LoserNet Home | Index | Previous | Next Old Man Stories and Other Strange Tales

The Year of Living Dangerously
Temptation Eyes

Note: This volume has been edited beyond recognition.

Saturday April 26, 2003

I left for town this morning, hoping that I would have a nice day. As always, that's too much to ask for. The bus took forever to get to town. The bus driver was deliberately going as slow as possible. The same thing happened on the way home, so I suspect that all of the drivers are acting in defiance for some reason. Or, the union is ready to strike. Pseudo-professor Robert was in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill when I arrived. He is now a mortgage broker. Odd, that's what the handmaiden did in Oregon. I did my usual workout at the gym. While I was waiting at the bus stop, I happened to see Professor Brian. I was surprised to see him in town. He then told me that he has been cohabiting with Pseudo-professor Cathrin for over a year. He is still renting an apartment in another part of town. Everyone is hookin' up except for Pseudo-professor Robert and I.

I talked with Kevin today. He wants to target Bug now. I want to be careful about my own motivation. Revenge has never been an honorable cause. Yet, I still believe that the whole Roach Regime will fall. My homey Rod called today and left a message. I will spend the evening with my beloved iBook and my Bose Acoustic Wave.

Sunday April 27

In continuing the topic of yesterday, there is another issue that worries me. The issue is age. I suppose this is now a problem that I share with my Viagra buddy. Yuck! It does not take a very astute observer to note that the ages of babes mentioned in the journal are seemingly getting younger all the time. It might be easy to dismiss the latter as a "mid-life" affliction. A few people may even be sickened by the thought. Do all old guys want young hotties? Is this a form of perversion? I wonder about this all the time. I find that I have nothing in common with babes my age, mostly because of the excess psychological "luggage" they carry. And, quite a few of them no longer go to the gym. I suppose the same could be said of old guys, eh? As you know, I am around a lot of young babes, most of them being students. However, I would never succumb to temptation. Which reminds me. I neglected to mention that Dana is in my class again at the Asylum. She's a hottie, there's no doubt about that. She has been wearing skimpy outfits to class lately, And, she has "accidentally" brushed against the ol' lavahead a few times while talking with him. If it had been my Viagra buddy, his Vienna Sausage would have ripped through his trousers. Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaaa!

Woke up. Drank coffee. Houseboy chores. I had recurring and conflicting thoughts about my useless possessions. On the one hand, I want to get rid of more junks. I don't even want to waste time with eBay. I want to throw them all in the trash. Then, I entertained the idea of getting another cell phone, even given the fact that I hate to talk on the phone. I have also been looking at USB memory drives. CompUSA has a sale right now. Why do I need anything at all? My useless Orion telescope sits waiting for clear skies. There hasn't been, and may never be, any nights with clear skies. These circular thoughts were driving me insane. So, I walked to the gym. I felt much better after doing a cardio workout. When I returned home, I washed and waxed my beloved six-four. Then, I realized that Shirley was right. My six-four is not suitable for dating babes. So, am I going to buy another car? Hell no! Remember when I was foolishly obsessed with the Z3? What a maroon!

I am not sure why I was on the edge of sanity earlier today. Perhaps I realized how I have wasted the last four years of my life (i.e., lapsing in and out of a coma in my favorite chair during my spare time). Whenever I chat with Pseudo-professor Robert, I become cognizant of these issues. I have observed how he has involved himself in a number of schemes to make money. He spends an inordinate amount of time on useless details like his business cards, but I never see any clients materialize. He is also a NexTel cell phone representative. Hey, maybe I can get a deal from him! And, he now wants to buy a Porsche Boxter. It is so obvious to me that he is looking for ways to distract himself from the babe situation while simultaneously working toward attracting babes. I know that doesn't seem to make any sense, but it's true. In contrast, I have not come up with any such schemes. I have maintained a steady and humble path. Yet, I am probably just as batty as he is.

Well, I suppose that I have discussed this matter ad nauseam. Tomorrow, I must return to the salt mines. I expect more surprises at the Asylum. Well, what's up for the evening? Same as last night. Sheesh!

