my iron lung

Listening to Radiohead all day can really mess with your head... and that I mean physically. something about the combination of three guitars, Thom Yorke's incognito piercing falsetto voice, and alien like effects gives you a bit of a headache. Earlier this morning, I headed over to the ol' school for Cross Country and I realized that I hate running. I realized that any sane person would think that running for long distances is just insane. Running is not discomfort, its pain. Yet despite the fact that Radiohead drives my mind crazy and despite the fact that running isn't exactly friendly to my shins, they both possess a certain quality that seems to be unique. While the actual process of running sucks, the reward is so great. That reward is simply the thought of accomplishment. But doesn't that beg the question, just because I've found a ridiculous way to make myself feel better, does that really mean I AM better? What is the purpose to do anything that only helps yourself, or helps others to achieve a goal that was just made to make THEM feel better?

I don't know where I'm going with this, but its time for dinner. I'm seeing the guys later tonight to work on our setlist for the show. Hopefully, it wont result in me slapping someone in the face :)

Keep it real

Winston