8:23 PM

Day-to-day narration in my head is starting to sound like a 24-hour episode of Daria.
Last night, Alex played me a recording he's been working on. It's actually a bit tricky. Basically, he learned how to sing each of the words in Tammy Wynette's "I'll Fly Away" backward, then wrote down their order in the song backward, recorded himself singing it all the way through and will eventually play it forward, David Lynch-style.
I might go see a Rock-Cabaret band that graduated a few years above me in high school with him tomorrow night. Honestly, I have yet to decide how I feel about Rock-Cabaret as a genre, which is really the deciding factor here.
Greg and Marissa are having a second garage party tonight because of the glory and chaos that begat the first. When I mentioned it to Alex, he thought I said it was a collage party. We decided neither of us would pass up a hypothetical collage party.
Though I know it to be counter-intuitive, the more the skin flakes off the faces, the fewer humans I see.
I almost don't want to wish for things because, like anyone with the exact concerns of a seven-year-old, I'm afraid I'll jinx it. I never remember in time to stop myself at 12:34, though.