Read this one. Don't read the last few. They're crap. This one's alright.

The first thing I thought of when I woke up this morning (five minutes ago) was that it's time to atone for all this Dr. Phil Dawson's Creek introspective bullshit and write something more substantial than lines and lines of "why didn't my mom hug me more as a child."

By the way, I am humbly paying the price for channeling Nicholas Sparks and taking an over-romanticized 5 mile trek in the dark the other night when I should've been doing nothing more than sitting on my floor (that's right, I've got a floor) in my bathrobe eating popcorn and watching Youtube videos as I've got the left ankle of an over-inflated sex doll (and by that I only mean that it's big and swollen... just incase there are any strange ankle fetishes out there that I'm unaware of). Apparently Jesus must've done his stretches beforehand or something; that or he refused to settle for $3 Old Navy sandals. Regardless, the next time I do something completely moronic I will at least try to remember to lace up a pair of high-tops first.

I fear that if I were to continue down the blogging path I had embarked on a few days ago, I would have to change the title of my blog from the Latin translation of "I talk too much" to something like "The Spilled Milk Chronicles." The only reason I haven't deleted some of those dreadful posts is I hope to be able to look back some day when somebody calls me a whiny, insecure head-case and point to those blogs and say, "No, sir. Today I'm just cranky because I don't like the way these pants fit. THAT THERE is the manifestation of this whiny, insecure head-case business you speak of. Good day, sir."

Because everything happens for a reason... right? At least that's what everybody's been telling me. Even yesterday-- two people, one was a customer. And I didn't even fish for it, they just offered it. "Here's your receipt, sir." "Thanks, Alex. Everything happens for a reason."

I can't help but argue with that. Last week I walked into a natural foods store and bought a bottle of hibiscus tea and an apple. I went to check out and instead ended up walking around the store looking at rice cakes for the next ten minutes because my landlady was in line in front of me and I'd rather stall pretending I'm interested in yogurt made from raccoon milk than risk a potentially awkward exchange.

So anyways I got out to my car, took a bite out of the apple and tried to wash it down with some hibiscus tea. Let me first tell you about the hibiscus tea so those of you who have not had this wretched concoction can at least try to sympathize with what was going through my mind. It's a bright pretty red color, comes in a tiny plastic bottle, and the ingredients contain honey and lemon juice. Red+tiny+honey+lemon juice=me, happy. Usually. Well the thing ends up tasting like a mixture of salty tomatoes and sinus, and so that which did not reappear as a mist on my steering wheel and windshield drizzled downhill on Commercial St.

Now, back to my main point. Everything happens for a reason. Everything? Even that stupid little illustration? The fact that it happened a week ago and I still remember it is not evidence that the event were of any great significance, because at the same time I can't remember names or faces or when my Earth Science midterm was (last Tuesday, turns out). See, if I could remember things that actually mattered, then I could accept the whole "everything happens for a reason thing." The reason Jonny happened to remember when the utilities were due is because Jonny's giveadamn still works, unlike Alex, who bought his giveadamn on eBay because he's a cheap skate trying to save a buck or two, and when the goddamn giveadamn arrived it turned out to be nothing more than a toaster with some paper machet and glitter glued on the sides.

This blog has blown so far off course that I wish to cut my losses immediately and just end the bitch, but I feel that I first must disclose what I originally sat down to writhe about (yes I meant "writhe," not "write") was my first listening of the new Green Day album and my subsequent disappointments. Perhaps due to a few misfirings of the synapsis and an impish desire to rebel against even my own paper-thin insiginificant early-morning blogging agenda, I ended up going down this goofy-balls rabbit hole where I simultaneously say everything and nothing.

But it's all cool because it all happened for a reason. At least I think I'm starting to get my writing balls back.