Jesus christ. I've been so busy plannin' things I really can't hope to get off the ground right now with the thesis presentations an' all that nonsense, that I totally forgot to pick up all the end of the year shit at the University. So, I guess I'm graduatin' next weekend, and I still ain't got my cap and gown, or any of the invitations to the awards banquets. Guess I should really start checkin' my fuckin' mailbox.

So what I'm tryin' t'say, is that I totally forgot to put in for a few days off next week, and I hope it ain't a huge problem, because...well, 'cause I gotta do all that walkin' across the stage shit. It's a useless, pointless ceremony that just delays the inevitable and seeks to further the notion that we're actually gettin' somethin' amazin' from a slip of paper.

Sucks that you gotta be a part of the System in order to get anywhere these days.

So even though both Abstract Expressionism and Surrealism are both concerned with the subconscious, one can apparently be defined in Classical artistic definitions, while the other tends to follow the Romantic idea of “distilling perceived truth through the personal vision of the artist.” Whatever the fuck that means. The problem is that people confuse the two movements all over the fucking place, and now I’ve got to sort through all the literature I’ve assembled and try to pick through which is which in order to finish up the critical annotated bibliography for my thesis. What is interestin’, though, what I didn’t know, is that Surrealism, as an artistic movement (before the Literati appropriated the name and philosophy), also emerged from anti-Catholic sentiments. Surrealism, is technically a disestablishmentarianist movement. The irony, here, is that by tearin’ down one System, they unwittingly created another.

Something to look out for.

Like goddamn faulty elevators and short bitches.

Slow Saturday. So. Mapped out my apartment. Think I got the measurements pretty spot on.



Think maybe I should do some rearrangin'; the vinyls are takin' up the whole corner of the living room.

( Private to Ishida )

Hair's finally orange again. About fuckin' time, I say. For awhile I was rockin' some pretty shady green-grey stuff as the black started washin' out Ishida, you fucker, but I think (now that I cut it again) it's about gone. Let it be known that if I'm still gettin' Kaien's paperwork, there's gonna be some ass kickin' if you know what I'm sayin'. Ain't no more resemblance, and I don't want to hear about it.

And on that note, stuff's been suspiciously calm with the computers because I've been busy with this whole graduatin' thing. No server errors. Just the usual viruses and spyware we always get when people start downloadin' porn. That said, if anyone from the company's got any computer issues, y'better let me know now, before anything else happens.

Show this weekend downtown. Small stuff. Think I might go.

( Private to Ishida. )

( Private. )

FUCK bein' a Lit Major.

( Private )

Shit is fucked.

Guess that's the most eloquent way I can sum up what's goin' on right now, in all aspects of everythin'.

Things at work have hit the fan, and everythin' seems to be breakin' down all at once and it doesn't make sense at all. I may have gotten myself into a lot more than I can fix easily. I've had to put a lotta things on the backburner for awhile, and stuff is totally heatin' up at school too. Can't really screw around senior year in the last portion of work and gettin' stuff done. There's this whole thing called a "future" and yeah, apparently we're supposed to be makin' it a good one. That's what the System tells us to do--

Here's a cookie-cutter outline of the life you gotta lead. This is where to start, where to put your hands, where to apply, where to end up. Yanno, novels weren't written as things to entertain people. Technically speakin' of course, a novel ain't even one of those books--s'was an outcry against political and social conventions. Only way you could say what you wanted was through books and metaphor and shit.

( Private. )



( Private to Ishida )

This wasn't exactly part of the conference or anythin', but I heard this chick down at a café after the conference one day. A lotta that spoken word shit is totally self-righteous crap, but I dunno, I heard this one and I think it made me at least stop and think for a minute. This is what's behind the system.

Windchimes.

Long goddamn week, let me tell you. Then again, can't really complain about gettin' three free credits and a semi-tropical vacation--though, I can think of a few people I'dve rather spent it with instead of three old bats from the English Department (but they're pretty punk rock; they got tenure and that means they can do whatever the fuck they want and the educational SYSTEM of the University's gotta keep 'em on). I am jet lagged.

All in all, only got kicked outta two panels, and they sucked anyway. Wrote a review for one of the books in one of those panels, and it might be gettin' some print time in this magazine or whatever. I'm sure no one will take it seriously with a title like "Rock Out With Your Cock Out: Kathy Acker Unleashed." Some of the seminars were really worthless, but there was an interestin' one on modernizin' Shakespeare. Still don't know what to think about it, but I guess that means at least I'm still thinkin'. And yeah, my own panel went okay. Real okay. Guess if I really give this grad school thing a shot like the old bags want me to, people are gonna know me from that (even though I don't wanna get labeled as the surrealist-guy, 'cause really, I ain't that into it).