Monday April 28

There's one last topic to discuss — my life as a monk. I suppose that most people would expect to see me traipsing around in shabby robes and chanting monosyllabic garbage. I am part of a non-cloistered sect known as "urban monks," just like Anonder. Others like The Master just call themselves hermits. My monastic existence began back in Convalescent City, when I decided that it was time for me to exit society. At that time, I was engaged in all forms of debauchery and hedonism. It was crazy. I did not know whether I was coming or going. Of course, this was prior to the debut of the journal. I had cut myself off from society when I moved into the Roach Motel. I began following monastic principles which included poverty, social isolation, denial of pleasures, penance, penitence, discipline, mendicancy, spiritual exploration, and more. I forced myself to eat tuna and rice, or Bush's baked beans every day. I drank coffee made with a broken French Press. I also ended a long battle with alcohol and substance abuse. It was a truly mendicant and ascetic life-style, but I learned new values. These values are still with me today. I grappled with the babe situation. Obviously, I fell away when I hooked up with the handmaiden. In these past few years, I have tried in vain to resurrect the old monk ways. I am constantly face-to-face with temptation. That's what happens when one is removed from isolation. Some people may find all of this ridiculous, but I managed to accomplish a lot of personal victories by being a monk.

An uneventful day. The Viagra buddy did not show up at the faculty computer room. However, Pseudo-professor Robert made an appearance. As always, we discussed the babe situation. I learned that he has been in a few relationships with babes. His last relationship was circa 1994. His babe was a waitress at a restaurant that he and few of his friends frequented back on Mau'i. He said that they went their separate ways when baby experienced renewed feelings for a former BoyToy. I became somewhat confused about his situation today. During my discussion with him, I began to see what other people have experienced when talking with me. Pseudo-professor Robert defended his position in a somewhat cavalier fashion. Although I may differ with him in criteria, I have essentially echoed his sentiments. "What do I have to bring to the table?" he asked, stretching both arms out. At that point, I knew I was looking in the mirror. He's right. We bring nothing to the table even if we had something to bring. Certainly, if we do not believe that we are worth anything, then neither will any babe. Of course, this may be pure bunk. I have chatted with numerous babes who have hooked up with real losers. In fact, most of the hotties seem to hook up with losers. Why? "He really charmed me," Lisa, one of my babes students said, which is the real answer.

Pseudo-professor Robert walked with me to the gym. He wanted to see if he could get a good deal on a membership. Otherwise, he would sign up at the YMCA down the street. I saw a couple of my students from the Asylum there. My favorite Asian babe was not there. Shirley called last night and left a message. I have not called her back. Neither have I called Caroll or Rod. Life has returned to normal again. That seems to be the way I like it.

Tuesday April 29

Last night, I was just about to lapse in a coma in my favorite chair when I felt compelled to peruse MidWeek, a useless local rag. There are nothing but idiotic columns by punk-asses like O'Reilly in it. This is supposed to be a community paper. As I sifted through the various Nazi crap, I happened to notice a few pictures from a local publisher's event. As I looked closer, I saw my favorite Asian babe in one of the pictures. Her name is Michele, and she works for one of the local publishing houses. Naturally, I ran a Google search and discovered the name of the firm and where it is located. That is, of course, the exact direction she walks toward when she leaves the gym.

An unexciting day at the Asylum. I have been urging Kevin to apply for Roach's position. I have been giving him the hard sell every day. He is perfect for the job, and that would probably insure better conditions for me. My classes are totally out of control and now I refuse to do anything about it. At the Diploma Mill, I spent my time grading.

