My nineteenth birthday was last Sunday. I went to Gander and got drunk, actually drunk, for the first time. I passed out on my girlfriend's couch and woke up so sick, the sickest I've ever been. I realized how pointless the night before was and decided to never drink like that again. I left my truck at Harry's and Allison dropped me off there the next morning on her way to work. I started driving home.

-I almost got home.

The transmission went schizo on me and decided to not go in any gear at all. Great. I called dad, he drove up the highway to pick me up, called a tow truck and brought me to Tim Hortons for tea. My stomach could not take it, I spent most of our time there in the bathroom. I apologized to dad because I felt like I let him down, I was supposidly straightedge throughout highschool, then I transformed into that sickly beast. He said it's going to take more then what I did to make him dissapointed in me. That made me feel a bit better.

Ate a berry yogurt and drank half of a medium tea, two milk, two sugar.

So my truck presently sits in Lewisporte, awaiting a diagnosis. This sucks. I was planning on buying a new camera set up, and now that will have to wait. Depending on how much this costs, it might not happen at all this summer. How great is that?

Oh boy, I just don't know. What else is there. Well, work is okay, it's really good pay, so I can't argue. (random: hey, notice how that bike's license plate is "MDC"? haha, wicked) Photography is a part of my job description, so I'd still like to have some better equipment, however it may not happen. Oh well.

Well! That's it.