Damn.
I want to graduate.
Rather, I want to go back to kindergarten and graduate from there again.

Screw self-reliance! Wooo time travel/parent dependency!

Yesterday was my birthday!
Happy Birthday to me!
If I wasn't working 6 hours every day I would've announced this yesterday!
Not that it needed announcing!
EVERYONE ALREADY KNEW!

We put together the California agenda.
And here it is for everyone to look at and comment on.

We fly into San Diego Thursday morning and rent the monstrous conversion van. We're hanging out in the city for the day and then driving to Escondido to camp out. We drive sometime in the afternoon Friday to Oceanside, hang out there, and camp on the beach. Saturday, we hang out in Oceanside some more. Saturday night, we take the drive to Anaheim, where the magic really happens. Check into our extremely expensive Disneyland Hotel and sleep. Sunday is filled with discovering our inner children through the magic of Disneyland and Monday is the inner slightly-older child discovering by California Adventure. Early Tuesday we drive to LA, where we're going to the Chinese Theater to see something. And LA is full of cool stuff, so we're flying by ear on that one. Tuesday night we all sleep in the van in this sweet free parking lot for RV's and conversion vans right off the highway between LA and Pasadena. Wednesday, we drive to Big Sur (and listen to The Thrills) and then up to Monterey, where we're staying with Ali's cousin for the night. Thursday, we hit San Jose and Sunyvale, ending up in San Francisco really late. Jimmy's aunt and uncle are letting us stay at their beach house there for a few days. So we hang out in San Francisco, go to the bridge, the zoo, the road where Full House was filmed, all that good stuff. Sunday morning, we're going to Berkley to see a couple kids we graduated with and Sunday evening, we truck on to Sacramento. Cassie's cousin (who's good friends with my sister, who's married to Cassie's brother, which you all know, but need clarified, since we wouldn't just randomly be staying at Cassie's cousin's house) lives in Sacramento, and we're going to stay there for a couple days. Tuesday morning, we start down I-5 and hit a bunch of random cool beside-the-interstate places. We've got a cheap hotel near the airport in San Diego so we'll be right there on Wednesday when our flight leaves.
Then we'll have Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday to move into our house on campus. And then Monday, we go back to class. As seniors. Except for Clair, who's a loveable Junior.

So there it is.
It's going to be so much more awesome than it sounds.

I hate golf.
I don't understand why men like it so much. It's extremely boring, unlike any other sport on the face of the earth (excluding chess and other extremely East Asia games. What is so compelling about hitting a small white ball across a fake green field? You're never going to get it in from back here! You've got to be on flat fake grass around 10 feet. Even Tiger can't get it from the putting ground. It just doesn't happen. And what's with all the wierd terms? Bogie? WHAT? Do you know what that means to people? Not whatever it means in golf. I don't even know what it means in golf. It wouldn't make sense to mean booger, like it does in ordinary European English. But what the heck else could bogie mean?

I bring this up because I went on my first employee golf trip today. I've just been hired as an assistant to the CEO at FYE. How I went from being a store manager to regional assistant to the CEO, I haven't an idea. I guess I'm just that good. Anyway, my boss was on a business meeting with Asthmatic Kitty Records (home of Sufjan and...all his friends), trying to get them to let us sell their records. So, of course, they went golfing. And little old assistant me was invited. I practiced a little with Dad before we went, because he's intensely awesome at golfing. But I suck. I mean, sure, a little pink ball and a volcano for $6 a round I can handle. But real golf? No. So I sucked. And my boss actually told me on our way home. He said, "Chris, you're a great kid. But next time we go golfing, I'd rather you just be my caddy, because you suck." I just nodded. I'd rather be a caddy than a ridiculous golfer.

Sports suck.

Clair's not talking to me. And it's terribly depressing. I even ran into her dad at Barnes and Noble the other day and he bought me some coffee and we had a good conversation about politics. So we're on good terms. But she still won't talk to me.

I also drank entirely too much yesterday.
It's a bad choice.
Don't do that.