After the gym, I returned to the faculty computer room. Pseudo-professor Robert was there. He did not join the gym yesterday, nor did he join the YMCA. He now wants to join the Pacific Club, an extremely expensive club for the elite. My discussion with him today was somewhat perturbing because he has shifted into aristocratic mode. I go to the gym to work out and stave off the effects of old age. He wants to parade around amongst a bunch of rich fat slobs. All I could say was, "Whatever floats your boat." Just then, an Asian babe pseudo-professor came in and sat at one of the computers. I could see my aristocrat buddy posturing himself. Baby moved to the table to sit down after a few minutes. Pseudo-professor Robert stood up and approached her. He made some less-than-witty comment about being the "gatekeeper" of the faculty computer room and introduced himself. Then, he introduced me. I stood up and shook Pseudo-professor Kellie's hand. She is an attorney. Pseudo-professor Robert's delivery was weak. His attempt at humor pretty much failed. I felt for him. And, who am I to judge? Look at my own pathetic track record. Pseudo-professor Kellie is a hottie. Don't worry, the ol' lavahead won't be swooning over her. I chatted with Pseudo-professor Lee for a bit and departed for the bus stop. Hopefully, my aristocrat buddy will have snapped into action.

I ran into Pseudo-professor John today. Yes, he's back at the Diploma Mill. He's still at Heald as well. He seemed distant, which also accounts for why I have not heard from him in a long time. I believe that he took offense to my polite refusal to take over correspondence with his female "pen friend" in the Philippines. He was also somewhat perturbed that I did not pursue Mary Ann more vigorously. I will no longer be sharing any of my misadventures with him. Well, I have realized how stupid I've been lately. The babe situation is my downfall as a monk. Perhaps I can blame it all on Spring Fever. Whatever the reason, this is a crazy life and it just gets crazier.

Wednesday April 30

The skies have actually been clear for the last two nights, but I have had little motivation to take my Orion telescope outside. I've been thinking about why I feel as though I need a babe. I have gotten along fine without one for years. Most of my life, in fact. I have even stopped listening to popular music, which tends to exacerbate the problem. So, why do I not feel fulfilled without a babe? The other day, Pseudo-professor Robert confessed that he is looking for "perfection." Essentially, he wants a hottie with a doctorate. I am curious to see what his ex-babe looked like.

An unexciting day at the Asylum. The Diploma Mill was another story. I did more grading in my lab classroom. I returned to the faculty computer room before three o' clock. Pseudo-professor Kellie was there. I went to the restroom and as I was walking back, I saw Pseudo-professor Robert. "You're babe's here," I told him. He walked into the faculty computer room and sat at one of the computers. He did not say a word to her. Later, I found out that he did a little clandestine investigating because he disclosed some information about her. A few minutes later, a student came by to drop something off to me.

I returned to the faculty computer room after the gym. My Prozac buddy was acting normal. Pseudo-professor Mari dropped in. Then, he was back on a roll again. He was much more sedate. Well, Pseudo-professor Mari is in her late fifties. Does that explain it? I finally called Rod. We chatted for a bit. He wants to visit Hawai'i at the end of the year. That will be nice.

Thursday May 1

An uneventful day. At the Asylum, Kevin said that he applied for the position of Dean. I spent my afternoon grading in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. I was there by myself, which was quite pleasant. Smooth R&B jams were playing on Netscape Radio. Then, I walked to the gym. My favorite Asian babe was there. As I sat on the incline press machine, I became very perturbed. I could see baby in the mirrors. I realized that there was nothing separating me from the Prozac and Viagra buddies. We are all losers, and desperate ones at that. I could feel a rage building within. Why can't I just go over there and hit on my favorite Asian babe? Why am I playing this game with myself? I kept asking these questions over and over again. When I finished my workout, I returned to the faculty computer room. When I walked in, I saw my Prozac buddy sitting at one of the computers. He wasn't doing anything because he was facing the entrance. He was acting like a normal human being. I suppose he was waiting for one of the babes to show up. I was already in a hostile mood, so I decided to engage in "psych-ops" tactics. "Where's your babe?" I asked. This was to insure that we would be talking about babes and the babe situation. Somehow I mentioned my favorite Asian babe at the gym. I did not reveal any information, nor did I describe her other than calling her a hottie. "We have different tastes in women," he then told me. I pointed to the picture of former Pseudo-professor Amber on the bulletin board. "That's more in line with your tastes," I said. I questioned him, only to discover that my hunch about his babe preferences were correct — gorgeous, buxom, and haole. In other words, he wants Jenna Jameson. I learned that his ex-babe, the waitress, was haole. I asked him if she was a babe. "She had a really nice body," he replied. He made some tangential comment about how my taste in babes come from "the primitive side of the brain." I then launched into a spiel about how haole babes love da wild thing. "They are so much fun," I told him. Even against my principles, I detailed how my own experiences confirmed this. I hinted at the sheer pleasure of doin' da wild thing several times a day every day. "That was the best Summer I ever had," I said, which was true. This is likened to twisting the dagger that is embedded in the enemy's gut. Knowing that he would have to triple his dosage of Prozac later tonight did not deter me.

