Confusion, violence, and rappers
Wensday, October 3, 2001 x 2 - 22:28

Damn, I'm having the hardest time with dates this month. I've been waiting for the first of the month to come around for a few weeks, and now weeks later it's still the beginning of the month. And I haven't been able to name my dairyland entries this month. I name them with the last two digits of the year, followed by the two digit month, and then the day. So like this afternoon's entry should have been 011003. Except that I thought it was the fourth. And on October 1, I was totally confused and named one of my entries something like 1000010101. Damn I'm getting stupid.

My rent is due. I had no idea.

I'm not fond of Missy Misdemeanor Elliott's Get Ur Freak On. And not just because of the Ur. I disliked it before I knew how it was spelled.

A few days ago I wanted to write about the dreams I'd had that night, but I couldn't find the piece of paper I'd written about them on. The piece of paper is still missing, but I'll try to remember some of them.

I had like five dreams in a row. All I can remember right now is the last two. In one, I had two kids: a newborn boy, and a boy that was three or four. I didn't know I had that older kid. I didn't even have a diaper bag, so I wondered how I'd managed to take care of the kid. What had been going on the last three or four years? It was weird. Then the father of the kid started trying to kill us, and he ran after the kid. I didn't really care.

Then, in the other dream, two of my friends who are married were getting married again. I went to Amy's bridal shower, but realized I didn't have a present and I didn't have my contacts in. I told her I was going to have to leave, but we started talking, and then I noticed she had a black eye. Her boyfriend, who I've known even longer than I've known her, was hitting her. At first I thought that I'd just ignore it, but then I decided that it was my duty to tell her that if he was beating her, she shouldn't marry him.

I was more upset by this dream about my friend than by the dream about the little kid being chased by his murderous dad. Probably because it was about a real person and not some vague made-up person. I really don't think her husband hits her. Her dad hit her when she was younger. She's the kind of person that you feel protective about. I don't really know why.

Puff Daddy, go the fuck away, would you?

And what the fuck is up with these muthfuckin reporters who just yell, yo? Whatever happened to intonation? And those "hip hop" "rappers" who just yell in a raspy voice. What the fuck is up with them?

Snoop Dogg looks really caniny now. He din useta.

I shouldn't write entries while watching MTV.

(Note to self: supposed to, ought to. or used to.)