I remember a raging storm at home, drifting snow coming right up to the windows, wind so cold as to bare my bones clear of flesh.

Or sitting at school, oh so many times, staring out the window, seeing the streaks on the glass pane, watching the traffic slow to a crawl outside, the world disappearing in a wash of white.

Or going up to my folks chalet up north, sitting by the fire, stoned to the gills, watching the snow accumulate on the frozen lake, drifting slowly down, snow down, me to hazy sleep as my eyes droop, happy to be warm and snuggled tight, safe, secure, for the moment at least, not having to fight or stuggle against anything, or anyone.

The word 'satisfied' drifts lazily across my brain, like a wandering sea fish, with no place to go, and no specific time to have to be anywhere. What does that mean, 'satisfied', anyway.

I suppose I should confess, and catch up, a little. Awright. The move...the move is all fucked up. I went over and my brother had dropped off my new bed, and I talked to Kris and Woody. Kris is enthusiastic about me moving in, but is losing patience with Woody, the pet hippie. Woody is in some sort of massive depression that requires him to sleep 15+ hours a day, be a dick to me, and not get a job. Now. I am as compassionate, if not more(in my own way...tough love, dose of cynicysim...)than the next guy. I have gone through major depression myself. But I didn't take it out on anyone else, I kept my job(and school with a double fucking major) together, and managed through perseverance, to get better. I am running out of patience with this guy, and I have a plethora, a wealth of patience. I cannot tolerate self-pity. Combine that with immaturity and its pure aggravation. And this cat is so mal-socialized. He's the type of cat who grew up annoying his folks, 'cause that got him attention, and now does that to his peers. I'm surprised no one has called him out on this. And the facade is just depressing. He tries to be a combination merry prankster/hippie/impish knowitall. Every once in a while he'll let out a semi-maniacal laugh, calculated so that I'm supposed to think,"Woah, he's crazy." When really I think ,"Woah, you're annoying". He's a buck thirty of smelling nuiscance. Hippie girls won't even give him the time of day, and his existance seems predicated on the pity of others. If I had that makeup for a personality, I'd probably shoot my self.

Anyway, he's likely to hit the bricks soon, if not get thrown out.

That situation is so fucked. A lot of my better instincts say, "walk away", except that its good real estate.(Fire places, hot tubs, parties)

So I'll hang for a couple of days, see how it pans out. Why not? I've got time. Part of me thinks I should just step back and watch the situation disintegrate, just to be rid of woody.

We used to be friends. He used to be upbeat, have a job, and not be nearly so annoying. Then he went cross country with his friends(see one of my older entries, I don't remeber which) and the rest is history. As I used to say in the therapy business...you can only do so much for someone. You do more, then you are doing more than your part. And that's bad in a bunch of different ways.

i have a confession to make. This is disturbing, so be prepared. Really, as I've been thinking about it, this is one of my deep dark secrets, and I'm so ashamed, like an addict is of his smack habit, ashamed, but not so ashamed as to quit.

I call the PBS telethons. Late at night, after smoking tons of reefer, and there's nothing left to watch elswhere, I torment those fuckers. It started out as harmless fun. I was home sick from high-school, watching T.V., when I realized that they show pictures of the phone banks during the telethon. AND you can hear the phone ring. AND the telethon is just getting started, so there's no one calling. Except me. I bet I can hear my call ring through. So I tested the theory. BINGO. Instant addiction.

First it was just a couple of times. Then, later, I got cagier, and would wait until the cameras focused on the phone bank, and the half dozen or so very bored looking volunteers. It was thrilling to dial those educational nazis up, hear the ring, MY ring, see the worker pick it up, only to hang up on them, and see the look of befuddlement spread across the edu-nazis face, startled that someone would violate public trust and the trust of a sacred public instution so blatantly. Remember Mr. Rodgers? Remember electric company? NOVA!?

Then it got worse. I would only call and hang up when they were begging for a call, "Just to get things started...please call now...please..." And laugh like a schizophrenic on weed when I'd see their faces light up at the immediate response, only to see it darken as I hung up.

From there, I would take it a step furthur. During the next break, the same 'let's get it started' plea would go out, and I'd call, and talk about the wonderful things PBS has done in my life, and talk about donating my life savings, only to hang up midway through the call. Edu-nazis get what they deserve.

And I did it last night. I am such a PBS WHORE. I did it to explain the whole gig to Kris. And then I dared him to call in and say something lewd in a gravelly voice, like,"Tell that girl on the left that she's got nice tits" and then hang up. You really can't jerk their chain too far, unless you pledge someone elses' money.

So Kris calls in, and thugs PBS right out.

"Yeah, you buttholes should stop gabbering and play more Stevie Ray Vaughn." (He was on Austin City Limits, which brought me back to my addiciton in the first place)

Great work, Kris. You just thugged out Mr. Rodgers. Good job.