", you can know you are dreaming, but still BE IN THE DREAM, so to speak. It's a very odd experience, I can assure you. SO school has started again, now, and I think that is pretty wicked all right. I'm hell of busy, but that's all right. It's a good busy, the kind where you know you've achieved some thing. I wass pretty angry this evening, I know. It didn't really start with the shoes, but it's as good of a place as any to start. I just got these new shoes, 'cause it was time to get new ones, and I tried them out today, and as I was running in them TODAY I realized after buying them that they felt akward (sp?). They might be a little wide. And the heel is too cushioned. Heck, I compared it to my old shoe, and it has SO much more damn cushoning it's absurd, but it's not really hpw much of it there is, that really matters, 'cuase you get used to that, but it's the fact that so much of it is on the heel as compared to the rest of the foot that... I don't know, the shoe just felt odd, and I read in this book about how shoe companies, thinking the heel hit is natural, make shoes with extra padding there, even though the heel hit is bad, it generates breaking forces and such. AND **** I should have paid more attention in the store to the shoe and if it really genuinely was comfortable, I didn't know I am so stupid, they said you can take it back after less than 4 miles, but I don't even know if the shoe is bad, or I am just not used to it. But hell, we just got it 'cuase it was the same brand of the old ones I had, and THOSE worked nifty awesome, so we just got these, and they were expensive, and such, but we can't return them, I would be shamed, I would be shamed in front of father, I dont know why, but I know I would so I can not. But hell, shoes are shoes, right? They keep your feet from hitting the ground, and after that function, what does anything else matter, right, yeah? SO I'll just adjust to the damn shoes and if they ruin my form, then I probably deserved it. Yeah. So I was running, and I was so damn ra-aggh because of the above, (and yeah, I know how it is so trivial, but don't YOU be SO self-righteous, 'cause you Know...), And I was also just sort of down because I felt like I wasn't getting enough time to my self (WHY did I pick the courses I did, on another note), 'cuase, anyway, on the other day I got this book, father actually bought it for me though it was only two dollars American, and it was by that Farmer guy I mentioned before (Why am I mentioning other peoples work? Could I possibly...no.) and I had really wanted this book for so long, because it was the series kicker, and I really needed to know, so I had been reading it a lot, and but father interuppted my reading to help him with some tasks, and then, later, going to the store to get gutters, and I just wanted a long block of many hours where I could be completely uninterrupted, like, with the house empty and such, but anyway, so I was reading on and off, though the day between the things we had to do, and he kept mentioning how pulled in I was into the book, and I felt so guilty and so hassled, and, like, after the store, he was painting the gutters and I was reading, and I knew, I SHOULD have volunteered to help, that would have been the good thing to do [OH, I just realized I have to do my damn laundry, damn] so even though I was uninterupted, mostly, for a while, I was plagued by my feelings and the rus'ling of other people being in the general vicinity of me, and my ah-raagh was buliding, and father even came in once or twice to ask if I knew any tips on painting, and he said after that "I'll leave ["Can you get off in a little while?... Don't turn it off I need to check something"] you to your book", and, ooh, even though I have no justification to feel any way, 'cause I didn't earn any of my stuff, even the book, still am childish like this, oh well, you don't know me over the internet, so you can't hurt me, or anything like that. And then the second time said that I should read outside, and I don't knwo why I COULDN'T JUST BE LEFT ALONE, and then later he asked if I should run tonight, do it now 'cause we are having company over, and I couldn't not do it, 'cause I skipped yesterday and that would be letting the team down, especially this year, I think (half-in-jest), with our personel, we might be able to make a title run (pardon the pun) this year, although when I said that in practice, no one believed me. But everybody smiles. Everybody is relaxed. SO would you call that good morale, or bad morale? I don't know, either. But so I am running, AND I AM SO ANGRY WITH A 1,000 suns, but it is unjustified, I know, but I just wanted to lie in bed and find out what happens to Burton, Clemens, et al., and SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP and there was also the burden with the shoes and SHUT UP SHUT UP. I would have actually done a lot of reading the night before, but I was on the phone, and while that was interesting, too, I mean, I know you are thinking, well, why were you talking on the phone, and it's not like I could hang up. How is the real way to end a conversation? I don't know! Can you just say "I don't ant to talk to you right now"? I know I can not say that, so I talked, so, while that was cool too, I just wanted Uninteruppted, but I'm so lucky already, it's okay, to say, today, I'm online, okay. [/size]