Long time, no update, and nothing new to say now ‘cept ughhh I wanna graduate, tear the timeleech from my mind. I’ve had more kidney trouble and with the non-pain days, fevers, headaches, and apathy. Trying to get help has been a nightmare—long story short, to ensure insurance covers the bills, I’ll have to make multiple trips to fARGo if I want to get the CAT scan I maybe kinda perhaps need, ’cause that’s another thing: I could be fine, and I’ve been feeling okay lately.

Stupid body. I don’t have time for < down > time the will, desire, the energy to deal with incapacity and midsection tension. Due to my condition, I stopped drinking my homemade almond iced tea, a.k.a. the Source of All Creation, my only vice, and it was an addiction—that caffeine-loaded sweet-and-sour sludge-of-love fueled me, but it was a helluva diuretic (cough) and might be the reason for the malfunctioning of my pee factory.

‘Tis speculation, of course, gleaned from the In-ter-net and conventional wisdom (of my roommates, who bitched me out and nodded gravely as I dumped out my last batch). I can’t take chances and will do anything to avoid this pain is unlike anything. …But will I make an appointment to see a “primary health care provider” I’ve never met in Fargo despite having already seen three times and received a referral from a perfectly competent doctor here in Minneapolis? < shrugs > Growl.

I saw Paul Van Dyk Wednesday night (!!!). Opening dj/promoter extraordinare Jack Trash tore the roof off the house and PVD burned the place down. Luckily the Quest was refashioned posthaste for the AFI show Friday. –>And this. Was. Phenomenal. I feared the blows to my kidneys, sure, but I chanced it and wow. Wow.

Actually, I sustained my worst injury screaming around my room in preparation for the show, smacking my hand against the door, tearing off a chunk of skin, and badly bruising my finger. During an opening band I also clipped cut bruised my ankle on a scrap of broken metal that sprung from the compass logo on the floor; I screamed and hobbled out, notifying the pit boss who made a big fuss and got it fixed before someone sliced a tendon.

Why doesn’t the Quest give me a job already, hrm? Heh. AFI’s set was intense and necessary—there’s so many places I want to push me. Later that night I saw the band at Pizza Luce but was too shy to approach, thank, congratulate, and ramble. I kick me and care a lot, do and will continue to regret, but I know what I’m like and will live with it.
< mer. >

Though sort of old news, DJ Shadow and Zach de la Rocha produced an anti-war protest song. Check it out at www.marchofdeath.com.

I’m reading One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez. I like it a lot. Yep.it a lot. Yep.