I have the uncanny ability to influence people. I normally use this trait for good purposes. However, I can only do this from the sidelines. In other words, I am not effective as a leader. I am the puppet master. I know how to pull the strings. I also know the more nefarious implementation (read: "psych-ops"). My Prozac buddy could have lost a few teeth yesterday. Well, I will relax with my iBook tonight. I also talked with Mike, one of my former Asylum students. He is a cell phone representative. He says that he can give me a deal. Free phone, free case, free headset, no deposit, no activation fee, and $30 per month for service with T-Mobile. I have to decide whether I want to waste my hard-earned dough on a useless possession.

Friday May 2

Yesterday, I saw Mark on the express bus. He had donated blood, and discovered that his blood pressure was 110/100. That's extremely high. He said that he donates blood several times during the year, and that's the only time he has his blood pressure checked. He has made an appointment with his doctor.

An uneventful day. After my classes at the Asylum, I restored my monk haircut. Then, I went to the gym. Glen, one of my students at the Asylum, was there. My favorite Asian babe was also there. Baby was looking really fine. I left town on the first express bus. I did not want to go back to the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, mainly because I did not want run into my Prozac buddy. I brought my work home with me so that I will not have to go to town tomorrow. My Prozac buddy wanted me to join him for a movie on Monday night. Apparently, he has free tickets.

There were important lessons learned from this debacle. For one thing, I finally realize that I have waited far too long to do anything about my situation. And now, when it's fairly hopeless, I have been grasping at straws in utter desperation. Although I am around a lot of babes, I don't meet any who could be a suitable match for the oversized cranium. I seem to be attracted to babes who are totally unattainable for someone of a lower class like myself. What I really need to do is review my priorities. I have yet to divest my useless possessions, even later acquisitions like my Orion telescope. I must also resist the temptation to spend money needlessly. I am sure that there are a few people who are shaking their heads in bewilderment. Am I going to repeat history again? Am I reverting to the benign "monk" status, only to snap out of it when I see some hottie again? Well, the crux of the problem is whether I can define why I need a babe. Certainly, I desire companionship. Da wild thing, well, that goes without saying. I would like someone to share new life experiences with. And, of course, I want a hottie who drives me berserk. In summary, this is pure vanity. There is no substance to what I described. Therefore, even if I hook up with a babe, the result will be a failure. In my case, I need to return to the essence of the monk existence in order to remove the extraneous noise. By the way, I decided to tell Shirley in e-mail about some of what's been happening. She had asked about the "Middle Eastern chick." So far, I haven't heard from her. She is probably disillusioned. Well, I will be doing the same banal activities tonight as I always do. Need I elaborate?

Saturday May 3

Last night, I spent a few hours reading Regular One, a series of pathetic old journal archives. I forgot how well I had already covered the various aspects of the babe situation. There is more than enough to justify why I decided to become a monk. I had also included a lot of relevant reference material as well. There really is almost no need for me to discuss these matters now. In fact, I am doing a much more pathetic job of explaining myself than I did back then.

