Ladies and gentlemen, it's been too long. All my readers know what's been up lately, so I won't bother trying to catch up on the past three months unless it, you know, becomes relevant or something.
I'm choosing to focus on the last three days, in terms of how they turned the entirety of the past year inside out.
My entire outlook on romance over the past year is based on a fabrication.
Not necessarily a lie. A lie implies untruth. It's fiction: it could be true, but it is largely my own construction. Let's start with the basics.
Nameless Boy hurt me. A good bit. From some of my non-blog writing, most of which hasn't seen the light of day outside of a few choice folks, I've come to realize that I was so hurt not because of anything he said or did, but because I didn't really get any good closure out of it. Our final conversation last winter was bitter, it was unpleasant, it was chock full of nasty emotions, and me finally coming out with my (if not a little crazy) feelings and writing him off.
Here's how it was: I liked him, a lot. He was fabulous. He was dark, mysterious, inviting only to the curious type, intelligent, the list of adjectives goes on and on. (Cocky, too, as he'd made up quite the list for himself on his MySpace.) I fell for him, pretty hard, pretty easy. And he freaked out because 1) he'd been hurt, and 2) I was coming on a little strong. I can't apologize for my actions at this point, nor can I apologize for his: I was blinded by emotions, and so was he, just a different set of emotions from mine.
In the way of romance, I'm used to getting whoever I want, which sounds terrible. Also, that doesn't necessarily mean much, because I have a habit of only allowing myself to want people I know I can have. Nameless Boy was the exception. I felt like there was no way he'd ever really go for me, and I didn't give a damn, I wanted him anyway. I wanted to feel like ultimately, I deserved someone who was everything I was looking for. And I wanted that so much, and didn't hide it very much, and ended up losing out.
Not to say that it's entirely my fault: he certainly did me wrong when he neglected to call me, or when he would tell me how much he liked me but tell me how much he didn't think a relationship was a good idea. He sent so many mixed messages. There were moments where I finally felt like, "yes, I do deserve to have what I want, and now I have it," only to be followed by moments where I wondered if I was just talking to myself when he was around.
So yes, I did write him off. But even after a couple months, the catharsis never came. I was never satisfied with any of his explanations for why he acted the way he did. To me, whatever he said was only the tip of the iceberg, and I wasn't content to take any of it at face value.
Through the lens of my need-driven infatuation, I viewed him as a monster, someone who cut me to pieces with no shame, no regrets, no desire to even understand the consequences. I hated him, because I needed to fill that void the opposite emotion leaves when left unrequited.
I felt like I couldn't hate something just out of not understanding it. So I filled in whatever blanks I needed to. If he confessed to doing something bad once, he became a serial offender. If he was willing to push me away when I knew for a fact he cared about me, then he was obviously insane. If he hurt me, one person out of six-plus billion, then he didn't deserve the air he breathed.
I spent the past year deciding that I was tired of bullshit, tired of playing games with people, and ultimately certain that if someone wasn't good for me, I wasn't sticking around to find out how long I could handle it. I wanted to avoid the fictional supervillain I'd created, and all others who might do similar things to me.
Of the three significant ex's I had, the mean time I spent with each was a month. And it all never worked out for perfectly legitimate reason: one wasn't mature enough, one was way too involved with his (our) friends and scene, and the last one wasn't compatible enough with my scene. I break hearts for a living, and always under the rationale that I'd rather be lonely and self-assured than with someone who wasn't perfect. My writing began to reflect that, and I was totally okay with that. Emotional independence can be a beautiful feeling. Moreover, it's easily maintained when the walls of ice I build around myself are big enough to resist melting for just any little flame. It might be cold in here, but at least it's safe.
Until almost a year after his departure, that Nameless Boy shows back up and owns up to everything he did and didn't do. Tells me how much he cares for me, how much he regrets what happened and wants a chance to get things right. Walls of ice, meet the Sun.
Now, he takes every chance he can get to reinforce that he's sorry, and then remind me that he, too, never stopped caring. Uses words like "admire" and "wish" and "amazing." Even sounded apprehensive after I mentioned my outlook on romance, wondering if I'd stay icy and reserved and leave at the first chance to be rid of him. When he laughs, he actually sounds like he's letting go and really laughing. At this point, I'm wondering when I'm going to wake up from this, because it seems too good to be true: the object of my desires reappears out of the past and tells me that he really did care, still does, and wants to do things right?
Part of me wants to doubt this. And a good number of my friends want to doubt this, too, because while I eventually started owning up to my own neurotic fiction, I'm not sure too many of them know the whole story. The other part of me, though, says I shouldn't doubt this. I have no reason to. After a year of dreaming up reasons to hate him, I'd be the first person able to smell a rat and detect an ulterior motive. But I've smelled none.
2006 saw me train myself to actually enjoy not needing someone. And the moment that thought makes its way into words, the person responsible for it all comes back. And of course, I don't need him. By all rights, he should be the last person I'd need. But since I saw him in 2005, he was the only person I truly wanted, and despite history, that never changed one single, tiny bit.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
an attempt at consistency
So, my grandma, last time I checked, is recovering nicely from the heart surgery. Now, since a hip-breaking fall was what landed her in the hospital in the first place, she just needs to have that taken care of before anything can officially be declared alright again.
In other news, school started this week. Pleasantly, it turns out my friend Mandi (who I haven't really seen for a year, but ran into at work a couple weeks ago) is in my first two classes. My third class is taught by the psych professor I had over the summer, and since I loved her, I was elated to find that out. Finally, my last class is automatically better than the previous time I tried to take it, because there is finally efficient air conditioning in the weight room. Now all I have to do is kick my nasty macaroni and cheese addiction and I might actually get something accomplished.
I felt like I should write something to consume the time this podcast is taking to download- a coworker recommended a Dutch podcast that has an hour-long crazy techno session every week. Marco's musical tastes haven't led me astray before, so I had to check it out. Now, if only these files didn't feel like they were several hundred megs apiece... real estate is quite limited on my little albino PowerBook.
Okay, only about 70MB apiece. Not too bad.
I feel like I should have more intelligent things to contribute, considering how eventful these past few weeks have been. However, I'm consumed with three thoughts: 1) Jason would really, really get off on this techno stuff, 2) I need to watch Logo more, because mm, those mens is delicious, and 3) it's great to be back at school. Not like I really left for all that long, but it feels good to be back, and it feels good to see a huge number of my friends there. I think this was the first time that I didn't feel alone (and secretly jealous) on the first day back to school. This is the first year that everyone in my local social sphere has been here at the same time, and the first time back after successfully finishing a semester.
My brain's being consumed by techno. I have to stop writing now.
(DB) out.
In other news, school started this week. Pleasantly, it turns out my friend Mandi (who I haven't really seen for a year, but ran into at work a couple weeks ago) is in my first two classes. My third class is taught by the psych professor I had over the summer, and since I loved her, I was elated to find that out. Finally, my last class is automatically better than the previous time I tried to take it, because there is finally efficient air conditioning in the weight room. Now all I have to do is kick my nasty macaroni and cheese addiction and I might actually get something accomplished.
I felt like I should write something to consume the time this podcast is taking to download- a coworker recommended a Dutch podcast that has an hour-long crazy techno session every week. Marco's musical tastes haven't led me astray before, so I had to check it out. Now, if only these files didn't feel like they were several hundred megs apiece... real estate is quite limited on my little albino PowerBook.
Okay, only about 70MB apiece. Not too bad.
I feel like I should have more intelligent things to contribute, considering how eventful these past few weeks have been. However, I'm consumed with three thoughts: 1) Jason would really, really get off on this techno stuff, 2) I need to watch Logo more, because mm, those mens is delicious, and 3) it's great to be back at school. Not like I really left for all that long, but it feels good to be back, and it feels good to see a huge number of my friends there. I think this was the first time that I didn't feel alone (and secretly jealous) on the first day back to school. This is the first year that everyone in my local social sphere has been here at the same time, and the first time back after successfully finishing a semester.
My brain's being consumed by techno. I have to stop writing now.
(DB) out.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
an explanation for the last three weeks
The past couple of weeks have been super turbulent, and a huge mess. A brief summary, with key points bolded for easy reference:
Finals Week this time was for some reason much more pressing than the last. I ended up having to take a week off work to finish three papers and two powerpoint presentations, do two take-home finals, and study for the two in-class finals. My hard work paid off and I finished my two classes with an A and a B, respectively.
I was supposed to go on vacation immediately after my last night of class, but some unfortunate circumstances arose with Jinah's family, with whom we were going. So we ended up leaving on Sunday rather than Friday morning. I was disappointed, but I did end up getting to go to the drive-in with a bunch of friends on Friday night, which proved an enjoyable and inexpensive way to while away an evening. That alone made the delay worth it. Saturday, I did some housework I'd put off for ages, and then guiltily went off and spent $100 (!) at Walmart on a new outfit, a substantial amount of much-needed toiletries (vacation or not), and equipment / soaps / sprays to clean off my dirty car. Even if I planned to park it once I got there, I wasn't about to roll down Coastal Highway covered in pollen and bird shit. After washing the car, Jinah and I finished packing, picked up Adam, and were all ready to get going..
