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This is NOT an experiment.
May. 19th, 2004 02:30 am
Tiistai, 18. toukokuuta 2004
*gaak* it burns!
(too much drink for a day anyway, considering how [I haven't been] phased into it.)
The weird cocktail I had at lunch I put a capful of gin in it, which made me a little drowsy, but it wore off in an hour or two. Then, the weird guy [Odd Boy (as opposed to Dangerous Boy)] is, decides to pop up before social class outside the classroom and gestures, "hey, come over here, I've got something for you." "What?" I begin to follow him. "No, no, bring your backpack." "Huh?" "Just do it." "Okay..." He leads me to a quieter corner near the school doors. "What is it...contraband?!" "Not really, but we're not supposed to have it in the school." He pulls a plastic bag out of his backpack and hands it to me. From the touch I know it's liquor, so I didn't need to look, really. "Here's a mickey of run." "Uh, thanks," I said awkwardly, fiddling with the plastic bag. "Quick, put it away."
Anyway, that was odd. Somehow I found myself still not tired at 2am and I'm thinkin', it must have been some of that he brought home (illegally!) from Cuba over the spring break that he was talking about at lunch on the computer. Licked a couple of drops (I tried to pour it out into the cap but it leaked all over my hand) and, uh, it burns. Like rubbing alcohol. No wonder they use it in the movies and in war as an improvised antiseptic. But quite an interesting aftertaste. I think I'll sleep now, not that burning sensations help me sleep. And I better wake up!
(Mr. MacGregor was also [Odd Boy]'s social teacher and he was like, "well, [Odd Boy], why don't you come in?" Heh.)
I think I have too much contraband in my room, I didn't know where to hide it. My pointy object is laying at the top of the junk drawer of my dresser (the drawer closest to the floor) and I daren't take it out right now because I can swear I must be somehow impaired at this point, in something or other, and as for the rum, it's acting inconspicuously as a bookend in one of the darker corners of my bookshelf.
Ok, now I'm starting to feel a little sleepy.
And if you don't think he's crazy, he normally doesn't sleep until 3 or 4am, drinks tea and Coca-Cola during the day, then drugs himself to sleep with the stash of booze in his personal fridge. I mean it. But as they say...engineering students are all drunkards. Might as well get used to it [now].
*gaak* it burns!
(too much drink for a day anyway, considering how [I haven't been] phased into it.)
The weird cocktail I had at lunch I put a capful of gin in it, which made me a little drowsy, but it wore off in an hour or two. Then, the weird guy [Odd Boy (as opposed to Dangerous Boy)] is, decides to pop up before social class outside the classroom and gestures, "hey, come over here, I've got something for you." "What?" I begin to follow him. "No, no, bring your backpack." "Huh?" "Just do it." "Okay..." He leads me to a quieter corner near the school doors. "What is it...contraband?!" "Not really, but we're not supposed to have it in the school." He pulls a plastic bag out of his backpack and hands it to me. From the touch I know it's liquor, so I didn't need to look, really. "Here's a mickey of run." "Uh, thanks," I said awkwardly, fiddling with the plastic bag. "Quick, put it away."
Anyway, that was odd. Somehow I found myself still not tired at 2am and I'm thinkin', it must have been some of that he brought home (illegally!) from Cuba over the spring break that he was talking about at lunch on the computer. Licked a couple of drops (I tried to pour it out into the cap but it leaked all over my hand) and, uh, it burns. Like rubbing alcohol. No wonder they use it in the movies and in war as an improvised antiseptic. But quite an interesting aftertaste. I think I'll sleep now, not that burning sensations help me sleep. And I better wake up!
(Mr. MacGregor was also [Odd Boy]'s social teacher and he was like, "well, [Odd Boy], why don't you come in?" Heh.)
I think I have too much contraband in my room, I didn't know where to hide it. My pointy object is laying at the top of the junk drawer of my dresser (the drawer closest to the floor) and I daren't take it out right now because I can swear I must be somehow impaired at this point, in something or other, and as for the rum, it's acting inconspicuously as a bookend in one of the darker corners of my bookshelf.
Ok, now I'm starting to feel a little sleepy.
And if you don't think he's crazy, he normally doesn't sleep until 3 or 4am, drinks tea and Coca-Cola during the day, then drugs himself to sleep with the stash of booze in his personal fridge. I mean it. But as they say...engineering students are all drunkards. Might as well get used to it [now].
