What do I do now?

I love those days that pretty much go exactly how you want them to go; satisfaction leaves little to be said. Looking back on today, I am proud. I didn't really mess anything up. I said what needed to be said, did what needed to be done, and broke a little sweat in the process. Got the job done and I can relax with complete peace of mind. I don't think it gets much better than this.

Just chillaxin right bout now. Life's good, listening to some bubbly music, and just looking back with a satiated little grin. It's all good, baby! Got my fix of endorphins with a satisfactory Pain-in-the-Neck Wednesday to back it not to mention a PBBK with the wonderful populace of Long Hill. Finished off my homework easy, got what little there was out of the way quickly, and I was able to go through the rest of my day with unadulterated appreciation of the moments as they came.

Highlights of the Day:
First Period: "I just love how fast classes go when you come in just in time for the second half."
Second Period: Just a simple little lab, finding densities and whatnot, enjoyed simply listening to the people around me while I got work done for later.
Third Period: Not having to leave at the bell, just getting to chill for the second half of lab.
Fourth Period: The perfect tense of Spanish was never so fulfilling, easy to comprehend and quick to utilize, why can't all of life be like that?
Fifth Period: Sub in English led to small group discussion that splendidly disregarded  anything remotely related to class content, which ultimately allowed for something much more educational to take place.

"If we learn from mistakes....why are we so scared of making them?"

- Matt Webber's wise inquisition. 

"Because we're naturally inclined to be afraid of change. Additionally, learning from a mistake is a painful process: a journey many of us are hesitant to embark upon."

- A counter from Stevie LaFerriere trying to play with the big dogs.

"Because mistakes aren't just learning experiences. They most often have consequences to go along with them."

- Sean Gaughran delivering his sagacious insight.

The intrigue of wise observation once again astounds me.

Sixth Period: The way two revolting strawberry milk cartons somehow infiltrated my tray under the guise of standard 1%. They were in the trash before I had time for second thoughts.

Seventh Period: Family Connections! Who knew I lined up with such respectable colleges? Not me.

Eighth Period: The Federalist Papers. James Madison is an incredible writer, reminds me of myself haha jk.

Ninth Period (how'd we get here? I thought there were only eight..): The quiz was pretty easy, plus I got to stick around and talk with Fisher for a while. He's got an excellent grasp of student psychology.

So it's the simple things that make life great. Getting homework done in the library immediately after heading out of PreCalc. Even got ahead. That feels pretty good.

I also got to finally destroy my upper body. My endorphin addict jonesings have finally subsided. How juicy your arms get after lifting is also a plus. You've gotta love looking in the mirror and forgetting how small your arms normally are.

Hey, if you haven't checked out my profile I don't blame you. I only blame you if you haven't watched the It's My Life music video I linked it to; not only is it pretty sick but it inspired enough to basically do the impossible today. I had a pretty epic 5-minute duration of my own once I got home, not to mention a salute to Rocky Balboa that almost made me puke.

Following the conclusion of my lift, I did exactly what I felt like doing. Note that the things we feel like doing are not always the smartest, the most industrial, and certainly not advisable if you've got a place to be within the hour. I collapsed my singularly underwear-clad self in a recliner and let myself marinate in relief that it's finally being over had brought upon me. That actually felt pretty good. What didn't was what it led to.

Let's say the time's about 5:20, you've got your Mom who-knows-where and yourself sitting inside, too cowardly and too exhausted to push yourself into 23 degree weather and make a desperate mad dash for the warmth of your home. You then realize that you haven't let your ride know where he should pick you up, no guarantee of a way home, but an hour's worth of things to do before a thing you should probably be at in 40 minutes. Your dad's also looking forward to spending time with you that night, and you know you've gotta let him down but you've gotta make it up to him somehow before you don't see or hear from him for another half a week. Hopefully, you never get into such a situation, but it's one I found myself in five hours and ten minutes ago. This lingering pain in my gut is undeniable evidence of what the insane-bordering-on-psychotic crimes against humanity you can commit under such pressures.