Moms was preparing all kinds of food since last night, so I knew that the Ninja Turds would be coming by. I left for town before 9am. I arrived at the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill at 10am. My Prozac buddy did not stop by, which was quite a relief for me. I managed to get quite a bit done. Then, I went to the gym. I did my usual workout. Throughout the day, I pondered my situation. I was becoming quite perturbed. Later, all I could think about was the "Hammer." During the ride home on the bus, I thought of getting off at Koko Marina and buying a bottle. However, I thought better of it. Then, after dinner, I changed my mind. I walked down to Foodland and purchased a big ass bottle of the "Hammer."

The situation for me is actually rather grim. My social skills atrophied as I worked diligently toward total isolation. In the last few years, I have exceeded my own expectations. I now rarely return phone calls. It may take over a week for me to respond to personal e-mail, if I do at all. Letters are now never answered. This may seem like something a real asswipe would do. I have no idea what my reasons are. I just cannot bring myself to respond. I've been trying to use Speak! III by LoserNet as a means to gradually increase my ability to connect with people again. It's been hard. That's probably why I was thinking of starting up cell phone service again. The stupid part is that no one will call the ol' lavahead anymore. My behavior suggests severe psychopathology. I may actually be insane already.

What's even more puzzling is why I believe that I need a babe. I do not have any semblance of a relationship with anyone. I have disassociated from the Ninja Turds. Moms and I have not had a discussion in years. In fact, I do not talk at all when I am at home. I only communicate with myself through the journal. Naturally, I have to do a lot of talking when I am playing the role of a pseudo-professor, but there is usually no substance to my discussions with students and the other moronic faculty. I can only surmise that my desire to hook up with a babe is a "phase of life" issue. What puzzles me is that I really know of no one who is in a relationship that I would consider ideal or something that I would like for myself. In fact, most relationships seem to further justify the monk life-style. Well, that only means it's time to break open the "Hammer." Let's take a few sips now, shall we? Home alone. iBook. Bose Acoustic Wave. I'm livin' large in a small way!

Sunday May 4

Woke up. Big headache. Drank coffee. Lapsed in and out of a coma in my favorite chair. Shirley called last night and left a message. Naturally, I have yet to call her back. The "Hammer" may have done some good. I feel ambivalent toward everything today. I pondered why I have been saving money for use in some undisclosed time in the future. It makes no sense. Money will make absolutely no sense when I am wasting away in some convalescent home. No amount of dough is going to make for a less painful way of kicking the bucket. We have been sheltered from the reality of the end. Very few people understand that extreme pain and suffering is what we have to look forward to in the Golden Years. Any "nest egg" would have absolutely no meaning. In the context of the here and now, what purpose does money have? I don't know. I only use it to support my minimalist existence. After my last useless purchase (i.e., Orion telescope), I have been wary of my judgment. I really don't want to work and save money anymore. A job is just a job. There is no such a thing as a "career." There's only wage slavery and materialism, its counterpart. I now see why the babe situation has come to a head again. If I hook up with a babe in a serious relationship, then I can justify my life as a wage slave. I would have some purpose for what I am doing. Right now, I have to continue working if want to be eligible for Social Security benefits. Again, some nonsense in the distant future. What exactly do the Golden Years have to offer? Just go down to any supermarket on any given day. Senior citizens are lined up with bottles of Cuervo Gold and other booze. That's as "Golden" as it gets.

I walked to the gym, even though I really didn't feel like it. I noticed that my heart rate during my cardio workout was lower than usual. So, I increased the level. I can only surmise that I've been under a lot of stress lately. Consumption of the "Hammer" last night had some medicinal value after all. Sheesh! So, what's up for the evening? Same as always. I may need another dose of "medicine" tonight.

My Prozac buddy did have one profound thought a week ago. In discussing the dismal aspects of the babe situation, he asked, "What have we got to lose already?" He then cited that neither of us had big bank or big house. All that's left is self-esteem. I thought about this during my excursion to the gym. As long as I can remember — even back in the days of the infamous B-Team — there has been little proactive behavior amongst my associates insofar as the babe situation was concerned. What now astounds me is that no one really knew the consequences of rejection and humiliation. No one. There was a lot of talk, and hella speculation. Yet, there were no firsthand accounts of rejection and humiliation. Everyone merely assumed that the latter was imminent. So, no one did anything about it. The issue is not fear. It's a matter of resignation and the acceptance of one's lot in life. The Master harped on these points constantly. One would end up the laughingstock of the whole town, we kept telling each other. So, the question still begs itself, what do we have to lose? For the life of me, I don't really know.

