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When I told the faculty advisor to our TV program that I didn';t have a script... he didn't dismember my body and hide the pieces.


The overwealming feeling that the shit will collectively hit the fan in the near future.


Eric Clapton:
Tears In Heaven.


I had an ice cream sandwich for a snack about two hours ago.


Rest... and a good plan will turn the problems of today into the solutions of tomorrow. Cheezy sounding? Yes. Effective plan? I hope so.


(Oct. 4, 2000)
I love it when a plan comes together.

thursday, october 4th

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Quote Du Jour:
"The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain." - (Kahlil Gibran)

Yesterday, I remember thinking to myself that I had gone the entire semester (so far) without getting the blues. I thought about how happy I'd been and how things seemed to be going my way. I wondered when the fun would end... Today, I got my answer.

At the moment, I feel like a hundred bucks in a million dollar world. Okay, so maybe that's a little drastic... But I'm tired and I've got a lot of shit that just seems to be hovering in the air above my head. I'm left here wondering what's gonna fall and if it'll hit me hard enough to kill me.

I didn't do well on the test I had this afternoon because I spent entirely too much time at the newspaper Wednesday night. I still haven't written a script for the segment I'm producing on our university magazine-style television program. I see the pictures in my head... I just don't feel like I do the package justice. I'm supposed to put in 70 hours of work on this program (at least 35 by next Wednesday) and I think I might have 10 or 11 so far. I'm not worried about that... because I know that there will be enough work to reach 70... I just worry about how it looks. Of course, there are other worries in other aspects of my life... But I've said more than enough about the funkiness in life for now. I'll sort all of this out. I might write even about it. But not right now.

Tuesday night, I made the hour-and-a-half drive home for a fire department meeting. When I finally made it back to Oakdale about 2 a.m. Wednesday morning, I had to make a stop at my friendly neighborhood Wal-Mart for some deodorant. Surprisingly, there were quite a few folks doing some early morning shopping. The most notable of these was the fella in front of my in the check-out line.

Maybe it's my nosy nature... Perhaps it's boredom... But if I have to do much waiting before I finally reach the cash register, I take a gander to see what other folks are buying. This guy ahead of me in line only had four items and all four would have been innocent enough if judged on an individual basis. Yet, when purchased together at two in the morning, they formed an interesting and thought-provoking combination... At least, they did for me.

(1) Leggs panty hose.
(2) Four 60 watt light bulbs.
(3) One cucumber.
(4) A roll of Scotch tape.

I've never been a big fan of Martha Stewart, so I really don't know what sort of craft supplies might be in demand... But I really must wonder what on Earth someone would do with those four things at two in the morning. Sure, he might need those items for four separate projects but if I did have to make such a purchase for legitimate reasons, I might be compelled to buy one or two other things to make it all make sense.

My mind probably would not have wondered off in the weird direction it did had it not been for a conversation I had one night at the newspaper office. I believe I mentioned something about having to buy a few weird items at Wal-Mart when we got the paper completed about 4 a.m. We then started coming up with combination of things that would not alert the cashier's suspicions, but at least trigger her dirty mind. A week ago, I probably could have quoted the lists we made verbatim. Today, now that I want to write about them, I can't recall them to save my life. I do know that the most interesting one included things like motor oil, baby diapers, duct tape and frosted whipped topping. Actually, those four things might have been a list of their own... hmmm...

I think I need to run to the store.

copyright © 2001, Thomas Fletcher. all rights reserved.