When all of a sudden, my car begins to issue puffs of smoke out of the hood. Turns out the power steering fluid was leaking everywhere, causing the car to stink, and of course, explaining some of the subtle steering problems I've noticed of late. So, less than nine hours before we were scheduled to leave, my car is unable to make the trip. Fortunately, my parents decided to take me, Jinah, and Adam down, because there was no way everyone, everyone's luggage, and a dog was going to fit in a single Ford Taurus.
Once we arrived, though, the trip turned out amazing. It was very relaxing, and unlike the last time I went (senior week) I actually made it to the beach daily, between morning trips and evening walks. My money managed to last me throughout the trip, we didn't tire out our patience for each other, and I finally finished reading this book I've ignored for the past year, save for bookshelf relocations. My head cleared, I reaffirmed my confidence in feelings I've had for my friend Mike (not Stuart, for those of you who might have thought so), though uncertainty caused me to shy away from previous attempts to act on them. I managed to turn a shade darker without getting a sunburn, and I managed to accomplish everything I wanted to.
My favorite realization came when I spent an hour in the library, on my computer and on the phone, trying to sort out my classes for the fall. Regardless of where I was, I still had my computer and reasonably accessible WiFi. I still had my phone, so I exchanged texts and calls with people at home fairly often. Even without WiFi, I can get to my work-related emails from my phone anyhow. So, despite romantic notions of going on vacation to escape from one's daily life, I was as connected in Ocean City as I ever am in Baltimore. I wasn't enjoying myself because I was away, I was enjoying myself because I was at the beach. That simple thought process amplified how wonderful everything already was. When it came time to return home, I felt refreshed, relaxed, and ready to start back up with life again; it was a very liberating feeling. My car had been repaired in my absence, my ailing dog hadn't died while I was away, and I'd finally hammered out a schedule for the fall. I felt as though Life had given me an hour-long massage, topped off with a pat on the back.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, it turned out that I would very much need it.
On Monday, I drove to work and discovered that my car had taken to overheating again, and I had no money to buy any more coolant. When I arrived at work, I came to find that I was scheduled for the next six days in a row. Not like I've got anything else to do this week, and I did tell them to schedule me for anything when I got back, but it's still a bit of a jerk back to reality. I dealt with it.
Monday night, when I got home from work, I found that my dog (Prince) was bleeding profusely from one of the tumors on his stomach. Now, he was loaded up with cancer, arthritis, and was blind and deaf. We knew his days were numbered, but when that point came, we knew it was time to have him put down. So, we cried a lot, called the emergency vet clinic, and took him over. They made us sit around for 45 minutes with Prince shivering on a cold metal exam table before they actually came to euthanize him.
They tranquilized him, and his eyes finally closed and he fell asleep. Then, they injected the lethal drugs, and neglected to mention that when they took effect, certain reflexes would be activated. So here we are, my dad, my brother, and myself, all crying as they stick the needle into the IV, and listening to his breathing slow down. Suddenly, his eyes fly back open and he starts gasping, his face contorts and his body convulses. His eyes are crossed and stuck open. By this point we'd all ran out of the room, sobbing. I'm fairly sure that image will never ever leave my memory.
I'm only hoping they were telling the truth, that Prince was really dead when that happened, and not jolted back to consciousness in those final moments to find his heart stopped and his lungs no longer working. I feel like it's what we had to do, and that it was better than waiting for him to be consumed by cancer, or waiting for him to fall down a flight of stairs because he couldn't see and could barely walk. But it's taking a much longer time to reconcile that because from the horrible things I saw, nothing looked peaceful and dignified about the way he died. Since nobody I know has ever been euthanized and lived to tell the tale, I'll never know if he felt any of it or not.
We got home at 11:30, and I had to be at work at 9am, to teach a one-on-one class. I was in no condition to go to bed though, and went out for a ride with Mike to get some fresh air and clear my head. My puppy was still gone, and I was running on no sleep, but the class turned out well, and work went well otherwise. I still didn't feel right, though.
Adam and Jinah met up with me after work to treat me to sushi, in hopes of cheering me up. It largely worked. Until I got a call from my dad, stating that my grandmother was in intensive care, because she'd apparently suffered at least two heart attacks and either not known about them or not told anybody about them, and they'd caught up with her. Given that I was at dinner and she wasn't taking visitors, there was nothing that I could really do, except try not to let it get me down. Jinah and Adam told me they'd buy me some coolant, too.
So we get to Walmart (a-fucking-gain) and buy some coolant, throw it in to the engine, and drive back to my house. The car overheats. At this point, I'm inside, sitting on the couch, trying not to think, "well, my dog's dead, my grandmother's dying, and my car's dying too." That thought didn't subside, though, as evidenced by last night's away message.
This morning, my car didn't overheat, and later in the day, I got news that my grandmother was stabilized, at least for now, even though things are looking quite dire for her at the moment. After work, Jinah, Adam, and Mike treated me to the $3 movies to see Clerks 2, and here I am, typing this.
These past two (now three, whatever) days could very easily depress the hell out of anyone. I feel like I'm keeping myself fairly well-grounded considering the small amount of time that's passed. The thing that disturbs me the most is this pattern I seem to fall into every year or so. I'm positioned to succeed academically, but then something bad happens involving someone close to me, I get stressed out, stop caring, and give up.
It happened two years ago the first time I went to college, involving a whopping fight with my parents. A year ago, it happened when Brad and I broke up, which I would qualify as a more stressful ordeal than the previous year's fight. This year, my dog dies (I'll very seriously consider strangling you if you think that's not a big deal), and I might lose my grandma. And my car, $1700 after its first repair, still may be on the verge of falling apart.
I feel like it progressively gets worse and worse. But, I have to put any feelings of grief or dread on the back burner, and focus on one thing alone: avoiding self-pity at all costs. In a nutshell, shit happens. And while I'd like to feel like I'm the victim of some cosmic conspiracy, and it'd damn sure be easy to think that right now, I won't. None of this is anybody's fault, and while I'd so desperately like to blame someone, I can't. I can't blame any person, I can't blame God, and I can't blame myself. If I start to do any of those things, I'll be setting myself up for the same trains of thought that have consistently set me on a course towards apathy and failure in the past.
As much as all of this blows, I'm lucky enough to be the one doing all the mourning, rather than being the mourned. Yes, I'm in pain, but I'm alive, and that in and of itself is a mandate to keep it together, and maintain as much momentum as I can. Unlike the loved ones I've lost and may be losing, I have a long future ahead of me. And if I let myself slip on account of all this, I'd be doing them a great disservice: I love(d) them, they love(d) me, and the last thing any of us would want would be pain overtaking me, facilitating yet another crash-and-burn.
I don't know which of the stages of grief I would assign to any of my reactions, but I like to think that I'm keeping my head on straight about all this. If any of you readers have any reactions, thoughts, suggestions, or anything, please, don't hesitate to let me know.
(DB) out.
Finals Week this time was for some reason much more pressing than the last. I ended up having to take a week off work to finish three papers and two powerpoint presentations, do two take-home finals, and study for the two in-class finals. My hard work paid off and I finished my two classes with an A and a B, respectively.
I was supposed to go on vacation immediately after my last night of class, but some unfortunate circumstances arose with Jinah's family, with whom we were going. So we ended up leaving on Sunday rather than Friday morning. I was disappointed, but I did end up getting to go to the drive-in with a bunch of friends on Friday night, which proved an enjoyable and inexpensive way to while away an evening. That alone made the delay worth it. Saturday, I did some housework I'd put off for ages, and then guiltily went off and spent $100 (!) at Walmart on a new outfit, a substantial amount of much-needed toiletries (vacation or not), and equipment / soaps / sprays to clean off my dirty car. Even if I planned to park it once I got there, I wasn't about to roll down Coastal Highway covered in pollen and bird shit. After washing the car, Jinah and I finished packing, picked up Adam, and were all ready to get going..
When all of a sudden, my car begins to issue puffs of smoke out of the hood. Turns out the power steering fluid was leaking everywhere, causing the car to stink, and of course, explaining some of the subtle steering problems I've noticed of late. So, less than nine hours before we were scheduled to leave, my car is unable to make the trip. Fortunately, my parents decided to take me, Jinah, and Adam down, because there was no way everyone, everyone's luggage, and a dog was going to fit in a single Ford Taurus.
