Sitting here, after downing a good quater-litre of fine Chivas Regal Scotch Whiskey reminds me of an extended stretch of about 2 months where I would get messed up EVERY night. I mean, if I wasn't very very high, I was hammered off god knows what. Now this has cost me a lot of money and countless braincells and it was pretty scary. Maybe some of you have felt this, maybe not...

Being out of your mindset for a long time, just always being messed up or in a state of afterburn or hangover is a pretty freaky thing. You know who you are, you know what you're like, but you can't be that person because your brain is being racked by booze, bud, shrooms or acid. Now I know what you're all thinking: That's clearly very bad.

Duh. I know it's very bad. I knew at the time, and I know it now. But my only rationale behind this is that I was simply enjoying myslef, albeit a very brief moment of enjoyment followed by long periods of semi-unconciousness and a very long haze. Is it worth it? Are those hours of pleasure and indulgence worth the weeks upon weeks of having a fragile mindset? I don't know.

It comes down to one point though: Enjoy life, enjoy people, but enjoy all parts of life. Don't overdo one aspect, or else you'll end up feeling quite empty and regretfull of all the missed oppertunities and blunders. But before this gets all emo and wussy:

ROCK ON!!!! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I'M HAMMERED.

... has been all about me smoking way too much bud and not going to class. Of course, at the time, this seemed like a wicked idea. I mean, your options are you either go to class and listen to some ninny blabber on about some old men (philosophers) who thought the bloody world was concieved by fire, or you could go to the arcades after having smoked a doob or two.

I've had tougher choices.

And for awhile, this was going great. I was only failing one class, my other marks were decent and no reprecautions were reaped on my ass.

But today, everything comes back to me ten fold.

Yes, as I type this, I am in great fear of getteing kicked out, thus leaving my parents no choice but to murder their little boy. Today, I have to go talk to my program coordinator (under my own will), who is also my philosophy teacher (whose class I haven't gone to in 3 weeks). He'll surely eat me alive.

After that, I'll take my mangled carcass to see my Ancient Civilization teacher to beg for a re-test (I skipped a test last friday).

After I get denied and am given a zero, I have to go to English. The teacher is amazing. Best teacher ever. But he hates me ever since I didn't show up to class to hand in an essay (I gave it to a friend). He's on my case, so it results in a few funny moments in class where he tries to pin me down with his crazy jokes. I love it anyways.The exchanges are quite funny.

So yeah, basically, I'm a dumbass for being stoned all the time and now it's catching up to me and biting me square in the tush. Wish me luck.

Only a mere 3 months after the traumatising break of a serious 2+ year relationship, Abbath is getting some hot action. I finally decided that my hand needed to get reaquainted with a boobie after a 3 month hiaitus.

Break out the champagne. Let us celebrate this joyus occaision.

I went to a steakhouse where they killed the cow at the locale and flame grilled it to a bloody mess.

The only way it could be any manlier is if there was a guy who punches you as you eat the flesh.

It seems stupid to suggest, but as bad as it sounds, you all know I'm right:

"Friendships are formed on these boards"

I've noticed over the course of the past week or so that small occurences are what truely make my day and life worth living.

By guff, it's cliche but true.

That part in the song that makes you smile, that look she gives you that makes your heart go wild, that movie you watch that make you laugh or cry... these are what make life so great.

It's not that any of these things are happening to me right now, but it's just a bit of a reminder that we should simply enjoy what we have, yet try to make ourselves happy.

/Cheese.

The time, 11 PM. The place: St-Charles Blvrd. The state: "happy".

There I was, walking the lonely streets of St-Charles. Buzzing in my ear were the remenants of a fresh delivery, but blasting in my head were the soothing whisper of "Brutal Death Metal". Lovely. Lined along the street, sheltered inside plexiglass bus shelters lay a bevy of depraived vagabonds and social castaways. Their stares strpping me naked of my comfort and sence of safety. Slowly but surely, a sence of impending contact filled my mind; the paranoia was setting in. This trip up the usually accomadating St-Charles was beginning to turn sour like that carton of milk I found under the fridge once. That thing was was nasty. All the curds and whatnot. I'm rambling...

As I kept my trajectory north, I crossed a man on the ground sniffing a small vial. I thought nothing of it until the man decided to get up and walk towards my direction. I stayed the course, hoping that I could simply ignore his presence and escape without incident. But his steady walk became a drunken jog. I feel a hand on my shoulder applying incresing amount of pressure. I was perhaps expecting a question, but only muffled grunts came out. I felt his had slide toward my pocket in which my wallet was kept. It was my right to defend myself. To subdue him, I thought an elbow to the sternum would do the trick. Little did I know that the elbow would extract such horrible sounds from this man. To avoid suspicion (standing next to a cokehead lying on the ground cursing you and crying in agony is not a good way to be incognito), I kept on my previous course.

Then, the sirens.

I was paranoid before. This paranoia was now full blown fear.

Eventually, a cop car pulled up next to me. I acted perfectly normal (considering I had a right to incapaxcitate the cokehead) as the officer rolled the window down. He asked me what happened back at the scene of the crime. I calmly told him what happened and how the bum was attempting to steal my wallet, so I decided to defend myself. He gave me a long look before responding, a certain distrust between us was obvious. He escorted me to the back of the car to go to the station for a report. We rationalized a bit, I told him exactly what happened, he let me go after I filled in the report.

I went back to the scene of the incident, where I found the bum gone. I didn't think much of it until I saw an ambulance next to where his body lay. In the back window of the ambulance was his mug. He was inaudibly yelling profanities at me, cursing me and pointing his finger at me.

I thought: "Great. All I wanted was donuts... now a vagabond cursed my name. I'm in for it".

I continued my PREVIOUS pathway north through the differant shopping complexes and restaurants. Like an explorer looking for a sacred idol or something.

There it was. I beeming pillar of light in this dank wasteland of destitution and flat out bad people. The light was reaching towards me, as if asking me to come on in.

I was happy to oblige.

"And then I ate the donut. And it was good".

1) Colin James
2) Tears for Fears
3) Duran Duran
4) Wham! (Ok, just that song "Wake Me Up Before You Gogo")
5) In Flames (Sorta inside metal joke)

Bad music is so good.

... of the sh!ts. I'm crapping like a kid waiting for Santy Claus.

It isn't cool.

I recently decided to go get my Masters in commerce. A very wise choice by me. I'm also enlisting in all sortsa great wacky classes... including one with my all time fav teacher (English Lit with a twist).

I'm crapping myself in anticipation.