My apartment looks even more spartan than our hotel room at the conference, so that's somethin'.

And now those corporate wheels are turnin' again. No one gives a shit about literature when computers gotta be fixed and TPS cover sheets are missin'. The dungeon office looks a lot like it did when I left it, which is kinda reassurin', I guess. Though why am I still gettin' Kaien's paperwork? Most of my stuff is technical anyway, so I don't see why I'm gettin' papers too. Whoever's leavin' 'em on my desk--have you taken a look at my hair lately? The black's runnin' out. I think it's somethin' about the pool chlorine or the salt water. I dunno, but either way, it sorta looks greyish-black now Ishida, you win this round for sure.

Left a box of cocktail umbrellas in the office lounge. Now we can all enjoy bad coffee with a flourish.

( Clichéd Tropical Images )

I'm home.

I rule.

Alright, so, it's pretty fuckin' embarassin' havin' to practically carry a bunch of old ladies drunk on dessert liquor back to their rooms. I almost took this dude's head off when he flashed me the thumbs up.

Ended up gettin' kicked out of the Post-punk literature panel today. Ain't the purpose of a panel to discuss, in an intelligent kinda fashion, the varying aspects of said panel's topic? Chick can't handle criticism. I bet if it'd been a guy, I wouldn't have gotten punted. Only consolation was that half the panel came with me after I was speakin'. Awesome. Now I'm hopin' the rest of those brainwashed idiots come to the thing I'm supposed to be runnin' and try and use that same shit on me--ain't gonna work unless they got some literary basis for their "opinions." Pfft.

Did a lotta beach walkin'. Met some people. Had a few beers. Found somethin' pretty damn cool. Hope it doesn't break on the way home.

Alright. So I'm in this place or whatever, finally, and I'm pretty sick of planes. I'm gettin' the idea that these ladies ain't out to grandmother me, if yanno what I'm sayin'. Soon as you get outta the classroom, all they wanna know about's your life, what you're doin', who you're doin', the whole nine yards. I finally escaped to the business lobby of our hotel to try and check up on a few...projects. That and I ain't into gettin' drunk on port and bad sherry in the lounge with them. Not yet anyway. Maybe by the end of the week.

It is warm here, and that's somethin'. Interestin' talk about Pynchon too and the nature of satire in literature and criticism and all that fuckin' jazz. Guess my panel's gonna be sometime later in the week, accordin' to this here program I'm lookin' at (man, they'll be goddamn sorry they let me have a microphone), and there's a coupla others I wanna go to. Post-punk, cyberpop literature? HA. This one's mine, ladies. I'm gonna go chill out with a palm tree--they're pretty badass.

Miss me yet?

HAPPY FUCKIN' NEW YEAR.

Alright, seriously...anybody doin' anythin'? Because I've been packin' for this goddamn conference and drinkin' the bottle of gin on the counter and it's really fuckin' lonely.

There's been an apparent change of plans. I didn't have this journal thing before I sorta knew about it, and I kinda put in for time off just in case but...didn't think I was gonna be goin'. Down South there's this whole English in Literature convention that everyone goes to, an' Shelton, Robinson, and Mulligan want me to go with them this year (I think this has somethin' to do with them tryin' to get me to teach or somethin' someday). They're offerin' me three credits for doin' absolutely nothing except goin' with them and presentin' my thesis for a panel, so why the hell not? Nothin' like partyin' with a bunch of old bags, I always say.

So I'm gonna be gone until the tenth, I guess. Might be able to address some shit from there, but who knows what our "accomodations" are gonna be like.

If you work people are readin' this, that means I ain't gonna be around to fix your stuff. If you need anythin' takin' care of, you better get it to me before January 1st.

Ho ho ho. Merry fuckin' Christmas. I don't think I've ever had a hangover carry over before. I may actually have Christmas related presents for people--you know who you are.

I think I've locked myself in my office for the past few days, just tryin' to put things back where I think they mighta gone. I don't want to go to anymore parties that this place throws anytime soon. Goddamn disaster. At any rate, I found two halfway decent monitors I can link, and a ton of other busted hard drives I can cannibalize for parts. I even had a filing cabinet. Who knew? There's a green screen Mac I might be able to fuck around with, and one of those great old toothed printers that use the rolls of paper with those crazy perforations. Perfect.

And that was the semester I never thought I'd see end. I'm gonna rot my brain as much as possible this winter pause and go to as many shows as I still can. This is the best time to get plans movin'. Alright, well, maybe I'll read a few books. Shelton put me in touch with a local publishin' company, and I guess they pay for well-written reviews of whatever's on their bestseller list. Maybe I can get paid for burnin' someone. S'worth a shot.