With time ticking and your annihilated undergarmented body thoughtlessly begins to multitask. First things first, let your ride know where he needs to pick you up. You promise to be home ready-to-go within fifteen minutes, which you're fully aware is unlikely considering it usually takes you that long to get ready if you're already at home. The next thing you do is try to get there. Still too wimpy to face the cold weather, you phone your mom. Once. Twice. Three times. Give up, start to get dressed and figure you'll probably have to nut up and run home you start to feel the pressures of your situation. You've now got 10 minutes to do a 15-minute-job and you've got know idea how you're getting there, even if you'll be able to pull it off. The heavens will either shine on you or they won't, so in your half-naked body you begin to pray desperately for some kind of divine intervention. This would almost immediately come into play, as the first thing you consider is that it's probably not the best idea to go outside without a shirt on, so you finish getting dressed. Time's still ticking and there's now no time whatsoever to run home, it all depends on a phone call. Mustering all the faith I have within me, it must have been approaching the size of a mustard seed because your phone starts to ring. Finally something's paying off.

Your mom is on the other end, thanks be to God! She's literally two minutes away within eyeshot of the school, how could things be this good? Your work's not over yet though, you've still gotta get home and get to work. You get to the car as fast as you can, helplessly accompany as your mom goes to pick up your excruciatingly slow brother, and pray you'll get home. I swear time stood still, because by the time we finally got home I still had 5 minutes left to go.

God takes on many voices, but in that moment he took on the voice of Bon Jovi -- "It's My Life." A music video you just recently added as your journal's mandatory audio clip. You figure that if a guy can get across LA in a matter of five minutes, surely you can do each of the following with relative ease, not that it's not going to take some crazy effort:
- Strip and get to the shower.
- Wash faster than you ever have before.
- Rinse and get out, get dry, get dressed.
- Eat that protein your body so desperately needs.
- Find a way to stop the pain you're still dealing with.
- Get your things together.
- Put on your shoes and be prepared to leave at a moment's notice.
Because you've got to do this all in one fifth or sixth of the time in usually takes: five minutes, and that's all you've got. And all you've got to help you is pure desperation, raw effort, and the Bon Jovi that's helping your mind more now than ever. But, I can tell you now: you get it done, whether you're proud of how you did it or not.

You're practically in the house before the car has come to a stop. You start stripping your clothes there, forgetting all about the unspoken laws of indecent exposure. Who cares? You've got to get this done. You dive down what is probably 20 feet of stairs, snag a fresh pair of underwear and a towel, and leap back up the stairs all in a matter of two or three seconds. If you stepped on your dog face, you wouldn't care right now. That's how important this is to you. You're in that shower and you're furiously splashing waters of the dirtiest and stinkiest of your various nooks and crannies you had forgotten you have. You hardly have a body right now you're moving so fast. Some things just don't process. The speed of light, for instance.

You're wet and the one thing you don't think you can speed up is the downpour of the water. But you do, because like the song in your head is telling you you have to. The kid in the vid's outperforming you, damnit! You dry off so fast you probably burnt most of your delicates clean off and you snag a few painfillers from the bathroom cabinet. Whoops, not that many, that will kill you! You toss a few back in. Then you slide out the door and throw open the refrigerator, and somehow your clothes came on in the process. All you're thinking is protein, getting big, preparing for the big show. Imaginably, you're now thinking of Rocky Balboa. Unfortunately for you, your unconscious eyes and hands work together faster than your mind possibly can and you're unscrewing the cap of a carton of raw egg yolks. This wasn't what your mother bought it for, and as she watches in horrified revulsion, her mind processing what you're psychosis couldn't possibly, you're chugging raw eggs. "Hmm, not bad!" You think, but the truth of the matter is that that's just how badly you want your nutrients. If there had been a styrofoam cup full of writhing earthworms, you would have thought of Bear Grylls and shoved them down your throat. It didn't matter what it was, you just had to eat.