Once we arrived, though, the trip turned out amazing. It was very relaxing, and unlike the last time I went (senior week) I actually made it to the beach daily, between morning trips and evening walks. My money managed to last me throughout the trip, we didn't tire out our patience for each other, and I finally finished reading this book I've ignored for the past year, save for bookshelf relocations. My head cleared, I reaffirmed my confidence in feelings I've had for my friend Mike (not Stuart, for those of you who might have thought so), though uncertainty caused me to shy away from previous attempts to act on them. I managed to turn a shade darker without getting a sunburn, and I managed to accomplish everything I wanted to.
My favorite realization came when I spent an hour in the library, on my computer and on the phone, trying to sort out my classes for the fall. Regardless of where I was, I still had my computer and reasonably accessible WiFi. I still had my phone, so I exchanged texts and calls with people at home fairly often. Even without WiFi, I can get to my work-related emails from my phone anyhow. So, despite romantic notions of going on vacation to escape from one's daily life, I was as connected in Ocean City as I ever am in Baltimore. I wasn't enjoying myself because I was away, I was enjoying myself because I was at the beach. That simple thought process amplified how wonderful everything already was. When it came time to return home, I felt refreshed, relaxed, and ready to start back up with life again; it was a very liberating feeling. My car had been repaired in my absence, my ailing dog hadn't died while I was away, and I'd finally hammered out a schedule for the fall. I felt as though Life had given me an hour-long massage, topped off with a pat on the back.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, it turned out that I would very much need it.
On Monday, I drove to work and discovered that my car had taken to overheating again, and I had no money to buy any more coolant. When I arrived at work, I came to find that I was scheduled for the next six days in a row. Not like I've got anything else to do this week, and I did tell them to schedule me for anything when I got back, but it's still a bit of a jerk back to reality. I dealt with it.
Monday night, when I got home from work, I found that my dog (Prince) was bleeding profusely from one of the tumors on his stomach. Now, he was loaded up with cancer, arthritis, and was blind and deaf. We knew his days were numbered, but when that point came, we knew it was time to have him put down. So, we cried a lot, called the emergency vet clinic, and took him over. They made us sit around for 45 minutes with Prince shivering on a cold metal exam table before they actually came to euthanize him.
They tranquilized him, and his eyes finally closed and he fell asleep. Then, they injected the lethal drugs, and neglected to mention that when they took effect, certain reflexes would be activated. So here we are, my dad, my brother, and myself, all crying as they stick the needle into the IV, and listening to his breathing slow down. Suddenly, his eyes fly back open and he starts gasping, his face contorts and his body convulses. His eyes are crossed and stuck open. By this point we'd all ran out of the room, sobbing. I'm fairly sure that image will never ever leave my memory.
I'm only hoping they were telling the truth, that Prince was really dead when that happened, and not jolted back to consciousness in those final moments to find his heart stopped and his lungs no longer working. I feel like it's what we had to do, and that it was better than waiting for him to be consumed by cancer, or waiting for him to fall down a flight of stairs because he couldn't see and could barely walk. But it's taking a much longer time to reconcile that because from the horrible things I saw, nothing looked peaceful and dignified about the way he died. Since nobody I know has ever been euthanized and lived to tell the tale, I'll never know if he felt any of it or not.
We got home at 11:30, and I had to be at work at 9am, to teach a one-on-one class. I was in no condition to go to bed though, and went out for a ride with Mike to get some fresh air and clear my head. My puppy was still gone, and I was running on no sleep, but the class turned out well, and work went well otherwise. I still didn't feel right, though.
Adam and Jinah met up with me after work to treat me to sushi, in hopes of cheering me up. It largely worked. Until I got a call from my dad, stating that my grandmother was in intensive care, because she'd apparently suffered at least two heart attacks and either not known about them or not told anybody about them, and they'd caught up with her. Given that I was at dinner and she wasn't taking visitors, there was nothing that I could really do, except try not to let it get me down. Jinah and Adam told me they'd buy me some coolant, too.
So we get to Walmart (a-fucking-gain) and buy some coolant, throw it in to the engine, and drive back to my house. The car overheats. At this point, I'm inside, sitting on the couch, trying not to think, "well, my dog's dead, my grandmother's dying, and my car's dying too." That thought didn't subside, though, as evidenced by last night's away message.
This morning, my car didn't overheat, and later in the day, I got news that my grandmother was stabilized, at least for now, even though things are looking quite dire for her at the moment. After work, Jinah, Adam, and Mike treated me to the $3 movies to see Clerks 2, and here I am, typing this.
These past two (now three, whatever) days could very easily depress the hell out of anyone. I feel like I'm keeping myself fairly well-grounded considering the small amount of time that's passed. The thing that disturbs me the most is this pattern I seem to fall into every year or so. I'm positioned to succeed academically, but then something bad happens involving someone close to me, I get stressed out, stop caring, and give up.
It happened two years ago the first time I went to college, involving a whopping fight with my parents. A year ago, it happened when Brad and I broke up, which I would qualify as a more stressful ordeal than the previous year's fight. This year, my dog dies (I'll very seriously consider strangling you if you think that's not a big deal), and I might lose my grandma. And my car, $1700 after its first repair, still may be on the verge of falling apart.
I feel like it progressively gets worse and worse. But, I have to put any feelings of grief or dread on the back burner, and focus on one thing alone: avoiding self-pity at all costs. In a nutshell, shit happens. And while I'd like to feel like I'm the victim of some cosmic conspiracy, and it'd damn sure be easy to think that right now, I won't. None of this is anybody's fault, and while I'd so desperately like to blame someone, I can't. I can't blame any person, I can't blame God, and I can't blame myself. If I start to do any of those things, I'll be setting myself up for the same trains of thought that have consistently set me on a course towards apathy and failure in the past.
As much as all of this blows, I'm lucky enough to be the one doing all the mourning, rather than being the mourned. Yes, I'm in pain, but I'm alive, and that in and of itself is a mandate to keep it together, and maintain as much momentum as I can. Unlike the loved ones I've lost and may be losing, I have a long future ahead of me. And if I let myself slip on account of all this, I'd be doing them a great disservice: I love(d) them, they love(d) me, and the last thing any of us would want would be pain overtaking me, facilitating yet another crash-and-burn.
I don't know which of the stages of grief I would assign to any of my reactions, but I like to think that I'm keeping my head on straight about all this. If any of you readers have any reactions, thoughts, suggestions, or anything, please, don't hesitate to let me know.
(DB) out.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Being Fashionable
(Avid readers, I promise a real post about my real life is coming soon.)
Apparently, blog-hating is in vogue.
After a long and uncomfortable calme d'inquietude (archaic French, don't bother looking it up, try to infer) with a certain former friend of mine, it's come to my attention that she's been talking about me by name in her MySpace blog. For easy reference, the "gay pothead" she's referring to isn't me. Of those two things, I am only one, and I think the conclusion's fairly easy to draw.
But, aside from a few glaring capitalization and grammatical errors, she's got some of the facts a little off. Not that's she's wrong: all of those things are true, or at the very least, could be. What disturbs me is the horrible number of omissions she's made.
So, in the interest of furthering the fine art of blog-hating, my little dugong (here, in case anyone needs to look that up), here are some pointers.
Firstly: I do admire your adherence to the truth in the first few bits of your assault on me: I do know everything. And I damn well certainly think I do, as well. But honey, you couldn't be further from the truth when you say it doesn't matter what you say to me. It definitely does matter: without you, I wouldn't have anything to serve as the subject of minimal contemplation and more substantial amounts of chuckling before I go to bed some nights. So the assertion that what you say doesn't matter is completely unfounded. The same joys you provide me are the same joys you provide to many others.
Secondly: Here's where we start to run into some problems. Where you say that people talking crap about me always come and tell me. Yes, by my own admission, that happens most of the time. But if it doesn't, I have a lovely surprise for you: I don't care. I invite you to scroll down a bit and read the rest of this blog, here, and try to wrap your sirenian brain (see wikipedia link above) around the endless piss and vinegar I self-deprecatingly spew out about myself on a daily basis. Though your tone lends a bit of sarcasm to the sentence in question, your diatribe largely ignores the fact that there are few, if any, things that anyone could say about me that are worse than the things I say about myself.
To go off on those, for a minute: You totally forgot to mention that I only have a sense of direction when I don't have any other viable life choices left. And, come on? The fact that I tend to trust everything and everyone except my own emotions, often to my detriment? I totally left that one open for you and you missed it. Let's not forget the past run-ins I've had with alcohol and substance abuse, the heartbreaks I've caused and suffered, and how the guilt I associate with them is often deeply rooted in a sense of personal inadequacy. Throughout the course of our friendship, I gave you gold. I feel just in demanding a little courtesy on your part- please use my contributions to the best of your ability.
Lastly, I wholeheartedly embrace your suggestion to believe what I want! Seriously, that's wonderful. I like being encouraged to pursue my own thoughts and ideas. Comments like that help me reaffirm my faith in my own belief system. Sometimes, it's just the little things in life that make the biggest differences. Just like Twinkies, yeah?