Monday May 5

A totally uneventful day. I have become completely ineffectual at the Asylum. There is no semblance of order in my classes. I spent most of my afternoon at the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. I am almost ready to submit the final grades for the term. I saw Mark on the express bus. We chatted mostly about his strange and sudden bout of high blood pressure. Life is returning to normal (read: monastic). I am expecting a quiet Summer. My nerves can't take much more.

Tuesday May 6

Another uneventful day. My Diploma Mill e-mail inbox has been flooded with late submissions and excuses from students. I thought that I would be done with grading by now, but these brain donors have now added at least two days more work. I have not seen any of my colleagues, two of whom (i.e., Prozac and Viagra) I could care less about. Most of them are busy with their grading. The gym was more interesting. I was doing my military press set when I saw my favorite Asian babe descend the stairs to the main gym. The staircase was right next to me. A few minutes later, she came out of the dressing room and immediately stationed herself on the machine right next me. When I finished my set, I moved over to another military press machine just a few feet away. Glen was also in the gym. He came by just as I sat on the machine. Baby moved over to the Smith machine which was just a few feet away from where I was. She was just setting up a bench when a meathead approached her. At first, I thought she had a new workout buddy. However, I soon realized that he was mackin' on baby. He managed to talk her into working out with him on another Smith machine at the other end of the gym. I had to admit — he has a lot more guts than I. They were apparently switching off on sets. I could hear him grunting and groaning as he did his sets, no doubt to impress baby with his sheer strength. He was also pushing her to do more. Heck, I thought that he was going to score. However, a few minutes later, I saw her back in my section of the gym by herself. I then observed that he kept following her. He gave her tips on how to do her sets. It became obvious to me that she was trying to ditch him. I finally went to the back corner of the cardio area. Glen was there on one of the Lifecycles. I started out on the StairMaster but ended up on one of the Transporter-like machines. I observed baby getting on one of the treadmills at the other end. Just a few minutes before I was done, I saw her getting off the treadmill. She walked over to the counter to put away the magazine she was reading. Then, she walked the extremely long way, right past where I was, and circled around to the entrance of the aerobics room. Normally, she would just walk straight to the aerobics room right from the counter. I found this somewhat odd. If I was a stud, then I would assume that the sole purpose of this long promenade sans meathead was to show me that she was still available. Obviously, I am not a stud, so this is moot. These recurring proximity incidents with baby are highly suspect, but I am not one to stretch the imagination. There are only two possible answers. One, these are fluke repetitive incidents. Or, two, baby is extremely dangerous. Which is it?

Well, I broke down and bought one of those USB flash drives from CompUSA. It cost me $52, which made me nauseous. I hate spending any dough. I plan to use it when I download a lot of the large upgrade files for my iBook. I only have a dial-up connection. So, I can download the files on campus, store it on my flash drive, and transfer it to my iBook. There are also no conversion problems with different platforms. Finally, I still have to take Shirley out for a belated B-day celebration. It is almost a month now. I plan to take her to a nice place for dinner. Then, maybe we can see a play or go to the new comedy club. This can be like a "practice" date, eh? Just kidding! Shirley has probably been a better friend to me than I have been to her.

Moms bought me a plate lunch from Panda Express. I opened the fortune cookie. It read, "You will be surrounded by things of luxury." Why can't I just be surrounded by babes? Sheesh! I've been thinking nonsensical thoughts. I'm not sure why I go to the gym when all the rest of my colleagues have let themselves go. Yet, I've noticed much improvement in the loser's physique since returning to daily weight training. I don't think that I have the body of a 50-year-old guy. I also wonder why I get these kid's haircuts. My hair is really short on the sides and longer on the top. Is it "mid-life"? Well, I better enjoy it while I can. I also think that I have been lacking in real physical activity. I need to engage in some kind of athletics. Perhaps all of this somehow related to the babe situation. I am trying to make myself attractive to babes when, in reality, I am totally detestable. When am I going to come to my senses like my Prozac and Viagra buddies?

