For the past two weeks, I have been trying to fill the void that is my life at present with travel planning. That has become tedious at best and horrifically frustrating at worst. I'm not worried about getting to my destinations (after all, I have a place to stay in Dublin and Munich--and after emailing some eastern European friends, I have a place to stay in Budapest and the eastern part of the Czech Republic). I also have found some hostels that sound really interesting (living on a houseboat in Prague, for example) and they seem to be readily available and, for the most part, inexpensive. What has become troublesome is the overwhelming possibilities that I face. I bought a plane ticket to Oslo. But how many days do I spend in Norway before going to Sweden? Where do I go after Stockholm? How much time should I give to Berlin? Why are flights to Athens ridiculously cheap FROM Berlin, but flights back are outrageously expensive? What must I see? What kinds of things do I want to see? How many concentration camps can I visit before I want to commit suicide? And so on.

Trip planning has taken up a large preponderence of my time, but I have other tasks. Imagine this. When I left for college in August 1999, I left behind a pretty messy room. With my employment at Walt Disney World beginning immediately following that first year at college, the task of going through all of my old work from high school, old collections of junk, old clothes, and other miscellaneous personal effects was put on hold, or more precisely, put into storage. My parents put new carpet in my old room and essentially converted it into a computer room, which is fine with me, seeing as I never stayed here longer than two weeks within the past five years. Guess what? I've been living at home (with my college degree sitting on the dresser, mocking me) since August 12. With virtually no contacts remaining in my old home town, I'm am bored off my ass. Bored enough to tackle the momentous chore of sorting and tossing all of my old crap. And how. In throwing away (or rather, recycling) most of my old papers, I learned a few things about myself that I feel like sharing. Here they are in no particular order.

3. I was a funny son of a gun in high school. In response to my school's ridiculous lunch policy, requiring a lunch pass for an open campus, I wrote a parody of 1984, which I cleverly entitled "1999: a parody of 1984." In rereading that, especially the part in which we have to suffer through the Three Minutes Horrible Done Announcements, I nearly wet myself, which is difficult to do with two sphincters.
7a. I don't remember anything about chemistry except the mole concept and burning magnesium.
1. I earned a certificate for winning the pickleball tournament in P.E.
Zi^2. Somehow, I managed to keep a binder specifically for the "dot game."
Foxtrot. My survey of American Literature notebook was covered with a giant red maple leaf. Precedent set.


In other news, my ex-girlfriend is engaged. I ran into her at the store the other day. I was buying beer and she was, ironically, buying ice cream. She and I chatted for a few minutes, which was awkward only because my mom was standing there the whole time, butting into the conversation. While Sarah never told me that she was engaged, I am smarter than the average bear and noticed the ring on her left hand. This is an occasion all together new for me, and, after having given it some thought, I wonder if I know her fiance (only then will I allow myself to pass judgment). Anyway, congratulations to her. Now, I'll just watch some Olympic women's beach volleyball.