My final problem, though, leaps into the spotlight when you tell me to get real. You seem to have misapplied the best of the resources available to you; including but not limited to years' worth of memories, intimate conversations, and a crippled-yet-still-extant ability to self-actualize and see traces of that in others. To break it down:
I am neurotic. I am insecure. I have low-self esteem. I am the king of Too Much Information. I think I know it all, and when I say I do, I mean it. I am stubborn. I make mistakes, and stick by them until the very last possible minute. I have been known to say nasty things about people, and I take responsibility for those things. I have faith, (occasionally too much, as evidenced by the travails of attempting to reason with you), that those with whom I surround myself do the same.
Like before, your attempts to hurt my feelings or make me doubt my friends (and myself) have failed. I hope, in the future, you can take some of the pointers here and write something truly incisive, something that does draw as much blood as I think you were hoping for.
I am grossly offended, though, by the suggestion that I am not, in fact, real. Though I doubt my own existence from time to time, there is nothing fictitious about how I am in touch with my own feelings, how I ultimately respect the people I care about, or how I live my life. One's internal view of all those things is all that really matters in life, aside from looking outside of oneself to find new ways to learn and love. As such, your suggestion to get real is one of the flimsiest things you've ever said to me- I'm as real as they get. I hope that one day, discounting an untimely encounter between your back and a speedboat, you will eventually be able to say the same about yourself.
(DB) out.
Author's note: No dugongs, or surprisingly enough, bottles of wine, were harmed in the writing of this entry.
Apparently, blog-hating is in vogue.
After a long and uncomfortable calme d'inquietude (archaic French, don't bother looking it up, try to infer) with a certain former friend of mine, it's come to my attention that she's been talking about me by name in her MySpace blog. For easy reference, the "gay pothead" she's referring to isn't me. Of those two things, I am only one, and I think the conclusion's fairly easy to draw.
But, aside from a few glaring capitalization and grammatical errors, she's got some of the facts a little off. Not that's she's wrong: all of those things are true, or at the very least, could be. What disturbs me is the horrible number of omissions she's made.
So, in the interest of furthering the fine art of blog-hating, my little dugong (here, in case anyone needs to look that up), here are some pointers.
Firstly: I do admire your adherence to the truth in the first few bits of your assault on me: I do know everything. And I damn well certainly think I do, as well. But honey, you couldn't be further from the truth when you say it doesn't matter what you say to me. It definitely does matter: without you, I wouldn't have anything to serve as the subject of minimal contemplation and more substantial amounts of chuckling before I go to bed some nights. So the assertion that what you say doesn't matter is completely unfounded. The same joys you provide me are the same joys you provide to many others.
Secondly: Here's where we start to run into some problems. Where you say that people talking crap about me always come and tell me. Yes, by my own admission, that happens most of the time. But if it doesn't, I have a lovely surprise for you: I don't care. I invite you to scroll down a bit and read the rest of this blog, here, and try to wrap your sirenian brain (see wikipedia link above) around the endless piss and vinegar I self-deprecatingly spew out about myself on a daily basis. Though your tone lends a bit of sarcasm to the sentence in question, your diatribe largely ignores the fact that there are few, if any, things that anyone could say about me that are worse than the things I say about myself.
To go off on those, for a minute: You totally forgot to mention that I only have a sense of direction when I don't have any other viable life choices left. And, come on? The fact that I tend to trust everything and everyone except my own emotions, often to my detriment? I totally left that one open for you and you missed it. Let's not forget the past run-ins I've had with alcohol and substance abuse, the heartbreaks I've caused and suffered, and how the guilt I associate with them is often deeply rooted in a sense of personal inadequacy. Throughout the course of our friendship, I gave you gold. I feel just in demanding a little courtesy on your part- please use my contributions to the best of your ability.
Lastly, I wholeheartedly embrace your suggestion to believe what I want! Seriously, that's wonderful. I like being encouraged to pursue my own thoughts and ideas. Comments like that help me reaffirm my faith in my own belief system. Sometimes, it's just the little things in life that make the biggest differences. Just like Twinkies, yeah?
My final problem, though, leaps into the spotlight when you tell me to get real. You seem to have misapplied the best of the resources available to you; including but not limited to years' worth of memories, intimate conversations, and a crippled-yet-still-extant ability to self-actualize and see traces of that in others. To break it down:
I am neurotic. I am insecure. I have low-self esteem. I am the king of Too Much Information. I think I know it all, and when I say I do, I mean it. I am stubborn. I make mistakes, and stick by them until the very last possible minute. I have been known to say nasty things about people, and I take responsibility for those things. I have faith, (occasionally too much, as evidenced by the travails of attempting to reason with you), that those with whom I surround myself do the same.
Like before, your attempts to hurt my feelings or make me doubt my friends (and myself) have failed. I hope, in the future, you can take some of the pointers here and write something truly incisive, something that does draw as much blood as I think you were hoping for.
I am grossly offended, though, by the suggestion that I am not, in fact, real. Though I doubt my own existence from time to time, there is nothing fictitious about how I am in touch with my own feelings, how I ultimately respect the people I care about, or how I live my life. One's internal view of all those things is all that really matters in life, aside from looking outside of oneself to find new ways to learn and love. As such, your suggestion to get real is one of the flimsiest things you've ever said to me- I'm as real as they get. I hope that one day, discounting an untimely encounter between your back and a speedboat, you will eventually be able to say the same about yourself.
(DB) out.
Author's note: No dugongs, or surprisingly enough, bottles of wine, were harmed in the writing of this entry.
Monday, July 17, 2006
i'm an IM away from quoting sarah mclachlan in my title
Today was hot.
I worked, I napped, I went to school. That was about it.
Right now I'm sitting on the porch, of course, not really doing anything. I'm deciding when this moth / june beetle is eventually going to end up in my hair.
Oop, there it goes. Granted, five minutes passed between me typing the previous sentence and typing this one, but yeah. It was only a matter of time.
DC Boy is already screwing with my head without knowing he's doing it. When we talk online, and we're not talking about something he brought up, he feels every bit of those 47 miles away.
Attractive, emotionally distant, but able to captivate my curiosity enough to keep me guessing? Sound familiar, anyone?
I want to cancel the date, just so I can disappoint him before he gets the chance to do it to me. That's not what good people do, but if that what it takes to protect myself, then that's what I'll have to do.
I want to shove a coat hanger up my noise, and pull out the part of my brain responsible for processing emotions. Then, I'd be a real man.
(DB) out.
I worked, I napped, I went to school. That was about it.
Right now I'm sitting on the porch, of course, not really doing anything. I'm deciding when this moth / june beetle is eventually going to end up in my hair.
Oop, there it goes. Granted, five minutes passed between me typing the previous sentence and typing this one, but yeah. It was only a matter of time.
DC Boy is already screwing with my head without knowing he's doing it. When we talk online, and we're not talking about something he brought up, he feels every bit of those 47 miles away.
Attractive, emotionally distant, but able to captivate my curiosity enough to keep me guessing? Sound familiar, anyone?
I want to cancel the date, just so I can disappoint him before he gets the chance to do it to me. That's not what good people do, but if that what it takes to protect myself, then that's what I'll have to do.
I want to shove a coat hanger up my noise, and pull out the part of my brain responsible for processing emotions. Then, I'd be a real man.
(DB) out.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
new strings
...Is the title of a country song that, surprisingly, I like.
I worked today. I picked up a pizza. I helped my mom set up her iPod shuffle, because she's going into surgery on Monday and wants music to listen to.
Come to think of it, I worked all day.
And you know, I really don't have anything worth saying, other than the standard, "I only feel like a legitimate life form in the biological sense, and barely even then."
I fucking don't exist, seriously.
Alors, je suis aller un date avec ce garçon, l'un qui habite en DC. Et ce soir, il me dit, "J'ai un date avec ce homme bisexuel, ainsi je sors avec ma copine, et il pourrait y avoir un peu de competition."
Je suis comme, "Quoi?" Aprés un moment, il dit, "Ne t'en fait pas, j'anticipe nos date :-) "
Je suis comme, "Quoi?"
Ce n'est pas quelque chose on dit à quelqu'un qu'on aime. That's' somewhat amusing, attempting to measure keystorkes per minute. Actually, I could probably amuse myself for quite some time looking at the keyboard viewer, doing this.
Despite my quasi-bastardized attempts at French, I was taken aback. Do people really say that to other people? If you were talking to someone, and you and that person were eventually planning to go on a date, would you mention that you have a date with some bisexual guy who's leaving for Venezuela in a few days, and that you're taking a female friend with you?
He said not to think anything of it, and that he was still really looking forward to our date, which is in a week, now.
I am so bored. And feeling insecure.
I worked today. I picked up a pizza. I helped my mom set up her iPod shuffle, because she's going into surgery on Monday and wants music to listen to.
Come to think of it, I worked all day.
And you know, I really don't have anything worth saying, other than the standard, "I only feel like a legitimate life form in the biological sense, and barely even then."
