Tuesday, 02/25/03 - 2:24 pm.
Today is George Harrison's 60th birthday. I was hoping the newspapers would mention something about it, but they didn't. People tend to choose conmemorating the day they died rather than the day they were born. However, on both newspapers there was a small mention of sir Paul (I think I'll never get used to say "Sir")...one about giving a private concert for a CNN executive producer's birthday and another one about his wife, Heather.
And if anything, there was an article about Norah Jones, who's the daughter of Ravi Shankar, a sitar player who influenced The Beatles ("norwegian wood")....which brings me back to George, because he was the one into indian music (hence the use of the sitar) and religion and got the other three into those things....Happy birthday, George. You're deeply missed (I don't know why, but it's different to wish happy birthday to someone-famous-you-don't-know who is alive than to wish happy birthday to someone-famous-you-don't-know who is not).
I dreamed of self-mutilation. I slit my wrist, I cut a finger, I slashed my forearm...my entire arm was covered in blood, and I was just concerned about my family finding out about it, because the bleeding wouldn't stop. I thought I was gonna bleed to death. Groovy.
Today happens to be my last day of freedom. I start driving lessons tomorrow, at fuckin' 8 o'clock. It's cool and it isn't. It depends on what you side you want to look at it. I'll be taking driving lessons for a month or so. And next week, I start college. The real deal, not the dumb courses.
Tomorrow after my first driving lesson (it's just theory the first seven days) I have to go to the UCA for more paperwork I don't quite understand.
This paperwork thing is very funny, because I'm scheduled to do it at a certain time. And it just SO happens that D is scheduled to do it at the same time (yes, I checked his schedule too, I suck). Only somewhere else in the campus. It's cool and it isn't. It depends on what you side you want to look at it.
I just had a dejavu.
You see, I do not want to see him. What for, anyway? I want to be seen by him, which is different. You know, just so he'll remember I exist. "Oh, there goes...what's her name?". I don't think it'd be nice to run into him at all. Then again, tomorrow I'll probably be whining about not getting to see him.
Whatever made my schedule be the same as his (call it Higher Power, UCA administration, coincidence, fate or Jimmy Hoffa)...I'm sorry, I must say it's an awful mistake. I always whised he and I would have the same schedules at the UCA (by the way, we don't...just tomorrow's paperwork), but that was before I finally decided to (try to) kick him out of my life. Now I'm forced to think about running into him again, and how awkward, dumb, simple and numb that eventuality would be.
It probably won't happen, anyway. I'm just making a big fuss out of it.
Yesterday I realized that I hadn't got out of the house since last wednesday, and that's an ENTIRE week. I told you I was boring person. I am Jack's lack of funny bone.
Look, my mom brought me a little desk and a little table for my bedroom. She says I always toss my backpack on the floor, that I'll be more comfortable working on a table than on the floor. My mom doesn't understand I love to toss myself on the floor. Both the table and the desktop are for the things I leave on the floor. Mom's always trying to build your charachter, isn't she? What's wrong with the floor, anyway?...well, "getting stepped on" it's a different subject, let's not go there.
"God!" Ringo said afterwards, "they hurt! They felt just like hailstones. Y'see in England, we call them jelly babies and they're soft. It all started when someone sent George a box of jelly babies. But John ate George's. So people wrote and said 'don't eat George's. We'll send you some for yourself'. So then Paul ate John's and the same thing happened. Finally, they sent us a 22-pound jelly baby. But when they throw 'em on the stage, it gets sticky, y'know?"
I hope John and George are celebrating with jelly babies.
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