I have done my good deed for the century. I nursed my sunburned boyfriend back to humanity. I arrived at his house to find him writhing in pain. he was twitching convulsively like he had bugs under his skin. I tried all number of gels claiming to be for sunburn relief, but all they did was gum up his back. Eventually Tom Hanley came over and we ran to the store for some Solarcaine, which we both claimed to be the miracle cure for sunburns. Well it seemed for a moment that our trip to Holiday Market would be saved, but alas Solarcaine was not the remedy we thought it was. Another hour or so was spent writhing while I laid cold compresses and ice packs over Matt's burnt flesh. This seemed to calm him down and after Tom left in pursuit of more fun and some sushi, Matt fell asleep looking like an unfortunate bag man with a shirt serving as a blanket and his hair all poofed out. So now I sit here in my dark basement on a beautiful afternoon, fearing the sun myself.

I began to write from the inspiration of The Virgin Suicides the other day out in the blazing sun. It started feeling just right, I was exploring the atmosphere around me, one that has become so familiar that I don't notice it anymore, when my mom came home. It was all broken at that point and I have only gone back to it once in a petty attempt to continue. The feeling was so right at that point, I wish I had made it last longer. I, however, must also learn to write when I am uninspired. I'm sure I will have plenty of practice if I get the job I am considering applying for. It is a technical writing position. I am a little frightened to work in that field for fear I will get bored quickly. But I suppose that it can't hurt to try.

Oh well,

Later,