I fucking don't exist, seriously.
Alors, je suis aller un date avec ce garçon, l'un qui habite en DC. Et ce soir, il me dit, "J'ai un date avec ce homme bisexuel, ainsi je sors avec ma copine, et il pourrait y avoir un peu de competition."
Je suis comme, "Quoi?" Aprés un moment, il dit, "Ne t'en fait pas, j'anticipe nos date :-) "
Je suis comme, "Quoi?"
Ce n'est pas quelque chose on dit à quelqu'un qu'on aime. That's' somewhat amusing, attempting to measure keystorkes per minute. Actually, I could probably amuse myself for quite some time looking at the keyboard viewer, doing this.
Despite my quasi-bastardized attempts at French, I was taken aback. Do people really say that to other people? If you were talking to someone, and you and that person were eventually planning to go on a date, would you mention that you have a date with some bisexual guy who's leaving for Venezuela in a few days, and that you're taking a female friend with you?
He said not to think anything of it, and that he was still really looking forward to our date, which is in a week, now.
I am so bored. And feeling insecure.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
commercial theme songs
I don't know why, but the Lamisil commercial music is stuck in my damn head. I don't have foot fungus, but I'd definitely check them out if I did. Maybe because I watch TV too ritualistically. I don't watch it often, but I catch ST:DS9 at the same time every day, so I see the exact same commercials.
I'll tell you, I'd call AIG just to have them laugh at me, then demand videos of Bill eating that live squid.
Not much has gone on. My life is completely dry. I might go to the beach in a couple weeks, but my parents are likely going to yell at me and proclaim that since I owe them so much money, I can't afford it. And, they're right. Doesn't mean I can't hope for a vacation though.
I don't know. These past couple days I've felt like the weather- sticky, monotonous, and occasionally overcast. Lately, my time's been spent in the same routine, doing the same things with the same people, under the same conditions. I accept that, because this routine is key to attaining success in the future. I don't like, though, how it's changing me as a person.
My biological clock is in sync with my schedule, which is weird enough. I'm not used to going to sleep without fearing that I won't wake up in time.
The problem is, I feel like a machine. Everything working like clockwork: input, process, output, feedback. Go to school, digest knowledge, apply it to homework and tests, then think about how I did. Go to work, do some specializing, get paid, then spend all my money, thus necessitating a return to work. Go out with friends, contemplate a very limited set of activities, pick one and do it, then go home thinking about how we used to have a lot more fun. All the while, I have limited amounts of time to eat, and no money, and no good food to choose from, so I just starve starve starve eat a lot starve starve, etc. So my body's not firing on all cylinders, which is obviously bad. My mind's not too happy about it, either, because we all know how self-conscious I am about my weight, even though I rarely do anything about it.
Random IM Quote: Face it, biotch. I have more gravity than you. When you walk, you're moving towards something. When I walk, things are really just falling in my direction.
Yes, this is how "real life" works. Doesn't mean I have to like it. Aside from Saturday nights, on which I know that I don't have work or school the next day (and even then, I probably have housework to do), I don't ever really relax. I've got the constant knowledge that the next step of the cycle is looming on the horizon, and after it all comes to fruition, it resets and has to be done all over again. After spending this summer getting used to it, I don't like it at all, but I don't see myself as having any choice, really.
It's hard to associate the fun, unpredictable past with the virtually nonexistent shot at a good future. That is, though, how the cookie crumbles.
It's been commented that I don't seem as alive as I once did. And, the person who said that is right. I don't feel as alive as I once did. And when questioned about it, I immediately churned out a response to the tune of, "blah blah, irresponsible behavior got me where I was, blah blah I'm working towards my future, blah blah I regret the choices I made and I'm grateful that I now have a chance to do something about them."
Honestly, though: I don't regret a damn thing. I loved feeling alive, I loved feeling like I really didn't answer to anyone, and I loved feeling that, no matter how much of a disadvantage I put myself at, the world really was my oyster, because I was free to choose where I wanted to be.
Of course I'm free to choose. But, if my only viable choice for enjoying the rest of my life requires giving up most of what I enjoy now, am I really living, and am I really free?
How I would love to have my cake and eat it, too.
(DB) out.
I'll tell you, I'd call AIG just to have them laugh at me, then demand videos of Bill eating that live squid.
Not much has gone on. My life is completely dry. I might go to the beach in a couple weeks, but my parents are likely going to yell at me and proclaim that since I owe them so much money, I can't afford it. And, they're right. Doesn't mean I can't hope for a vacation though.
I don't know. These past couple days I've felt like the weather- sticky, monotonous, and occasionally overcast. Lately, my time's been spent in the same routine, doing the same things with the same people, under the same conditions. I accept that, because this routine is key to attaining success in the future. I don't like, though, how it's changing me as a person.
My biological clock is in sync with my schedule, which is weird enough. I'm not used to going to sleep without fearing that I won't wake up in time.
The problem is, I feel like a machine. Everything working like clockwork: input, process, output, feedback. Go to school, digest knowledge, apply it to homework and tests, then think about how I did. Go to work, do some specializing, get paid, then spend all my money, thus necessitating a return to work. Go out with friends, contemplate a very limited set of activities, pick one and do it, then go home thinking about how we used to have a lot more fun. All the while, I have limited amounts of time to eat, and no money, and no good food to choose from, so I just starve starve starve eat a lot starve starve, etc. So my body's not firing on all cylinders, which is obviously bad. My mind's not too happy about it, either, because we all know how self-conscious I am about my weight, even though I rarely do anything about it.
Random IM Quote: Face it, biotch. I have more gravity than you. When you walk, you're moving towards something. When I walk, things are really just falling in my direction.
Yes, this is how "real life" works. Doesn't mean I have to like it. Aside from Saturday nights, on which I know that I don't have work or school the next day (and even then, I probably have housework to do), I don't ever really relax. I've got the constant knowledge that the next step of the cycle is looming on the horizon, and after it all comes to fruition, it resets and has to be done all over again. After spending this summer getting used to it, I don't like it at all, but I don't see myself as having any choice, really.
It's hard to associate the fun, unpredictable past with the virtually nonexistent shot at a good future. That is, though, how the cookie crumbles.
It's been commented that I don't seem as alive as I once did. And, the person who said that is right. I don't feel as alive as I once did. And when questioned about it, I immediately churned out a response to the tune of, "blah blah, irresponsible behavior got me where I was, blah blah I'm working towards my future, blah blah I regret the choices I made and I'm grateful that I now have a chance to do something about them."
Honestly, though: I don't regret a damn thing. I loved feeling alive, I loved feeling like I really didn't answer to anyone, and I loved feeling that, no matter how much of a disadvantage I put myself at, the world really was my oyster, because I was free to choose where I wanted to be.
Of course I'm free to choose. But, if my only viable choice for enjoying the rest of my life requires giving up most of what I enjoy now, am I really living, and am I really free?
How I would love to have my cake and eat it, too.
(DB) out.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
insert frustrated onomatopoeia here
Eleanor's in the shop again.
Whilst driving to Jin's to pick her up for school, it started making that "replace the damn serpentine belt, already" noise. The steering stiffened, the fans slowed. It was bad. I made it to her house, popped the hood, and found coolant everywhere. All over the entire engine compartment, leaking all over her driveway, the culmination of a solid line of fluid trailing from me the entire way down her street.
Thankfully, her mom took us to school, and was nice enough to assist me in dropping the car off at the shop. Seriously though, I'm quite upset, and all I want is for this just to be done with and working properly.
Math scares me. I hate algebra, and there's no reason anyone should ever have to do it. I'm sure arguments could be made that algebra has in some way made possible everything I know and love about life, but I don't care. It needs to be left to those who enjoy doing it.
Once again, I am uninspired. I can't tell if I'm hungry, tired, nauseous, or sleepy. The thought of doing practice problems for math makes me ill.
Maybe I'll go to bed or something.
(DB) out.
Whilst driving to Jin's to pick her up for school, it started making that "replace the damn serpentine belt, already" noise. The steering stiffened, the fans slowed. It was bad. I made it to her house, popped the hood, and found coolant everywhere. All over the entire engine compartment, leaking all over her driveway, the culmination of a solid line of fluid trailing from me the entire way down her street.
Thankfully, her mom took us to school, and was nice enough to assist me in dropping the car off at the shop. Seriously though, I'm quite upset, and all I want is for this just to be done with and working properly.
Math scares me. I hate algebra, and there's no reason anyone should ever have to do it. I'm sure arguments could be made that algebra has in some way made possible everything I know and love about life, but I don't care. It needs to be left to those who enjoy doing it.
Once again, I am uninspired. I can't tell if I'm hungry, tired, nauseous, or sleepy. The thought of doing practice problems for math makes me ill.
Maybe I'll go to bed or something.
(DB) out.
