a history of me

I'm assuming you listened to yesterday's post. Today's details won't make as much sense if you didn't.

After a lifetime without a single blister, I developed my second blister in three months yesterday. The last one was one my thumb, but this one is on the sole of my left foot. It hurts whenever I apply pressure to it, so now every step hurts something awful. I'm also really sore after yesterday's full court session of basketball under UAlbany's inflated dome known as The Bubble. Good thing I've got a whole weekend of nothing to do. I should probably get back to Grand Theft Auto sooner or later. No big deal if I don't, but I'd hate to let it go to waste. It's not that drive-by shootings aren't fun, it's just that I automatically prioritze real-life over fantasy. Someday, I really will write down everything I feel about video games. Seriously. I promise.

Speaking of wanton gang violence, we all had a little scare after eating out. We took the #10 bus to the restaurant which is not the usual student-heavy #11 bus that goes to the main campus. Going to the restaurant, it was full of mothers carrying babies; not dangerous but a little noisy. Coming back was when shit got uncomfortable. We (myself and a number of Japanese exchange students) encountered two youths who I would classify as "ignorant" and "frightening." One of them was staring directly at the exchange students, eventually injecting himself into their conversation by barking at them "Don't talk about me!" Kazu tried to be courteous, stating that they were not talking about him, but he kept butting in with similar wisdom. I had a snappy comeback ready ("They're not talking about you, they're talking about your mom") but wisely declined to abstain from engaging this primate in fear of violent retribution. My suspicion turned out to be based in reality, as his companion (who had been obscured from view when the encounter began) turned out to be holding a knife in his hands, idly opening and closing it. No violence was ever threatened, but as soon as we got off the bus we all reacted in fear to the knife he had been brandishing.

In my demented, fantasy-plagued mind, I wanted him to use the knife. I find myself constantly imagining violent scenarios where I am threatened but end up fighting back and killing the aggressor, leading to admiration from my peers. It's a sickness, really, to fantasize about murder as self-defense for petty rewards. Ultimately, it's one of my least embarrassing fantasies so I am willing to share it on the Internets for everyone to read.