duck-shaped pain

Sure, there's always complaining. That's usually been an effective back-up plan: bitch about something (see the last entry). I'm pretty good, I think, at making that entertaining.

But the truth is, I hate complaining. It bothers me when others do it incessantly, and it ultimately makes me feel crappy when I indulge in it too much. It's like, wow, I just spent all that time doing that, and what do I have to show for it?. I've been trying to act on things that dissatisfy rather than just squawk about them to anyone who will listen, and hate reverting to complainer status.

What does this mean? I don't know, really. I've just felt really uninspired as of late, and I think that's coming across in the entries. You may just have to bear with me for a while.

Some good things, though. I've been listening to an excellent CD that was sent to me by the proprietor of shoeboxdiary (very cool), one of the my favorite online journals is up and running again, and something immensely geeky this way comes�

On my way to school each morning (I usually park a ways from campus and walk in, partly because I need the exercise, partly out of necessity), I often walk through the alleyways between streets. Fronts of houses are interesting, but backyards are even more so, at times. Today I walked down an alley I'd never been down before, and facing this alley was a very small backyard that was full of toilets. White toilets, pink toilets, green toilets, broken toilets, all sorts of them in every stage of decay imaginable. There were no plants or grass or lawn chairs in this yard�just toilets. I do not understand. I guess I'll have to walk in front of the house tomorrow, just to see if I can catch a glimpse of the kind of person who would have a Yard O' Toilets. Plumber, perhaps? Or maybe just a collector.

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