Monday, July 10, 2006
"they are nowhere in her thoughts as she dives beneath the waves"
Brief recap, for those paying attention to the fact that I didn't blog yesterday-
Sunday was an exercise in sin and vice. Mostly gluttony. (Dave and I each ate an entire medium pizza, and talked smack about men.) Did get to see Bell, which was nice, though the apartment felt empty sans Courtney. I remember when she and Bell, then me, Brad, Nicole, and whoever else practically lived there, all were one big dysfunctional family. It was great. Greener pastures, though, seem to have called all of us.
Today, I had a doctor's appointment (which was fairly pointless), my algebra class, and then hung out with Jinah and her mom, then her dad, brother, and friend Andy. We made chocolate/caramel fondue on a whim, and sat and ate it with fresh fruit, ruminating upon the fine points of life. Well, if you count talking about being overweight (probably from eating whole pizzas and fondue), lamenting classes, and our ever-so-cryptic personal identities "fine points." There were other important bits of discussion, but that's not my business to get into, so if you feel like knowing, ask Jin.
Tomorrow, I start up my philosophy class, in addition to the algebra class I started tonight. I'm not looking forward to algebra, so I'm hoping philosophy will be fun. Psych will be hard to beat, but anywhere in that league would be acceptable.
Anybody have comments of the feasibility of taking out student loans so I can better afford tuition, living expenses, and a MacBook Pro? Granted, the MBP probably costs more than the other two combined, but it's all important to me. ;-) (boo, I want a 2GHz PowerPC laptop, though. Oh well.)
This entry's title comes from a song by The Presets, called "Girl and the Sea." It was last week's iTunes freebie and I can't keep myself from listening to it at least once daily. For some reason, the imagery combined with the sound makes me happy.
All I've got lately are bits of no consequence, and other peoples' stories. If I ever have to look back on the part of my life preceding this one, and if I'm ever asked to justify it, I'd probably respond by saying, "at least I had a lot of stories." Stories are important to me. I guess being a writer (or something like it) will do that. Other peoples' stories are amusing- I couldn't pass one of Dave's off as my own to save my life- but I'm far more satisfied by writing my own, and they seem to be in short supply lately.
What does that mean to me? Why are stories so important anyway? I think they evoke a sense of longevity, even if I'm the only person who ever reads what I write down. Somewhere, somehow, somebody could read my writing, and remember it. I ultimately hope that one day, something I write will change someone's life, but that might be too much to hope for.
That's why they're called hopes, I guess.
I was thinking about roughing out a screenplay a few days ago, but I realized, I have no idea what it's about. This is when I should've been working on my paper, and should've been attending to some laundry, or something. My creativity peaks when I'm using it to distract myself from something more important I need to be doing. How else could I have rationalized warp drive in my head when I was about 9? Oh, because I watch too much Star Trek. But seriously though, theoretical physics (without math) are totally cool, and I'm totally smart, so shut up, poophead.
All these time-travel themed couple of days seem to have gotten to me.
You know? Check the gravy. I might write a story that is and isn't mine.
(DB) out.
Sunday was an exercise in sin and vice. Mostly gluttony. (Dave and I each ate an entire medium pizza, and talked smack about men.) Did get to see Bell, which was nice, though the apartment felt empty sans Courtney. I remember when she and Bell, then me, Brad, Nicole, and whoever else practically lived there, all were one big dysfunctional family. It was great. Greener pastures, though, seem to have called all of us.
Today, I had a doctor's appointment (which was fairly pointless), my algebra class, and then hung out with Jinah and her mom, then her dad, brother, and friend Andy. We made chocolate/caramel fondue on a whim, and sat and ate it with fresh fruit, ruminating upon the fine points of life. Well, if you count talking about being overweight (probably from eating whole pizzas and fondue), lamenting classes, and our ever-so-cryptic personal identities "fine points." There were other important bits of discussion, but that's not my business to get into, so if you feel like knowing, ask Jin.
Tomorrow, I start up my philosophy class, in addition to the algebra class I started tonight. I'm not looking forward to algebra, so I'm hoping philosophy will be fun. Psych will be hard to beat, but anywhere in that league would be acceptable.
Anybody have comments of the feasibility of taking out student loans so I can better afford tuition, living expenses, and a MacBook Pro? Granted, the MBP probably costs more than the other two combined, but it's all important to me. ;-) (boo, I want a 2GHz PowerPC laptop, though. Oh well.)
This entry's title comes from a song by The Presets, called "Girl and the Sea." It was last week's iTunes freebie and I can't keep myself from listening to it at least once daily. For some reason, the imagery combined with the sound makes me happy.
All I've got lately are bits of no consequence, and other peoples' stories. If I ever have to look back on the part of my life preceding this one, and if I'm ever asked to justify it, I'd probably respond by saying, "at least I had a lot of stories." Stories are important to me. I guess being a writer (or something like it) will do that. Other peoples' stories are amusing- I couldn't pass one of Dave's off as my own to save my life- but I'm far more satisfied by writing my own, and they seem to be in short supply lately.
What does that mean to me? Why are stories so important anyway? I think they evoke a sense of longevity, even if I'm the only person who ever reads what I write down. Somewhere, somehow, somebody could read my writing, and remember it. I ultimately hope that one day, something I write will change someone's life, but that might be too much to hope for.
That's why they're called hopes, I guess.
I was thinking about roughing out a screenplay a few days ago, but I realized, I have no idea what it's about. This is when I should've been working on my paper, and should've been attending to some laundry, or something. My creativity peaks when I'm using it to distract myself from something more important I need to be doing. How else could I have rationalized warp drive in my head when I was about 9? Oh, because I watch too much Star Trek. But seriously though, theoretical physics (without math) are totally cool, and I'm totally smart, so shut up, poophead.
All these time-travel themed couple of days seem to have gotten to me.
You know? Check the gravy. I might write a story that is and isn't mine.
(DB) out.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
time travel, II
Today blew.
Not really. Just the part before work. And then a little bit of the part after it, when I realized.. "Damn. Jinah is one of the only people in the world who knows my house phone number... I guess I have to wake up now." My nap was interrupted but I'm fairly sure that's better than sitting around the house with nothing to do.
We went to the Avenue, which isn't exactly on my hot list of destinations, but hell, we had nothing else to do. It really did feel like I was 15 again, though- some of Nackie's friends (Adam's friend, aka Justin, or Midget, for those who don't know) were a little less than mature, and.. well, embarrassing. It's been literally years since I've had someone come up to me, or my friends, and say "Are you guys patronizing any of the businesses? Loitering is not permitted, so I'll have to ask you to move along."
Matters were complicated further when Nackie (who is 17, but very seriously looks like he's 13) was carded. For walking after 9:30. Ridiculous. I haven't been a mallrat in so long, and it feels weird to be in that group that, when apart from it, I'd look at and think, "God, get a life."
We ended up settling in Chili's, grabbing a quite bite, then hanging out at Nackie's with a hundred different domestic animals and seemingly endless family members popping out of the woodwork. Okay, so maybe it was more like two big dogs, two cats, a screeching bird, and three family members other than his mom. Then I came home.
I feel like I could've done more interesting things on a Saturday where I'm done with work at 4:30, but I think I used it to the best of my ability. Or perhaps my whims. Or some combination thereof.
I don't know what I'm doing with myself tomorrow, probably a whole lot of nothing, or griping about doing a whole lot of nothing. Maybe I'll... oh hell. I'm not even going to pretend like I have an idea.
I want to write, I feel kinda like writing, but at the same time I kinda don't, and I also feel like I have nothing to write about. What I will say, though, is I'm entirely jealous of every Mac user out there whose computer can run Garageband, because mine can't and I really think I'd have fun venting creativity into it.
I dunno, maybe I'll write more later.
(DB) out.
Not really. Just the part before work. And then a little bit of the part after it, when I realized.. "Damn. Jinah is one of the only people in the world who knows my house phone number... I guess I have to wake up now." My nap was interrupted but I'm fairly sure that's better than sitting around the house with nothing to do.
We went to the Avenue, which isn't exactly on my hot list of destinations, but hell, we had nothing else to do. It really did feel like I was 15 again, though- some of Nackie's friends (Adam's friend, aka Justin, or Midget, for those who don't know) were a little less than mature, and.. well, embarrassing. It's been literally years since I've had someone come up to me, or my friends, and say "Are you guys patronizing any of the businesses? Loitering is not permitted, so I'll have to ask you to move along."
Matters were complicated further when Nackie (who is 17, but very seriously looks like he's 13) was carded. For walking after 9:30. Ridiculous. I haven't been a mallrat in so long, and it feels weird to be in that group that, when apart from it, I'd look at and think, "God, get a life."
We ended up settling in Chili's, grabbing a quite bite, then hanging out at Nackie's with a hundred different domestic animals and seemingly endless family members popping out of the woodwork. Okay, so maybe it was more like two big dogs, two cats, a screeching bird, and three family members other than his mom. Then I came home.
