November 14, 2001 :: 1:48 p.m.
html vs. me
listening to... some obnoxious talk radio that my dad has playing in the living room, and Shakira.
reading... "Me Talk Pretty One Day," by David Sedaris.
feeling... incredibly frustrated.
So I've been trying to get this stupid journal to look the way I want it to since I got up this morning. I've discovered that, for whatever reason, I can't put an image on here that I have uploaded to Dencity, but you know, I can live with that. But for the love God, it should not be this hard to center some text. I mean, really. Honestly now. It's a very simple command that I think my 3 year old niece could comprehend without a problem. Everything is fine. It's just that it doesn't show up that way. So I guess everything really isn't fine, but it seems fine to me. I'll mess with it some more when I'm done writing this, and maybe by the time I turn 30 I'll be semi-satisfied.
I'm sitting here, listening to Shakira. And I have a question: how weird is it for there to be NO WAY to listen to music on a computer through headphones? I cannot do it. There is no headphone jack in the speakers, as there was on the set we used to have, and I alas, inserting the headphone prongy thing into the little hole next to the picture of headphones on both of the cd drives does absolutely nothing. In other words, this is not correct. Oy. I lead such a defective existence. I'm going to go to my car and get my cd player, because I can't deal with this. I have this paranoia about listening to music so that other people can hear it. I mean, not all the time, but in my house and things. I don't know. I'll be right back.
*runs to the car*
Wow. It's really nice out. It kind of smells like manure, though, which I don't understand since I don't live next to a farm or anything.
This is so bad. I haven't even taken a shower yet. I'm really, really lazy if you give me the chance. And since I no longer have a job, I've been having that opportunity, oh, every day. Sleeping in and such is nice, but it feels better if you do it on a not-so-regular basis, I guess, because right now I feel like a sloth. Yeck. Anyway, sleeping in isn't as nice as having money, which at this point I don't. I have 57 dollars in my savings account, and less than that in checking. Obviously budgeting isn't one of my strong points.
I had the weirdest dream last night. It's only really weird because it was sort of like the one I had the night before; Mr. Neumeyer was in both of them. Mr. Nue was a teacher I had in my senior year of high school. He's cool, I liked him. He was creepy in a game show host kind of way, though. But he was in both of them. The first one (that I had on Monday night) was sort of short and pointless: I went to find Mr. Neu and ask him if he'd write a reccomendation for me, since I'm getting into this college thing now. He said some stuff, which I don't really remember, but it was something along the lines of,"If you came here for praise you're not going to get it." Yes... alright. But the one last night was a bit longer. I went to the high school, and it looked absolutely nothing like it did when I was there, which was only like 5 months ago. There's a lot of construction going on there, but still. It looked like a completely different place. I mean, it didn't even look like Mechanicsburg. There were no cows and no car dealerships. Anyway. I went and I guess it was near the end of the day, because people were milling around and leaving and whatnot. When I do actually go the the school to do this thing, I need to find 4 or 5 teachers, and in my dream was I was looking for them. I found Mr. Cooley, and I told him I'd come to his class in a little bit to talk to him. I found Mrs. Neble in the "lobby" area of this strange building, and talked to her, and I found Mr. Neu in some random room. He looked really old and ragged, with wrinkles and long white hair. He gave me a reccomendation that he'd already written, and it was in this fancy script. No one else ever gave me any, and I never got to see Mr. Cooley because I woke up. It was really odd. I'm probably just dreaming about it because I need to get off my ass and go do it.
I'm going to go take a shower and get the mail and things. And then I'm going to make this fucking thing work, or I swear to god, I will go crazy. It cannot withstand me; I'll just pester it until it gives in. You know, give it the puppy dog eyes. :)
-Amanda
back & forth
Wait, there's more!
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