Wednesday May 7

An uneventful day. The Job Fair at the Asylum was great because classes were canceled. I stuffed my face in the hospitality room. Then, I walked around in a feeble attempt to look as though I was interested in the event. I submitted my grades at the Diploma Mill. I expect to hear from a few disgruntled students.

I went to the gym at the usual time. Glen, one of my Asylum students was there. I didn't notice my favorite Asian babe until later. For a while, I thought that she would not show up because of the incident with meathead. She was working out by herself again. I was chatting with Glen on and off. I tried to station myself so I could see baby. She was looking mighty fine. Damn, she's a hottie! Later, I did 20 minutes on the StairMaster and another 15 minutes on the Transporter-like machine. Baby was on the treadmill again. After she was done, she walked the circuitous route to the aerobics room again. I did not notice that the time was 4:10pm as I was preparing to leave. I had been there for almost two hours. I could not see the clock while I was working out, so I based the time on baby. She usually wraps things up at about 3:30pm. As you know, my favorite Asian babe and I usually arrive and leave at the same time. So, I walked back to the Diploma Mill. My Prozac buddy was in the faculty computer room. I also told my Prozac buddy about how meathead was mackin' on my favorite Asian babe yesterday. I then deferred the discussion about the "situation" until next time. My mind was starting to play tricks on me. Well, at least I have my new USB flash drive to keep me occupied during my lonely nights, eh?

Thursday May 8

I unveiled my new "Pet the Rabbit" policy at the Asylum. It makes no sense. I came up with the moniker when Joe, one of my students, was discussing cartoons. He recollected an old Bugs Bunny episode. I won't go into details, but the quote was, "Can I pet the rabbit, George? Can I pet the rabbit?" Pretty stupid, eh? Then, I went to the gym. My favorite Asian babe was there. I foolishly let my guard down. She may have caught me looking at her several times. It's hard to not look at her because she is such a hottie. My Summer class at the Diploma Mill may be canceled since the enrollment went down again. My reputation must precede me. I used my USB flash drive for the first time. I downloaded several large upgrade files and transferred them to the USB drive. Then, when I returned home, I copied them over to my iBook and installed them. Man, am I ever having fun!

I was in a really bad way when I returned home. I am not sure why. It could be because I was extremely hungry. I live off of two plain bagels all day. The other possible reason is somewhat obvious. I could be losing my mind over two babes who are way out of my league. Then, there's the matter of my volatile employment. Which is causing me the most grief? After dinner, I started up my beloved six-four. It's been a while since I last drove it. I dumped off the recyclables. I received a bill for my car insurance, by the way. So, I wasn't really happy about that either.

Now that I'm home again, I will ponder the babe situation. When I am in a bad way, I like to ponder about crap that can push me to the edge of sanity. I have been reviewing my spineless worm, weasel-like behavior as of late. Aside from being sickening, it is laughable. The level of stress generated by this nonsense is ludicrous. However, I can almost sympathize with my Prozac buddy. I believe that he went through a nervous breakdown a few years ago, although he has never admitted it. I can sense it, and I am certain that the babe situation was a major culprit. This inability to take care of business is simply unnerving. I am wondering whether any of this has to do with babes at all. On the other hand, I have implemented various strategic plans to deal with almost every other aspect of my life. Only babes and my mortality are out of my locus of control at this time. Well, I guess it does have to do with babes. This mental paralysis, the same one experienced by my Prozac buddy, is unexplainable. What is really interesting is that I know exactly what must be done, but I absolutely refuse to do it. There is a very powerful force at play. Sounds to me like "mind over matter." And, I can't seem to override it. We're coming close to mummifying the situation. Can I pet the rabbit, George?

To be continued ... Go to D.08

© Copyright 2003. All rights reserved.