I feel like I could've done more interesting things on a Saturday where I'm done with work at 4:30, but I think I used it to the best of my ability. Or perhaps my whims. Or some combination thereof.
I don't know what I'm doing with myself tomorrow, probably a whole lot of nothing, or griping about doing a whole lot of nothing. Maybe I'll... oh hell. I'm not even going to pretend like I have an idea.
I want to write, I feel kinda like writing, but at the same time I kinda don't, and I also feel like I have nothing to write about. What I will say, though, is I'm entirely jealous of every Mac user out there whose computer can run Garageband, because mine can't and I really think I'd have fun venting creativity into it.
I dunno, maybe I'll write more later.
(DB) out.
Friday, July 07, 2006
time travel
I feel like I've traveled back in time.
$981 ago (or any time in the last nine months, depending on who's in the know), my beloved Eleanor had this little problem where she would overheat constantly, had a license plate light missing, and as a result, I couldn't run the AC or drive at night without fear of being pulled over. This time, fortunately, has passed.
It's chilly and smells like fall outside. My theme for this fall is "Don't fall in love with any alcoholic cokeheads." I miss the old falls, when we'd all be getting ready for the plays, and we'd all be planning our trips to Huber's for the hayride, and we'd all be planning Halloween parties and cast parties and terrorizing TGI Friday's and feeling cool about it because technically, it was a school function so provisional license restrictions didn't apply. Oh, and we all didn't hate each other. That was nice, too.
In a strange way, I miss Laurie, too. Despite the problems our relationship had, including her being a girl and me liking boys, I miss how much I loved her, and how much she loved me, and how generally, everything was alright. Aside from sexual orientation and having spats about whose friends hated each other, I look back through my rose-tinted glasses and see us as perfect. I think she's okay now, at least I hope so. When last I heard she was done with that one boyfriend of hers, who didn't particularly care for me at all, to the point of freaking out at her whenever he heard my voice through the phone when I was around... that'd be nice. I just emailed her, in hopes that I'll hear back and get a chance to catch up. That is, if she ever checks that email address anymore. I might've just attempted to contact a complete stranger. Or maybe she really hated me, and her boyfriend was just a front. I don't think that's the case, though.
I have an A in my Comps class, and I almost certainly have an A in my Psych class. That excites me. It feels like... ten years ago. That was the last time a report card had an A on it, other than the ones in my name. Now, I just have to keep the trend going.
I'm tired. I feel aimless. I kinda want to go to sleep, I kinda don't, I have no idea. I kinda want to grab something to eat but I feel like I'm not really hungry, and that I'm just bored. Although, I didn't really eat a proper dinner- a dollar menu cheeseburger, and a 5-piece chicken nugget thing several hours later... hmm. Maybe I do have license to be hungry, but given that I've eaten fast food today, I don't know where a meal would fit in my calorie budget.
NM- problem solved- Star Trek is on.
(DB) out.
$981 ago (or any time in the last nine months, depending on who's in the know), my beloved Eleanor had this little problem where she would overheat constantly, had a license plate light missing, and as a result, I couldn't run the AC or drive at night without fear of being pulled over. This time, fortunately, has passed.
It's chilly and smells like fall outside. My theme for this fall is "Don't fall in love with any alcoholic cokeheads." I miss the old falls, when we'd all be getting ready for the plays, and we'd all be planning our trips to Huber's for the hayride, and we'd all be planning Halloween parties and cast parties and terrorizing TGI Friday's and feeling cool about it because technically, it was a school function so provisional license restrictions didn't apply. Oh, and we all didn't hate each other. That was nice, too.
In a strange way, I miss Laurie, too. Despite the problems our relationship had, including her being a girl and me liking boys, I miss how much I loved her, and how much she loved me, and how generally, everything was alright. Aside from sexual orientation and having spats about whose friends hated each other, I look back through my rose-tinted glasses and see us as perfect. I think she's okay now, at least I hope so. When last I heard she was done with that one boyfriend of hers, who didn't particularly care for me at all, to the point of freaking out at her whenever he heard my voice through the phone when I was around... that'd be nice. I just emailed her, in hopes that I'll hear back and get a chance to catch up. That is, if she ever checks that email address anymore. I might've just attempted to contact a complete stranger. Or maybe she really hated me, and her boyfriend was just a front. I don't think that's the case, though.
I have an A in my Comps class, and I almost certainly have an A in my Psych class. That excites me. It feels like... ten years ago. That was the last time a report card had an A on it, other than the ones in my name. Now, I just have to keep the trend going.
I'm tired. I feel aimless. I kinda want to go to sleep, I kinda don't, I have no idea. I kinda want to grab something to eat but I feel like I'm not really hungry, and that I'm just bored. Although, I didn't really eat a proper dinner- a dollar menu cheeseburger, and a 5-piece chicken nugget thing several hours later... hmm. Maybe I do have license to be hungry, but given that I've eaten fast food today, I don't know where a meal would fit in my calorie budget.
NM- problem solved- Star Trek is on.
(DB) out.
fireworks, or a conspicuous lack thereof
So, let me preface today's entry with this: I haven't slept since yesterday.
I spent all day and all night working on a paper, which I probably should have spend more time working on before then... but oh well. Bygones.
My procrastination kept me from being able to attend any of the 4th of July fireworks in person, but from my smoky roost on my back porch, I definitely heard every firecracker in a ten-mile radius. I felt like the kid who was home sick on a field trip, or had a broken leg when everyone else was going to the beach. Actually, in my past, I've been both of those kids, so I guess the experience wasn't all that alien to me.
Regardless, I busted a ton of ass (most of it my own) and got the paper done. Aside from two finals tomorrow and possibly a project in Comps class today, I'm officially done with my first set of classes. And, presuming excellent scores on my exams, I should have A's in both classes. Of course, next Monday starts the song and dance anew with two different classes. But, one thing at a time. Even though I'll have work most of the time between now and then, I still want to enjoy what small victories I can.
My car... I took her into the shop. I said she had a bad thermostat. And I was right, except for not noticing that she had bad radiator hoses, and a coolant leak from the intake manifold gasket. It sounds nasty, it sounds complicated... and it is both of those things. And, we all know what nasty and complicated mean for car repairs: expensive. That little $150 repair turned into a $981 repair. Booooo.
Right now, I'm sitting in the only way I can that doesn't give away the fact that there's something wrong with my display. I'm at school because I could only get a ride over with my mom, two hours before class starts. And you know what? I'm wearing a decent outfit, typing on a "trendy" Mac, Red Bull and iPod on the table next to my messenger bag. I don't care if I look like I couldn't define the word "situp" from the way this position is gracelessly showcasing my curves. I'm cool e-fucking-nough.
Hopefully I'll be able to pick up my car this afternoon, then settle in for one hell of a nap. It will be a welcome departure from consciousness.
Presently, I've been playing with iTunes, and trying to decide what to do. The
This post is now like two days in the making. I'm not even going to try.
I spent all day and all night working on a paper, which I probably should have spend more time working on before then... but oh well. Bygones.
My procrastination kept me from being able to attend any of the 4th of July fireworks in person, but from my smoky roost on my back porch, I definitely heard every firecracker in a ten-mile radius. I felt like the kid who was home sick on a field trip, or had a broken leg when everyone else was going to the beach. Actually, in my past, I've been both of those kids, so I guess the experience wasn't all that alien to me.
Regardless, I busted a ton of ass (most of it my own) and got the paper done. Aside from two finals tomorrow and possibly a project in Comps class today, I'm officially done with my first set of classes. And, presuming excellent scores on my exams, I should have A's in both classes. Of course, next Monday starts the song and dance anew with two different classes. But, one thing at a time. Even though I'll have work most of the time between now and then, I still want to enjoy what small victories I can.
My car... I took her into the shop. I said she had a bad thermostat. And I was right, except for not noticing that she had bad radiator hoses, and a coolant leak from the intake manifold gasket. It sounds nasty, it sounds complicated... and it is both of those things. And, we all know what nasty and complicated mean for car repairs: expensive. That little $150 repair turned into a $981 repair. Booooo.
Right now, I'm sitting in the only way I can that doesn't give away the fact that there's something wrong with my display. I'm at school because I could only get a ride over with my mom, two hours before class starts. And you know what? I'm wearing a decent outfit, typing on a "trendy" Mac, Red Bull and iPod on the table next to my messenger bag. I don't care if I look like I couldn't define the word "situp" from the way this position is gracelessly showcasing my curves. I'm cool e-fucking-nough.
Hopefully I'll be able to pick up my car this afternoon, then settle in for one hell of a nap. It will be a welcome departure from consciousness.
Presently, I've been playing with iTunes, and trying to decide what to do. The
This post is now like two days in the making. I'm not even going to try.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
love wine, hate linksys
My router has kicked me off twice in ten minutes, probably setting a new record for how sucky Linksys routers are. Completely not working would necessitate replacement, but selectively not working (it's only my computer and my mom's) is just cheeky. Not fun cheeky, though. Just mean.