So you're clean, numb, dressed, and fed, and you've still got two minutes. You can probably slow down a little, just to catch your breath if you can, and you grab your phone and your wallet, filling your pockets comfortably. This is the part where you're at the concert, you've just gotta find the girl and enjoy the show. Bon Jovi's happy and you're just about ready to go. You have to untie your shoes before you can put them on, but that's okay, it'll just take half your time. One minute. Putting them on, another. And all of a sudden it's time to go. 5:45, exactly, you just barely made it, but you pulled it off. Take a deep breath. Relax. Now you're the one waiting on him. Probably a good idea to go use some mouthwash.

You laugh to yourself when you're in the car on your way to PBBK and Ryan asks you if you got the text he sent eight minutes ago. You said you did, that it said he was on his way. You took this to mean he was probably two minutes away. What he really meant was that he had just taken off, and if you had only taken the time to read the message completely, you would have realized that it could have saved you from committing unspeakable atrocities against your body. He said you had a couple extra seconds, so you technically could have relaxed, but looking back, you're glad you didn't. If you had, there would be no story, nothing to laugh about, and nothing to write about. It's all good, you're on your way to a good time. You can now consider yourself among the ranks of "Tommy and Gina, who never back down" and even Rocky! You're proud of your accomplishment. You held up your end of the bargain, and gained a hell of a memory along with it. Damn, you're good. Now go have a good time praising God, hanging with friends, and eating the slightly better food Burger King has to offer. Well done, good and faithful servant.

So good job. To you. There's no way that was me, it couldn't have been, I would never drink raw eggs. That was all you. This story is yours, I'm not going to take responsibility for it. It's in the second person for a reason. You, my journal, hold all rights to this terrible and beautiful memory. Use it well. Hold it long. May your bragging rights never cease. Just don't you ever associate it with me. You were the reason it happened, allow that to permeate your being. Take ownership for it already. It's yours.

But it can't unfortunately. It's a place of brutal honesty. Nothing is exaggerated, it can hold nothing false, and thus it can regrettably never hold true ownership of my story. So consequentially, it will forever haunt my memory and my being. It's just going to take forever to overcome this revulsion.

The benefits: I can now laugh at Rocky and view It's My Life in a way I never have before. It is also a pretty priceless memory; looking back I can't think of why I would want to give it away. It's crazy, but so am I, so it's with its rightful proprietor. I can now hold it with pride. It's a part of me now. And I just can't stop laughing about it. I never will, but that's okay. I've learned that five minutes can really change who you are and add a whole new dimension to your personality.

Our experiences form our outlook, which in turn alters our world as I discussed on Monday. Drinking raw eggs and taking perhaps one too many pills is a part of me now, forever a reminder of not only how crazy I am and the extents I'll go to to get something done, but also of accomplishment and a pride in who I am. I can share these stories without a hint of remorse. I'm confident enough to share the entirety of my being with the world. And that's a pretty cool feeling.

This was a pretty good day, as I said before. It has a balance of philosophical inquiry and hypothesis from Matt, a few things learned from school, the satisfaction of doing EVERYTHING I set out to do, leaving nothing unsaid, laughing enough, communing with God, hanging with friends, plenty of food, building and destroying my body, accomplishing a piece of the seemingly impossible, and all around enjoying a wonderfully complete day in the life of Stevie LaFerriere. Add this one to the record books, favorite it, and always look back on it with a smile, my friend. Enjoy yourself every once in a while. You're really not a bad guy.

Character and class, back to the grindstone, hit it up tomorrow, pound out Thursday, look forward to Friday, and rest easy pal. Life's good, and you do a good job of remembering that. You should probably look get this habit checked out though, of referring to yourself in the second person, it's starting to bother me you me you me.

Signing off, Stevie.

Peace out y'all.