2003-01-07 - 1:22 a.m.
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Ready to run
I motherfucking beat Grand Theft Auto: Vice City.
Based on the fact that I neglected to do a couple of missions and had to go back and do them at the end when I figured that I missed them, I messed up the whole story line and my betrayal at the end seemed to come out of nowhere.
On a brighter side, I killed over 200 guys because I had no idea what to do and then ended up fucking up a bunch of guys who were on my side after killing my backstabbing bitch of a partner. AFter saving his ass from the Cubans earlier in the game because he jumped the gun and went after Diaz, who I ended up killing, he was nothing but a little bitch.
When he went down, I made sure he died by hacking at him with a chainsaw until his character disappeared. I was so pissed this imaginary motherfucker betrayed me after I spent so much time figuring out the best attack plan for saving his ass and beating that mission. Fuck that man. Not to mention, the one mission right before the end I did was one where I blow up something in a mall. And I constantly had to save his ass when I switched flaming car after flaming car.
If I had any idea that's what the ending was, I would have killed his stupid ass hours upon hours of gameplay ago.
For all who just had their gaming experience ruined, just remember as I was reminded shortly after I beat this game: IT IS A GAME. I got really caught up in the game, finding that I had to find out how it's all going to end. You step on everyone's toes and I'm surprised no one else attempts to take you out Diaz version.
My goal for break has been completed. I might even go outside tomorrow.
I found out Morgan isn't coming back to Plattsburgh this semester. That royally sucks. If there was someone who would always go out without fail, it was Jameson and Morgan. I barely saw either of them last semester and now Morgan isn't even coming back. He was a great drinking buddy and an even better friend, as well as being a good person. I guess he was drinking buddy a little too much. I hope he comes down to visit us from Brasier, as well as get his ass back into school. He could always go to Clinton. Who knows.
I found out today that I have like 3 weeks more of break. This break is fucking never ending. This week, I'm living it up as much as possible LI style. Next week, I go to Massachusetts and party Lowell style. Then, it's back to Phattsburgh and the last steps I take in education will be taken. I'm on fire with anticipation. Not nervousness, not anxiousness. I'm anticipating that this entire semester is going to be really good. Even if it starts to suck, even if it sucks at start, even if it ends and means I have to say goodbye to more than just one person like I did the end of this semester past, even if it means I have to move on and finally be super duper grown up man, I don't care. I'm goddamn ready and even if I'm not, what the fuck do I care? I'm not worried about myself at all. Not in the least. I could feasibly get some menial job, diligently killing myself at the pace of a career or I could be swept up into some fanatical dream job. Or I could end up waking up every day at the back of a tour bus. Or I could end up waking up every day at the back of a city bus. What the fuck do I care? It's going to come no matter what. I could die tomorrow. I could die next week. We could all die tomorrow. Fuck it.
I'm just worried about getting to sleep with a smile on tonight. I'll see if I even wake up.
This break is starting to do what it was designed to do. It's starting to re-energize the Belmo side of me, that side that makes me the way I am. Whatever you call that energetic, hungry, sensitizied part of yourself that tears through troubles like a ravenous beast, that's what is getting charged up. I'm getting motherfucking ready to get unleashed upon this universe, this vast and unimportant universe that has no qualms about squashing me at any given moment. I am ready to fucking tear into the odds, ready to fight tooth and nail till every drop of blood has fallen out of my body and I am torn to pieces, ready to claw and scratch and bite and spit and piss and do everything I need to do to get where I want to go. To get as high up in my own sense of good as I can. I do not mean I want to spent my days climbing the corporate ladder. Nah. Fuck that. That's boring. I can fax and file and code and bar graph and email and teleconference and collate and reference and all that happy horseshit work that has been manufactured to give some pathetic boob some shred of hope to crawl out of, some Burmese Tiger Trap that people fall into and slowly have to climb their way out of just to break even with the ground. Oh no. When I look up, I don't see a tunnel of dirt around me to claw up from.
I see skies to leap into and soar in.
I don't want to fall into a trap and fight free, I want to just fight, free. I want to go out and make what I can of what I got left. I've been paying attention the whole time. We weren't shoved into school against our wills so that we can go directly into some monotonous job right after. The purpose of school is not to prepare you for your job. Your own job training is to prepare you for your job. Your own life experiences are to prepare you for your job. School is merely a sharpening of the senses. People have looked at our education time as some kind of responsibility. I knew what they were doing, but I was put off by it. I didn't believe I needed it, I didn't think I needed the fine tuning, but now that I've gotten it, I can't get rid of it. It was a naive thing, to look with contempt at school. And while a good many things about school suck absolute dick, now that it's leaving, I'm a bit sad about it, but fuck it. I'm motherfucking ready. Let's do this. Let's go, world. Let's go, fate. Both you motherfuckers. I'm fucking ready for both of you.
Boy howdy are you two going to get fucked the fuck up.
BMC
What did you just say? - What's he gonna say next?
