Seven Up.

"Makin' people happy, that's my favorite game.
Lucky Seven is my natural name.
Slippin' and slidin' my whole life through,
Still I get everything done that I got to do."

~ Schoolhouse Rock

It's early. 

I like stating the obvious, because it helps me look back up and understand where I'm going  with all of this, plus it lets whatever readers there are understand what is taking place. I bring up the reader today, because I just got done reading the entirety of the combined class's writing. In an odd way, it made me wonder who all is reading what I write. It also made me realize that whenever given the chance to freely write about the day's events, almost everyone starts bitching. I'm going to take a (coughcoughclichecoughcough) stab in the dark, and assume that it's because people don't get enough bitching done in their day-to-day routine. I, however, do not have this issue, as I like to bitch and moan all the time. In fact, one might even go so far as to say that I have made it into something of an art form. Am I saying that I didn't take the time on these posts to bitch a little? Nope. But I got the distinct feeling  that aside from Erica and probably Kate, that a lot my fellow writers don't take that little bit of stand when it is needed. Which isn't always a bad thing. I think it is..wise..to pick your battles. Unfortunately for me, wise often times gets thrown under the bus. Also, please take a moment to realize that I am neither critiquing anyone's posts, nor throwing jibes, cheap shots or accusations in any way. I'm merely remarking on what seemed to be the case to me. My opinion, if you will. 

This marks day seven of my weekly journal. I wish that I could say that it has been a fun trip, but I most certainly can not. In doing all of this, it has remained in the back of my mind at all times that this is all just warm up bullshit, which makes it all seem a little pointless and time consuming. There's nothing worse for me than for the professor to tell me that I clearly don't need the practice (which both of my collegiate writing professors have done) and then proceed to have me do them anyway. I'm not pointing my bony finger at you, Mr. Goldfine. I'm just letting you know that I'm aware of your shenanigans. I'm ready for week two. I've already looked over the details of the assignment and am quite pleased to realize that you weren't joking when you told me that you were about ready to hand me not only my ass, but my words, slathered in mustard and crow, right back to me. A challenge is always a good thing, assuming that it doesn't end up killing you. Just think of all the bad "Goliath" anecdotes and references we could have all been spared had he just done what he was supposed to have done, and dropped David's little ass right there where he stood.   

On a more honestly personal note, I got up and made breakfast today. I have to say that out of all of the ways that I know how to cook an egg (and there are many), that none are quite as appealing to me as frying them up in bacon fat. I mean, if I'm going to be self-destructively hedonistic, then I might as well just be as blatantly pleased with myself as humanly possible. Then again, I wasn't the one eating the egg. 

Well journal, that's about it. You've served your usefulness and I thank you for that. However, seeing as you were but a ploy to break me from whatever writer's torpor I may have supposedly succumbed to, I'm afraid that I must now toss you into oblivion, never to be spoken of again. May a million worms rend the flesh from your bones, as your soul is cast into the pit.