Memory

In the future, you will be able to save the neural impulses from your eyes and pass them on to other people. Other parts of your body, too. You could run a blow-job program you downloaded off the net in your headware in the middle of class. How cool would that be?

But the reason for starting this out like that was to say that I wish I could share with you the beauty of freshly fallen, snowboard snow being shovelled in the night. Oh, it's like glitter and icees and flour and...snow is an element. Officially, right now.

Why do I love it so much? It's kind of odd. I guess I've just missed it, what with mind-numbing school insanity and the bleak weather. It makes it a lot more bearable, the snow.

I feel bad. I'm getting a C in art when I should be getting an A. I didn't hand in a lot of the intro to drawing assignments, and now it's biting me in the ass. I've lost a lot of motivation, too. I wish we could have quarter-long classes. A lot of them you could complete that quickly.

I feel good. I'm making it to the end of hell and the beginning of break. The change of pace, no matter how hectic, will be welcome. It's reassuringly tedious at Kendall (where my grandparents live, in Ithaca), so I'll get some rest and opportunity to be arty, so it'll be restful.

I can't wait for next year. I can afford to get plastered on New Years in college, but Dylan would devour my soul if I got caught. It'd be bad.

I need to go for now.