I was thinking about Saturday, and I realized how great a weekend I had. It was amazing. Friday was a little bit of a let down, because Brent never showed, but the rest of the weekend was so amazing. Saturday with Chris, and doing fun kid stuff, swimming in random hotel pool with him, and then going to Gilman St. for the second night in a row. The band I wanted to see cancelled, but the show sold out anyway, and I had someone lick there wrist and copy the stamp onto mine. I hung out with Nick. I was sitting in a fucking van drinking with him and some of his friends, and I was wearing a white button-up shirt and tie. One of Nicks friends, this fucking moron, says, 'What's up theater boy?' He kept saying I looked like I worked in a movie theater. It bugged me, because he didn't lay off. I looked good that night, and I had gone to a semi-formal party earlier, and this moron was being fucking rude. It annoyed me so eventually I told him to fuck off and just left. It was fun though; I like getting mad. It's a cathartic experience (and no, I don't know if that is really what cathartic means, I was trying to say it was a very relieving experience to just get out some of that aggresion). At any rate, the guy was a prick, but I had fun anyway. The whole weekend was cool, thanks to Chris, some good bands, and a whole lot of other people.

I feel sort of ignored by the world right now, but I'm not freaking out too badly. I can relate to what this kid wrote about a few weeks ago. I just feel like all the kids that I adore, that I really like, love or want to fuck, all want nothing to do with me. It's not the end of the world, but it's not a particularly good feeling. I just feel sort of let down, sort of ignored. Whatever.

'People out on the streets, they don't know who I am. I watch them from my room. They all just pass me by. But I'm not just anyone. I said I'm not just anyone!' ----'Sonic Reducer' by The Dead Boys

So it's 3:00 pm right now, and I looked up catharsis in the dictionary and I actually was right about what it meant. A strong release of emotion or something along those lines. Anyway, I've been thinking about sophomore year lately. Driving through Scott's Valley on the way to and from Santa Cruz brought back a lot of memories of rehab two years ago. It was probably nearly exactly two years ago that I left for rehab, and the weather is just as it was then. It's sunny and beautiful, and I was so fucking miserable then. I was kicking dope for the first time, and although I wasn't hooked as bad as the last time I kicked, it still sucked horribly. I remember playing tennis on the shitty courts that the rehab had. I remember meeting Mike, one of the two other heroin addicts there. He was crazy, from Palo Alto. He sold dope. He was court ordered to be there, and he was a maniac. I heard he got arrested about three days after leaving for stealing a car or some shit. I don't know, my memory of that time is extremely vague. I remember meeting Nicole, who was the other dopehead there. She was awesome, and knew the Mission St. dope scene like I did. I was friends with her after I got out. My brother actually dated her for a while, which bugged the hell out of me. My brother has done that a few times; dated girls that I'm friends with before he knew them. I remember Matt, who was 14, little as all hell. He looked prepubescent, not more than 5 ft tall. But he was horny as all hell and crazy. He'd come up to you and slap his dick and balls against his legs. He was a little wierd in the sex department. I haven't thought about that time in forever. It's wierd remembering how fucking insane I was at the time. I was one angry, unhappy kid. And I was just a kid then too. I've grown up so much in the last two years. Rehab started that process. Chris started that process too. I should thank rehab so much for starting me saving my life. I drink still, but I don't do any drugs, especially heroin. I'm clean, at least in my mind. I don't go to meetings any more, but they never really helped me anyway. All the people I knew at meetings are either gone from my life or went out and stayed out. It sucks. Whatever. I'm doing so well, and I feel bad for those kids that are still strung out. It's wierd thinking about all this stuff now. I just need to remember where I came from, and think about where I want to go.

Wel here's two more. One's for me, because I would be dead if it wasn't for rehab, love, and boys.

'I got a bottle injection, and a gun at my head, man, from a slim hipped redhead that brought me into this town. Where did you go? And what did you do? What's gonna happen when he gets shot with love? Dead on arrival, well that ain't a prediction. Don't try to shake me, and don't try to break me.' ----'Dead on Arrival' by Billy Idol

And this one's another supposed masturbation song. This one's just because these songs rock.