Pat Gunn (dachte) wrote,
Pat Gunn
dachte

Sore feet, Lonely life.

I'm listening to a band called Hotel Faux Pas. In particular, a song, Satan Makes Me Donuts with a kind of nice semi-Jamaican sound.

A usual friday for me. Well, pretty much. Ate lunch with Lorie. Then went home, bummed around for a bit, and went to the philosophy group. We talked about problems with a priori declarations. I then talked with someone who gave me some job hints, and then went off to Outland. Jessica was there, but she had her bf with her. Oh well. I didn't end up talking at all to her. She's cute, but she's taken. Curse me. Curse my stupid underactive ability to be attracted to people. I hope that some attractive atheists who are single and not broken in some way show up in my life soon. Oh well. Tim, Jason, and Dawon showed up. I danced. I got tired.

On dancing -- it is critical during the initial loosening-up period for me to multi-step to the beat, even if the step is a stomp and not an actual 'dance step'. Otherwise I remain too self-conscious. Alas, it is very tiring to do this.

Well, off I go, either to sleep (and dreams, either nightmares about replays of things with Martha, fantasies about being a wizard, hopeless dreams about having a good relationship with someone, or perhaps one of my two bizarre recurring nightmares about geometric figures gone wrong) or to play a computer game for a few hours and then sleep. Hmm. Sleep is more likely. Yessssssssssss.... upstairs, use bathroom, drink some more water, and back down here to roll up alone (or maybe Wally will join me) on my beanbag.

Tags: music
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