Remnants 9 - I have issues

So a couple minutes ago I read this post on Wesley's blog and it made me reflect a little on something I've reflected on increasingly in recent times.

That aforementioned something is my ability to set my priorities straight, or lack thereof. Or maybe it's my general laziness. Or my selective dedication/determination/willingness to exert myself. Or m...

Whatever that something is, I'll be describing it in this post, so allow me to introduce you to one of its little quirks that I think really helps define it.

Assigned Blog Post 06 - YOU SO CRAZY!!!

(yes, caps and multiple exclamation points were necessary)

So, over the course of this course, I feel like I've gotten to know a lot of my fellow classmates much better, and a lot of that can be attributed to what I read on their blogs. Not only do these blogs give me an opportunity to steal delicious infos about the people with whom I spend about 1/4 of each day, they provide me great pieces of writing to simply enjoy as a normal person, someone who lives life and goes through all of its joys and pains and whatever else gets thrown in the mix.

Remnants 6 - Late-night Limbo: Part 3 (Life Balance)

Life Balance by Nagisa Cosmetic. Listen to it here AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Life Balance. IT'S DANGEROUS. When I mentioned seeing how high you and a friend can get yourselves in Late-night Limbo: Part 1 and self-induced limbo in Part 2, I was talking about Life Balance.

Life Balance is a special song (to say the least) that brings about a special type of limbo. Wesley said that this song keeps him up at night. Unlike all other forms of limbo that I've discussed, this kind actually allows retention of consciousness and maybe even promotes body activity. This, however, says nothing about the exact level of mental processing that goes on while the mind is suspended in Life Balance. I'll tell you this upfront - it's low. Please don't expect much from this post, because I'm writing it while listening to Life Balance on repeat.

Remnants 5 - Late-night Limbo: Part 2 (Piecewise Fail)

Today is one of those days where I surprisingly don't end up in late-night limbo by 11 o'clock (incidentally, I employed a combination of fruit juice and timed explosion of Hatsukoi Limited to keep me afloat). Therefore, I will detail my findings on a second form of limbo that I have encountered.

This form of limbo is similar to my 11 o'clock Fail in that a total loss of consciousness is reached. What differentiates the two, however, is that Piecewise Fail is just that - a version of late-night limbo that comes in defined waves of high and low strength, leading to periodic moments of relative awareness that cause even more confusion than 11 o'clock Fail.

Assigned Blog Post 04 - Bindleton? Milderweicht? Luza Bay City?

So...names for our version of Winesburg, Ohio. Bindleton sounded like a good name for a kind of mellow town with a humdrum sort of life. I guess by having an underlying mundane nature for the town I figured we could have fun unmundane-ifying it. Milderweicht just sounded cool, and apparently it means "mild softened" in German.

Assigned Blog Post 03 - Quinn Marksley

Quinn Marksley was a bit odd, or at least his fading mother definitely thought he was. She was in her mid-90's, and although she sometimes took a while to figure out who Quinn was, who she was, and how they were related, she would always remember he was messed up when she did get that all worked out.

It was a complete mystery how she could possibly survive so long with a son like Quinn. As far as she could remember (about 4 days if she concentrated really hard), he was essentially some strange man with the soul of a six year-old who lived in the basement of her home reenacting scenes from the Pokémon TV shows using his infinite collection of Pokémon cards. No, really, he lived there. He feared all people, even his mother at times, and thus he never left that basement (he shut her up in some tiny room; it wasn't hard because she couldn't move at all beyond random twitching). He had no job but the one he made for himself, and those reenactments didn't exactly pay . . . at all, but the family had enough food in the basement to last through a nuclear holocaust followed by an ice age (and that wasn't counting whatever sustenance may have been upstairs).

Sometimes people would ring the doorbell for who-knows-what, then after a few seconds without reply, they would leave. One time, however, someone was able to pull off a whole 17 minutes and 3 seconds, at which point Quinn Marksley had become so distracted that he couldn't even emulate Rattata's battle cry. So Quinn actually went up the stairs and opened the door.

In front of him was an upright mop. A mop dressed in a gargantuan sport coat with a fake-looking golden nametag. On the tag lived an impressive collection of grime that probably would have taken a normal person a lifetime to gather, but through the smudges Quinn thought he could see the outline of a few words. From what he could tell after staring at the tag for a little over a minute at point-blank range, they said: Oswin St. George, CEO. He looked up and noticed that what he had been staring at was not, in fact, a mop. It was a person whose hair could have passed as the long-lost brother of the tattered stick that Quinn's mother used to use to wash down what she could reach of Quinn's room (when he still lived in his own room). Quinn staggered back in fear as the mop's face revealed an otherworldly void which, given a larger body on the other end, probably could have consumed Quinn in under five minutes. From the void came a sound that Quinn instinctively interpreted as a battle cry.