My professional creative writing (that class is an oxymoron) professor is terrible.
She decided to make us have class yesterday. When all other classes are out, we have to meet because she wanted us to have a late exam. And we didn't even do anything. So I had to rush from my journalism exam to her stupid moldy classroom and listen to her talk and not answer any of our exam questions directly.

Late exam tomorrow around 3 for layout and design.
Early one friday for regular Creative Writing 307.
Movies and sleeping on saturday.
Teaching sunday school for the last time on sunday. And then sleeping some more.
Early one monday for English.
And then I'm going home with Mark.

Our power went out for a while yesterday. It was really windy.
Mark and Jimmy and I decided to try bowling in the hallway with some DVD cases and a melon. Somehow the melon bounced and broke the TV.
So life here has been pretty boring as of late.
Not that we depend on the TV. But it does occupy a good hour of each of our lives. And an hour goes by really slowly when your schedule is occupied.
I decided to run for an extra hour. It's actually not that hard, and hour and a half of running, instead of just an hour. I mean, when I get home and my legs feel like they're going to fall off because I'm not a muscley, strong runner type, but it's good to run.
I only did it yesterday though. I don't think it's going to be an everyday thing.

In other news, I resent promotions.
I'm now the head manager of the coffee shop. I boss around a bunch of freshmen who don't really like talking to people and one sophomore who chews her gum like a cow and annoys me. I'm planning on firing her soon. She messes up orders constantly. And then I'll have to hire someone new. And I'll get to make the decision, so I won't have to hire someone I don't like.
It's a love hate relationship between me and this manager job. Really.

So, I'm home. I've actually been home for about a week, and everyone knows, so that was a somewhat inappropriate way to begin. Oh well.
There's really nothing I can publicly say about it. It was just a bunch of psychotherapy and "delving deep into the depths of my mind."
Upon my release, I was told to find a new, possibly cardiac hobby. So I started running. And I never thought I'd actually like running. But I do. Just concentrating on keeping a pace, getting to a certain point, etc., keeps me from stressing out about stepping on sidewalk cracks and stuff. Which is something I've done since second grade when Tom Randall told me that if I stepped on the cracks, I'd break my mother's back. I even tried it once when I was really angry at her. She ended up spraining her ankle the day after. It freaked me out. Anyway, my therapists office is about a mile from our condo. So I usually run there, talk to her about everything and then run home. It's good stuff.
She let me borrow Donnie Darko. I have to watch it and observe some of his habits. Not that he was real or had the same stuff I have, but it's part of the learning process. It's a really good movie.
Crazy people tend to be good subjects; i hope I'll never be crazy enough to be on TV.

Lately I have been extremely stressed for small and insignificant reasons. My desk is extremely cluttered. Everytime I sit down, I try to organize it, but hardly anything has a place. And then I start feeling nervous because that's the way I am. So I walk away. I tried to reason this out while talking to my sister. She, instead of helping, replied, "So...you're afraid of your desk?" That makes me sound like a baby. I mean, technically, that's what it is. The idea of not having a place for everything makes me nervous because I am obsessive and compulsive and disordered. Yesterday, I was folding my clothes. Usually, Clair does my socks because I have a lot of issues with socks. Anyway, she had a late class today. And I couldn't leave them undone. So I did them. And there was an odd sock. It had no pair! That stuff makes me nervous, too. The sock could be anywhere! So everytime I put on socks, I'll start thinking "where is that sock?!" and start looking for it. And I won't stop until I find it. Seriously. Once I skipped school because I started thinking about something that I lost and couldn't find it. My mom came home early and was really pissed. That's when we decided that I was obsessive, compulsive, and disordered. Today, I had to write a bunch of random things down in a class. When I start doing that, I think of full phrases, then paragraphs, then more stuff and I can't just leave them in my mind. They have to be down on paper. So I ended up writing a completely solid and understandable paragraph when I was supposed to write the first 10 words that came to mind.
I also spilled crap at work because some kid was talking with the worst grammar I've ever heard. So I was obsessive about the grammar and then about the spilled chocolate flavored caffine all over the place.

I should probably see someone about this increasing obsessiveness, compulsiveness, and disorderly-ness.