I Smoke Myself to Sleep.

This day is possibly the most perfect fall day weather that I have ever experienced: sixty-something with no clouds in the sky, and I was lucky enough to score an outside seat at Espresso Royale, where I sit in my raddest hipster-outfit... writing on my angsty blog. Sometimes I am just too much for myself! Artsy and such with lots of exposed calf-muscles.

Of course, the man to the left of me was just as lucky with his large pack of mentholated Newports that he insists on smoking incessantly. The woman next to me is smoking as well and "not well" as she (a landlord, I gather) is on the phone with her lawyer. The wind is changing directions and either way just results in ashes on my jeans. I have turned up Joshua Radin to irritate them away and, thus far, have failed in my attempts.

I don't have much to say, but sometimes I just enjoy letting my thoughts flow obnoxiously long (like the voicemails i leave on ridiculous answering machines).

Interesting tidbits in the life of John:

Xu (my accounting TA-guy) decided to announce when our first surprise quiz is occurring. However, he wouldn't tell us what it would cover... except that we should "pay attention to chapter 8 and make sure to look over pages 396-411 in our textbook." Oh Xu, you are so sneaky. How will I ever decipher your cryptic emails? I'm surely doomed to fail your course. However, your simple class is leaving me with an A- sitting at 95%. There is something illogical about those curve numbers.

Someone chose to "deface" the phone book attached to the pay phone in front of me, changing "Dex" to "Dextrose". If that isn't offensive, I don't know what is. Note to science-nerds (I'm not claiming immunity): when you choose to deface anything, try to throw in some sort of racist or sexist slur coupled with a signature marking your territory. It will convince people that you are actually hardcore... and spreading ignorance. Isn't that the point of graffiti? No, I think not.

On top of that, an Escalade driver is trying her very best to parallel park into a spot clearly only wide enough for a Prius.

I am now officially into changing into a completely new outfit at about 11:30 every day. I just can't stay out of my own closet!

I got the new Dashboard CD (and it's like they put a new one out every time I start a new relationship). That's a weird thought, actually, because it's actually about right the more I think of it. "Would it kill you breathe?" Maybe it would, Chris. Maybe it would.

"Don't pull that bullshit with me. Canadian twenty? This is America." I enjoy catching tidbits of cell phone conversations.

I want a daffodil. I want to always roll my pants up, because it makes people wonder if I actually bike or if I'm just a big douchebag. I would obviously regret to inform that it was a little bit of btoh. I want a Cabernet Sauvignon-fueled dance party. I want to be able to weave together a Halloween costume in the nick of time. I want people to wonder why I'm wearing a tie. I want to be notorious like James Dean and JFK and Elvis. I want to be so famous that I have to have my babies in Africa. I want denim and denim and denim and True Religion and Rock and Republic Seven for all Mankind and other brands that sound like social uprisings or post-hardcore bands. I want to not be asked on a date at work. I want to be so alive that it feels like my pores are splitting and giving life to everything around me. I want to reek of awe and wonder and Thanksgiving dinners. I want to be the colored-page of the newspaper, even if that means that I have to pose as the funny-page. I want a week off. I want to be credit-card debt free and decaffeinated and fueled by something other than grande lattes and franzia and anxiety.

"and I want life in every word to the extent that it's absurd."

I believe in clean breaks. Chris just made me think of that. I have recently said (and maybe always known) that I can never promise anyone I'll always be in their life as long as possible. I'm not like that. I'm a train who constantly switches tracks. I'm more of a helicopter: loud, roaming, all-seeing? Maybe not, but I'm trying to gain some perspective or something.

I believe in spirituality and karma and karma and religion that is more of a guideline than a hard-fast rule. I think everyone understands their own religion completely, especially those that just don't believe in religion at all. I believe that you can appreciate what you have without ever losing it. I believe that not everything happens for a reason. Somethings just happen. I believe in emo haircuts and self expression and leopard print and maybe even juicy couture sweatsuits and Uggs. I believe in forging your own style. Julie told me today that even though I don't match I was "starting my own trend." Maybe that's the key. Maybe, you always match and you always know what's going on... because at least you know that you don't know.

Scratch that helicopter thought. I'm more like a grasshopper. See how small my line of vision is? Every now and then I can jump to see so much more, but never everything... just everything I see.

Style is about being confident. If you think you're pulling it off, you're pulling it off. That's probably the only thing Banana Republic will teach me. If you think your shoulders look big in that blouse, they do. If you think combat boots match with caramel cashmere dresses, well they probably do.

I think that I'm done for now. Sometimes, I just need things like this to be stable and all-encompassing and karmically-inclined and open. Glasnost. Etc.

Close your eyes and I'll kiss you. Tomorrow I'll miss you. Remember I'll always be true, and, dear, while I'm away I'll write home everyday... and I'll send all my loving to you.

All my loving.