Lipscomb university mcfarland hall Videos

I slept for 14 hours last night. No coffee or sleep for two days has a way of catching up with you. I had the dream about that girl again, with the bleeding feet. I also had a dream that my fingernails kept falling off. I went to SATCO earlier, to try to eat something. I grabbed a seat a table near the door. A bunch of girls walked in, and one of them waved to me. I smiled at her and she started walking toward me. “Matt!” She was taller than she was in high school. Her friends wore hoodies that said “Lady Bruins” in large collegiate font. “How have you been? You look great!” Her hair was short and wild. She slipped her gloves off and pulled me into a long hug. “I haven’t seen you since graduation. What have you been up to?” I stumbled through the niceties and told her we’d catch up soon. “Good luck with vet school stuff!” she yelled after me as I pushed my way out the door. Brooke still doesn’t know. I’m seeing her tonight, maybe tomorrow. We’re getting drinks and talking about everything we’ve done. There’s no way I could ever be sober for that conversation. I remember on my 21st birthday we went to this place that had tater tots for 99 cents, over on Elliston, which is still the only place I’ve found that will make me a White Russian without bitching about it. Everyone loved me then. There’s a party at John’s house tomorrow. His new girlfriend is going to be there. She just got back from studying abroad in Scotland. Our friend is playing some music. Maybe I should go, and get some inspiration. Or maybe it’s better if I just stay home, read, and meditate: the things I said I was doing back when everything that came out of my mouth was at least three-fourths of a lie. Hurting people, being cold and cruel like I was, these are my pastimes. My head is still vibrating, like it always is. When I close my eyes, it starts to make a sound. It’s high and metallic, like a pipe bouncing across cement. Maybe that’s why the words aren’t coming anymore – I’m too distracted. Now that my life has unstitched all my complications, though, that should be getting better. By better, of course, I mean maybe the percentage of my days spent soaking in a bathtub will be reduced by no less than 5%. No matter what else I do, I think I need to write something this weekend, something bleak and squalid. Fictional and compelling, with any luck. I guess first I’ll have to come up with a story to tell. Haven’t had many of those since my brain shorted out, and God knows my life is the last thing I want to write about. bourbonandyelp dot wordpress dot com