My high school had a really top notch shop facility. There were several metal lathes, a forge for casting metal, arc welders, and a full mechanics shop. Most of them sat unused, gathering dust as retards like me fumbled around trying to make a cheese board.
There was a special room, where all of the paint, paint thinner and varnish was kept. It had an exhaust fan, to keep the noxious fumes from building up and exploding. Some kids would sneak in, when Mr. Sutter, the shop teacher, was out of the room. They'd pop off the tops of the cans of varnish, turn off the fan and stew in the fumes.
I don't ever recall hearing of any of those kids getting far in life. I never quite understood the instinct to give yourself a chemical lobotomy. Until now, that is. My roommate put a coat of varnish down on the floor of our apartment last night. I woke up with a chemical taste in my mouth, and not a god damn thought in my mind.
Its actually quite beautiful... I just spent the past hour staring at the wall without a thought at all coming through my mind. This is what enlightenment must feel like without, perhaps, the burning sensation in all of my mucus membranes.
Which is all a long way of saying that, maybe you won't be seeing me for a while. I think I'll be staying in for the near future... too many things to bump in to or knock over in the outside world...