Back for at least a couple more posts depending on your reaction

Some things might not make sense as this was originally composed for facebook and I'm too lazy to go through and change it, not that it would be interesting to you if you don't personally already know me anyway.

I'm starting this note without any purpose or sense of direction. In fact, the only reason I am writing this is because I haven't done one (that wasn't advertising a radio show) before. I also don't have class until 1:30 tomorrow.
With this in mind, you might want to stop reading and use your time elsewhere. I might not come up with anything of any interest. Though I suppose I won't post this if I didn't. So now your relying on my judgment on whether or not this will entertain you.
Right, so I have about 4 weeks left in Grantham if all goes according to plan. I'm glad to get out. It's not that I don't like some of the people in Grantham. It's that I hate some of the people in Grantham. I can't tolerate many of the people I see here.
These feelings are generally reserved for when I'm driving or listening to pop music. Why the hatred? Multiple reasons, but all can be summed up by counting drops of piss on the toilet seats on third floor Grantham. The seats look like Honeycombs. And walking past people in the halls I can just tell which ones care and which ones piss on seats. I thought I left these people back in high school, or I at least hoped they would join a fraternity.
These are the people who dribble a basketball for 15 minutes at a time in a dorm room. At 10 a.m. on a Saturday. I'm taking 4 different psych classes next semester just to try and figure out what brain processes are behind that bizarre action. Dribbling a basketball in a dorm room is not fun. This is not debatable. Questioning this fact is madness. It can't be fun. It just CAN'T. Because if it is, everything I thought I knew about life is lost in a horrible whirlwind of something really bad yet undiscovered.
It also won't make you better at basketball. I know this from personal experience. I dribbled many a basketball while sitting on folding chairs while riding the bench. I can say rather confidently that the coach never looked down the bench to see me sitting down on a chair dribbling under my legs and thought "Jesus look how fast it goes from his left hand to his right, get him in the game."
Most people suck at basketball, but they play it anyway. They say it's to stay in shape, but everyone who's ever played thinks they are better than they are. But say they do play it to stay in shape. For most people this is fine. It's therapeutic. A release. It's exercise, and it's good for you. I need to exercise. It keeps them from being able to tell us what a heart attack feels like. But what is the use of staying alive longer if you are the type of person who routinely pisses on toilet seats, so much so that 3 days removed from the most recent cleaning (on Friday) I can't sit down and lay brown eggs. These people add NOTHING to society, except drunk-driving and date-rape. And AIDS. Because you know whoever had sex with that monkey is one of these people.
Other than that it was a good weekend.