Well, it looks like I have my journal back, although I'm sure it's going to be hacked into by my brothers again soon. I came back home last night after a metaphysical consciousness retreat to find that all the passwords for my computer and this journal were reset. Although I thought I was safe with the password
depressio, I guess I was wrong. My brothers surprisingly posed no difficulty in the process of getting my computer back, as they had passed out in the fondue container by my desk. They looked like Dante's minions, sprawled out on the floor with fondue forks still in hand. I tried to get a picture, but The Cheat decided to eat my film. Anyhow, after laboring on the computer for hours and hours, and not getting sleep for fear that my brothers would find me, this journal will be here until they figure out my password again.
On another note, I found out after listening to the tape
joa - joc as I was going to bed, that my evasion of Coach-Z's rapping on the field was a farce. Laying there, in my small bed and meditating on the fifty-first pronouncation of the word
jocose, an ironic twist was set in place - the words on the tape were replaced by a rap "remix" of Peter Frampton's
Baby I Love Your Way. All of that work, all gone as quickly as water down a drain. I wonder why I even try sometimes. Like the tape, it all just ends up in the garbage.
Current Mood: 
sad
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strongsad's journal
impressed