So about a week ago, I was scaling the side of Mt. Everest. When I reached the summit, I found a port-a-potty covered in ice with the Dali Lhama sitting inside with his robes around his ankles. "Got any T.P. mac?" he said. "Umm, no. Sorry, I've been using Snickers bar wrappers." He then launched into a string of obscenites, calling me the son of a diseased whore and damning me to hell, because he had been sitting on the pot for about 24 days, and his buttcheeks were numb.

Really!

Alright, so I lied, but it has gotten to the point that when I launch into a story about my past, the person I'm talking to will start citing details about the event, and saying that they already read it on my journal. So I thought I'd start making shit up so that I'd have something interesting to say.

It's like that joke where everyone in a prison has memorized and numbered all the jokes they know, and they now tell them by just calling out the number... Might as well start telling Journal Entry number stories. "So this one time... Entry 20152001" *Laughter*

I suppose it was dumb of me to ask "should I do something I want to do, but am afraid to?" to my friends, who will always back me on things like that. What I was driving at was that I want to go to Georgia, but I will miss you all if I do.. Miss you terribly, entirely unlike a case of hives...Which I didn't miss at all when they went away.

Jesus christ I need to start sleeping.

SO! In conclusion.....

Blow me.