I don't have class today until 3:30, so I'm fairly happy at the moment. Happiness is something to treasure. If you have it don't let it go ever. Sadness is not worth the "knowledge" you gain from it. I promise.
I'm listening to Savage Garden now. If you remember them at all. They were a band from Australia, only two guys. They had a big song in like '99. The Animal Song. I'm pretty sure I'm the only on who remembers. Anyway, I like them. They have a lot to say.
So besides being a college student recovering (or attempting to) from depression, I am a writer. In fact that's what I'm studying, Dramatic Writing, in the best city on earth(as far as I can tell). I figured I include a short story. Its really more along the lines of microfiction, which doesn't devalue it. Microfiction is hard. The best uber-microfiction story is by Hemmingway and it is only SIX WORDS long. That is incredible. He deemed it his best work. I shall quotes it for those of you who are not familiar with it. "For sale: baby shoes, never used." Isn't that tragic. I think it is amazing. Anyway, my story is a bit longer. Here is it:

Cat Toast

A small tabby cat slowly swaggered across the bright alley. A stumpy man, who’s hair matched that of the cat, crotched behind a tin garbage can. The tabby, finding a suitable ray of sun, arranged itself for a midday nap.
As soon as the cat’s tail was appropriately angled from it’s hind legs, the man pounced. Grabbing the cat with his paws and cradling it in his shirt, the man withdrew the tabby to his apartment.
The cat’s eyes flashed in the sudden dark. Swiftly the man plopped the cat into a cardboard box. Near by from a round table covered in string, the man retrieved an open jar of jam and a butter knife,
Taking a large scoop of jam upon the knife, the man evenly spread grape jam along the back and tail of the tabby. When the tail’s tip was sufficiently covered in jam, the man, again, collected the cat and returned to the alley. The man replaced the cat in its ray of sun and resumed his spot behind the trash can.

Not all my work is this strange. Everything is different. If I tell the same or similar stories more then once I bore myself. Currently I am working on a one act play which could be categorized as a sex farce. People think its funny, which is good. I'm not sure what to think about it. Anyway, thanks for listening. Until next time; may the gods of Valhalla bless you. (I know its not Celtic, but I'm also Scandinavian and I should give that side of my ancestory some acknowledgment).