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I wasn't allowed to get on the computer last night, so I wrote up last night's entry on a sheet of notebook paper. And here it is.

January 20th

23:55

Today was the first show choir competition of the year. Not bad, all things considered. I became Red Hot's official hobo. You see, when we got there, Mrs. Edwards told us to take all of our things off the bus. I was a little peeved at that, seeing as how I brought a pillow and my old leopard blankie. Throughout the day, though, I came to appreciate it. We did a lot of waiting in hallways and in the main lobby. Eventually, I got tired of standing. So, as you might be able to guerss, I laid down my backpack, put my pillow on it, and got myself comfortable. Due to the blanket's age and state of wear and tear, as well as other things, several comments were made about me looking like a homeless guy in a bus terminal. I was amused.

Also today came a strange conversation with Marc over whether or not I'd be a survivor if our country was bombed. I agreed with him that th emost likely to survive would be those who prepared and those willing to fight tooth and nail just to cluth to life afterwards. He thinks that my nonchalant nature and my casual acceptance of death would make me so much charred meat if nuclear war came. In one sense, he's right. I wouldn't be prepared. Yet he insists that I'd be one of those whou would not be willing to fight tooth and nail. Why? Because I don't really get tense. His thoughts are that without tension, there's no adrenal rush, no 'heightened senses,' and no real survival traits. He doesn't know me.

I try to avoid tension and other strong emotions. I find them to be counter-productive. However, without them, the body doesn't react like it normally would in the same situation with a "normal" person. So I allow tension to enter. Not much, but some. ANd I channel it. It gets sent away from the brain and into the muscles, the bones, and the blood. Same efect, yet no loss of control. Awww yeah.

On a different note, I've been thinking about death lately. Don't worry, readers, I'm not getting suicidal. Instead, I'm running my mind through various scenarios and have come to a few conclusions.

1)I do not want a funeral when I di. Those things are utterly depressing and bore me to tears. I want people to throw a party. Get people together, have some munchies, swap stores, laugh and cry the night away. I don't want my death grieved for the loss of my presence in the world. I want it celebrated for whatever joy I gave people while I was still here. And, hey! If there's no apparent joy, there's still munchies!

2) If I died right now, I can think of only three regrets I'd have. I've never been to Scotland, I wouldn't get the chance to see Beta's work hit print, and I wouldn't get to be at the various weddings of certain friends. I don't regret anything else. Why bother? It's only wishes and guilt.

3) I don't want buried in a suit. Most of the people who would attend my funeral/party/whatever would have neever seen me in a suit. I'd want buried in jeans and a T-shirt. *grins* My "It's Only A Flesh Wound" shirt would be appropriate, I think. Maybe I should write a will and have that included in it, as well as a required acting out of the "Bring Out Your Dead" scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

4) If I died right now, there'd probably be people at my funeral/whatever that I never got to see face to face in real life. You know who you are.

Enough of this. It's 12:35 and I be sleepy.

Peace and Health

John-Boy