( Private. )

Alright.

I finished all but one of my final papers for the semester, so I think I finally got that school nonsense in order.
I finally bought new fish food for that betta. Not dead yet.
Realized that Dad's the one who keeps dropping off the umeshu. Problem rectified.
I disavow any knowledge of karaoke.

I know I kinda holed up in my apartment and my office for awhile, but there was a lot that needed doin' and I've been makin' plans. I ain't gonna apologize, but I didn't forget about you guys. And just in time--Ganju, Renji, I'm gonna need your help with Operation Secret Santa Mayhem somethin', so drop me a line before tonight. And what the hell do you wear to somethin' like this anyway?

( Private. )

It has come to my attention that I actually have paperwork. Who knows--maybe it'll be a nice break from the green screen escapades I gotta deal with everyday. I also got the e-mail notifications about the Christmas party and this Secret Santa nonsense, which seems like a valiant effort to spare the workplace money. If you're so bent on gettin' someone somethin', then do it. If not, don't bother. Ridiculous. And who picked the names, huh?

( Private )

I don't even really like ume-shu. I get the worst headaches, and I'm not talkin' about hangovers either. I swear, it's this crazy, instantaneous reaction. So really, I don't get why I have this uncanny fascination with drinkin' it. Sometimes I worry that all these masochistic tendencies are gonna catch up with me. I left the last of the jar out in my neighbor's stairwell. Last time they were goin' at it, all my vinyls stacked against the wall fell all over the floor. Either they'll trip over it or hopefully drink enough to pass out; either way sounds like a good plan in my book.

Just finished that portfolio for that creative writing class I was required to take. Man, I dunno how that's gonna go over, but it's done and in her mailbox at Uni.

And speakin' of drinkin', I heard there was a bit of a to-do the other night at Harry's. For once, I'm glad Uryuu turned down my invitation to go out, 'cause I was definitely plannin' on goin' there. We've all heard the stories. Ise was bitchin' about that guy when she dropped off her Palm Pilot with me. Does the public so readily swallow that shit? I'll talk to Renji about it.

There's always so much goin' on at work that it's hard to put filter everythin' through sometimes. I still find it hard to believe there's only one computer consultant for such a big company, but at least with just one person, it's easier to keep track of everythin'. Unless anyone else's got any complaints, I think I've dealt with that virus that's been circulatin', though that server hole is still an issue.

Kuchiki-san, if you're readin' this, I left that manual in your mailbox but it's the only one we've got, and it's for a different kind of machine than what we have.

( Private to Ishida. )

( Private. )

Yo, Shiba-san (not you, Ganju). We gotta start wearin' nametags, apparently. There's been a little bit of a mix up and I'm sick of still getting all your goddamn paperwork. Is this some kind of a joke?!.

Classes are slippin' on quickly enough, and it seems like my continental literature professor really digs me. Contemporary British literature sucks, big surprise. I don't mind the material, but this old bag just won't stop talkin'. There ain't not discussion, and you'd think in this kind of class level, we'd be able to have discourse, right? Pfft. I mean, there's a lot to talk about in terms of colonialism. Imperialism. The System, trying to ruthlessly assimilate all semblances of culture. We ain't meant to be homogenous.

Milton paper went well even though I finished it in a few hours.

And man, what the hell is goin' on with the computers at work? Seriously, I ain't seen nothin' like this in a long time. If ever. I haven't been this busy since the server move, and I hope I can maybe restore all the old system settings. That might require another system server switch and patch, which would leave the network outta commission for awhile. How did a college "computer consultant" end up as a nearly full time position? Must've been downsizin'.

Better start my analysis paper.

( Private. )

I swear, stuff at work gets more random every single day and half this shit isn't even stuff I engineered. Fortunately, I managed to stay in my office most of the day until Hitsugaya was all askin' me to get the porn off his computer. Not too many black hair comments, which was nice. I was definitely in the mood for some ass kickin' action. I did, however, find an old Polaroid camera in the rubble that is my closet office. ( So, I took a coupla pictures: )

But I guess there were only two sheets of negatives in there. Bummer. Polaroids are perfect for documentin' mischief.

I got that paper done, late last night, after Tatsuki left. Bruce Lee makes everythin' better.

( Private to Ishida. )

x. read Milton
x. talk to Ishida
x. get more Polaroid film
x. get more betta food
x. put all of kaien's paperwork back on his desk

Have thus managed to conduct all work from my closet office today. Got in really early. Actually did the server updates.

So far, so good.