I went to bed last night with a serious list of things I wanted to get done today. It's now 2:00 in the afternoon, and bless my procrastinating heart, I haven't a damn thing on the list. In fact, the only thing I really feel like doing right now is gettting in my car and driving up to Magic Mountain to ride some roller coasters. I can't do that, however, because I have to go to the tire place first and have my tire looked at.

Amusement parks are good therapy. You pay about the same amount of money to get into one of them as you do for an hour of spilling your guts to some bespectacled ass who tells you you're fucked up in the head. Thanks, I already knew that. In my book, that money is much better spent riding roller coasters and tilt-a-whirls and eating really greasy food. Plus, I get to spend a whole day screaming while I plunge down a 250 foot drop, instead of spending only one hour screaming as my self-esteem drops. I think there's a deeper meaning in the irony of therapy vs. theme parks, but I can't explore it right now because I have to go get my fucking tire fixed.