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Phys(ics)Geek
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"Could you whisper in my ear, the things you wanna feel."
I'm quite tired of this nonsensical perspective that I've had regarding my life and the things in it. It's weird, I have no problem getting up in the morning and going to school and busting my ass all day for a measely $6 an hour (or less, if I'm doing problems). In fact, some little masochistic guy named Leo that lives in my cerebellum likes it.* [For your convience, jokes will be highlighted in the end by an asterisk (*)] But yeah, I have no problem busting my butt, and living the loner-ish (I have to add the -ish because, hey, I did go out and get shitfaced with a hotty, an engineer, and two Ph.D. high energy physicists, so I can't be THAT much of a loner) life. But as soon as I get home, take of my pants, and sit at my computer for five hours talking to three people in a chat room about why Einstein could literally beat the shit out of Newton and talking to this girl I don't even know in real life yet have spent more time talking to over the last two years than I have ninety-nine percent of those troglodites that both the government I refer to as "family" about "Mr. Zinger" (from SNL! duh!)... it's right about then that I start to think "Kellen... you fucking loser. You really are a fucking loser you fucking loser. Why don't you play on the golf team? Oh, because you're a fucking loser, that's right. So what if you have 6-handicap and whoop the shit out of everybody, you'll lose, you fucking loser. And don't even bother trying to get a Ph.D. or a sexy wife or a car that doesn't go ka-chunk when you shift gears because you's a fuckin' loser man." Yeah... Of course, I know I'm not. Besides having a 6-handicap and a wit thats sharp as a box of bricks*, I also have unmeasurable talent when it comes to mathematics, physics, and writing. Save for the occaisional 100+ word run-on sentence.* Oh well... I guess maybe that's just what is supposed to happen in my mind at night. Logically I know that I'm full of shit, hell, I can even prove it mathematically (I'd present the proof here but I'm afraid that I had to be like the aforementioned pansy Issac Newton and invent a branch of mathematics to do it, so you wouldn't understand it... Bip. I'm tired. All this facetiousness and loneliness is making want to either sleep or code a very small shell script to replace sleep entirely. Of course, the latter allows me to have some more emacs fun, so I guess we all know what my decision is. Later. Feeling:
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