August 31, 2000 — Ten twelve-gauge needles later...

I'm exhausted and in a reasonable amount of pain, so I'm not going to go overboard writing this with digressions left and right and whatnot. Okay, well, I probably will, but believe me when I tell you that I'm typing them faster than usual.

Right then. So after finishing the journal design and programming work at around 3:00AM or 4:00AM last night, I was getting ready for bed when I realized I was forgetting something: dentist appointment at 9:30AM. This was definitely bad for business, as I only ended up getting about three hours of sleep last night, and my attempts at sleeping after my appointment were shot down by my horrid excuse for a body.

The dentist was hell. The nurse made me bleed a lot and the dentist was a grumpy bastard. Plus, I got my dose of x-rays for the day; I question their even bothering with the lead shields, as my head is a fairly high-priority area for the non-formation of tumours, but it remains uncovered. I took my free toothbrush and got the fuck out of there.

During the afternoon, I signed up for an account at http://www.the-battle.com to try and combat sleeplessness. The blinking icons and reverse threading were almost enough to turn me off the site from the beginning; I'm used to the reverse threading now, and can understand why it would make sense on discussion boards with more messages, but the blinking happy faces still make me want to gouge out my eyeballs. (Note that that phrase is the theme of my day; I refuse to explain why. The business about eyeball destruction, I mean.) And even though I can accept that the reverse threading kind of makes sense, I'd still never turn it on.

I eventually ended up calling Living Colour and booking an appointment to get the hole on my right industrial repierced. A few unproductive hours later, I was on my way downtown with dreams of twelve-gauge needles dancing in my head.

Long story short, I didn't bleed too much and it hurt less than the original piercing. A lot less. I wish I'd had a picture taken, though. I'm sure a "Greg in pain" section would be very popular on the site, with special sub-sections for minor surgery and self-mutilation for the sake of vanity.

While I was at Living Colour, Blake introduced me to "Straight Edge Dan." This lead to Joanne, the piercer, calling me Dan-o by accident a number of times, and to my finding out that Dan had actually been to anti-greg before, which was kind of bizarre. I gave him a sticker anyways.

Dan told me that there was a good hardcore scene in Toronto and that there were plenty of cute emo girls, so I'll keep my hopes up for a change of luck as far as members of the opposite sex go. I think that once I get away from the history and memories I have in Ottawa, I'll more than likely be a lot less grumpy, as well, so things might work out alright.

With my final pre-university piercing behind me, I headed to Record Runner to pick up a Get Up Kids CD, based on what I heard at Matt's house, and the looks of scorn that my lack of Get Up Kids knowledge seemed to warrant. I haven't listened to it enough to decide whether or not I'm impressed.

The bus ride home after my adventure downtown was absolutely brutal. The bus was almost ten minutes late, and then the bus driver took a twenty minute break in the middle of the route, at the corner of O'Conner Street. No joke. He only started going again because a pair of OC Transpo cops came and yelled at him. Two other 97 Kanata buses passed us while we were waiting; I thought some of my fellow passengers were about ready to place the driver's head on a stake as a sign to other bus drivers who might be thinking of trying something like this.

And now that I'm home, I've given my ears a thorough cleaning and am ready for bed. This consciousness thing has never been all that cool anyways.