January 13, 1975
It was an okay day. Freak out (that’s the new slang)
“Munched out”—hungry
“vegged out”—tired
“flipped out/freaked out”—to feel strange
downed out—too many downers
Far out—bizarre, bad trip man.
You name it, they got it.
Latin was boring, then I went back to Mt. Hermon and skating. My big profound revelation that was that you have to learn how to fall before you can skate. As a result of that rather painful philosophy, I have three dreadful hematomas, two on my knees and one on my wrist, which John Robinson looked at and said that I better not flex my wrist or else my major blood vessel is going to break and I’l die. It sounds reasonably painless and suitably dramatic. Everybody had better be nice to me if I’m going to die.
Prompt: What IS the point of skating, anyway?
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