I've been really blog-negligent these past few days, for which there is no great reason. i've been busy. I've been relatively tapped for things to talk about. My life is pretty much the same, day in and day out: My car needs fixing. School occupies a lot of my time. I'm down to three friends I see with any semblance of frequency (that's counting Jinah's mom, who I positively adore). And, I'm of course, just slipping by on enough money to fear just how much totally broke hurts.
One development, though- my car overheated and nearly stalled as I tried to make a left turn today. I think I'm taking it to BJ's tomorrow, if they're open.
Now, though, I shall enjoy my wine and relatively calm weather, and not obsess over the little stupid things that give me a drive to improve my life.
I finish up my classes this week. Of course, I start new classes next week, but it's hard to believe that after only five weeks, that's six credits under my belt. I really only wish the fall semester could pass by as quickly; I feel like I'm actually accomplishing things, rather than letting ambitions lie fallow.
I've been trying to eat healthy. My parents only buy filth, though. So, I get a sense of satisfaction when I tie up the kitchen for an hour trying to throw together something nutritious (or not even, my main requisite is minimal-guilt or guilt-free), and I get to say, "Well, you folks are trying to poison me with these microwaveable intolerabilities!"
The day, though, that I manage to string that sentence together while toiling over a stove... well, that shall be a strange day.
On wine- It's best to drink it when it belongs to other people, because then one thinks twice about the temptation to finish a whole damn bottle. Further, it's best to drink it when it is not offered, but left around for general consumption. One person presenting a bottle of wine to share with another can lead to unpleasant indiscretions. And soreness.
Hah.
(a beat)
I was just about to type something bitter and nasty, but then I thought, perhaps I should save those remarks for other outlets. And maybe, just maybe, I'll pour myself a second glass of wine.
So, for the interesting reading that's been so sorely missing in this here blog, I posit the question, when do you know that real life has hit? Looking at my nine-year plan for amassing degree after degree, finding some sort of job, getting someplace to live.. Well, I remember when I was a kid, there were two timeframes: Now, and Future, separated by the now widely used linguistic / typographical convention that is the lone ? Although looking at where it all should fit chronologically, I feel like ? is where I'm at. Future is still on the horizon, but that pesky punctuatory purgatory (oh, what old grapes can do for alliteration) still remains cloudy.
Will it feel like real life once I'm done my bachelors? Or will that still not be enough? Will I take the stance of the professional student, and remain in college until I'm 30, chasing after a doctorate and a shot at a top-drawer job with a top-dollar salary? Or will it be when I buy my first house, or my first new car, or when I wake up in the morning and think to myself, "hmm, maybe I should start thinking about life insurance?" No, that's "old age," not real life. My thinking is, real life never hits. We are all to walk around with invisible credentials whose obtainment once meant the world to us, and ultimately settle into jobs we really thought we were working so hard to skip over.
Then, maybe one day with enough luck, we might get those dream jobs we always thought about getting. But, even that might not feel like the threshold between ? and Future, because... I don't know. That wick just burned itself out.
Disclaimer: When I said "interesting reading" three paragraphs ago, I might have meant something like philosophical rambling. That's for you to decide.
I have to wake up relatively early, take the car in for repairs, then commit the rest of my day to cleaning out the garage and the basement. I'm really intensely not looking forward to that, because that means: spending a day in a confined space, doing something I passionately hate, kept company by my parents, who know how much I hate being there, and thus get mad at me when my attitude lapses below my ability to feign cheer.
In all fairness though, when my attitude lapses, I get intensely bitter, sarcastic, and by-and-large, evil. Not like this is news to anyone.
I think I'm going to passively absorb half of Wikipedia and call it a night.
(DB) out.
I've been really blog-negligent these past few days, for which there is no great reason. i've been busy. I've been relatively tapped for things to talk about. My life is pretty much the same, day in and day out: My car needs fixing. School occupies a lot of my time. I'm down to three friends I see with any semblance of frequency (that's counting Jinah's mom, who I positively adore). And, I'm of course, just slipping by on enough money to fear just how much totally broke hurts.
One development, though- my car overheated and nearly stalled as I tried to make a left turn today. I think I'm taking it to BJ's tomorrow, if they're open.
Now, though, I shall enjoy my wine and relatively calm weather, and not obsess over the little stupid things that give me a drive to improve my life.
I finish up my classes this week. Of course, I start new classes next week, but it's hard to believe that after only five weeks, that's six credits under my belt. I really only wish the fall semester could pass by as quickly; I feel like I'm actually accomplishing things, rather than letting ambitions lie fallow.
I've been trying to eat healthy. My parents only buy filth, though. So, I get a sense of satisfaction when I tie up the kitchen for an hour trying to throw together something nutritious (or not even, my main requisite is minimal-guilt or guilt-free), and I get to say, "Well, you folks are trying to poison me with these microwaveable intolerabilities!"
The day, though, that I manage to string that sentence together while toiling over a stove... well, that shall be a strange day.
On wine- It's best to drink it when it belongs to other people, because then one thinks twice about the temptation to finish a whole damn bottle. Further, it's best to drink it when it is not offered, but left around for general consumption. One person presenting a bottle of wine to share with another can lead to unpleasant indiscretions. And soreness.
Hah.
(a beat)
I was just about to type something bitter and nasty, but then I thought, perhaps I should save those remarks for other outlets. And maybe, just maybe, I'll pour myself a second glass of wine.
So, for the interesting reading that's been so sorely missing in this here blog, I posit the question, when do you know that real life has hit? Looking at my nine-year plan for amassing degree after degree, finding some sort of job, getting someplace to live.. Well, I remember when I was a kid, there were two timeframes: Now, and Future, separated by the now widely used linguistic / typographical convention that is the lone ? Although looking at where it all should fit chronologically, I feel like ? is where I'm at. Future is still on the horizon, but that pesky punctuatory purgatory (oh, what old grapes can do for alliteration) still remains cloudy.
Will it feel like real life once I'm done my bachelors? Or will that still not be enough? Will I take the stance of the professional student, and remain in college until I'm 30, chasing after a doctorate and a shot at a top-drawer job with a top-dollar salary? Or will it be when I buy my first house, or my first new car, or when I wake up in the morning and think to myself, "hmm, maybe I should start thinking about life insurance?" No, that's "old age," not real life. My thinking is, real life never hits. We are all to walk around with invisible credentials whose obtainment once meant the world to us, and ultimately settle into jobs we really thought we were working so hard to skip over.
Then, maybe one day with enough luck, we might get those dream jobs we always thought about getting. But, even that might not feel like the threshold between ? and Future, because... I don't know. That wick just burned itself out.
Disclaimer: When I said "interesting reading" three paragraphs ago, I might have meant something like philosophical rambling. That's for you to decide.
I have to wake up relatively early, take the car in for repairs, then commit the rest of my day to cleaning out the garage and the basement. I'm really intensely not looking forward to that, because that means: spending a day in a confined space, doing something I passionately hate, kept company by my parents, who know how much I hate being there, and thus get mad at me when my attitude lapses below my ability to feign cheer.
In all fairness though, when my attitude lapses, I get intensely bitter, sarcastic, and by-and-large, evil. Not like this is news to anyone.
I think I'm going to passively absorb half of Wikipedia and call it a night.
(DB) out.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
my weekend
Was a lot of working. And then this happened.
Thankfully, aside from some whiplash and upsetting Adam's back, nobody was seriously injured. Every car you see in the picture was involved.
If you know Jinah, give her some love when you see her. That white one was her unnamed baby.
I got an A on my psych midterm, and on my Comps. midterm. Taking into account how I've done perfect on everything else, yours truly is an A student. Weeeeird.
I tried to blog from the porch earlier, but this fucking hurricane is eating up all my wifi and sitting outside wasn't working. Seriously, though. I'm inside and I can hear the sound of the floodwater in my backyard over the sound of the air conditioner. That can't be good. Oh well. My yard's been eroding for years, it's only getting bad now. My dad said something about it being the Army Corps of Engineers' duty to take care of land erosion.
This summer's going by faster than any I've experienced before. Probably because I've been keeping relatively busy, doing stuff, not having a lot of time to commit to sitting around, and/or driving around aimlessly, like last summer. God, before Katrina, we could say "Let's go for a ride in the country" without eliciting those "are you fucking NUTS?" looks from whoever was around.
I want to go to Deep Creek so bad. Enough said about that.
As you might tell from The Gravy (and I'm not linking to it anymore, you find it yourself, you know you want to), I've got a new bit I'm working on. Although this one's more of a song than a poem, and I'm mostly done recording it, too. If you're not either Jinah, Francis, or my mom, you'll have to wait to hear what it sounds like. I just feel good having recorded something, having a project, if you will. It's been quite some time since I did anything musical, other than farting.
Sometime before the end of this summer, I'm planning on hosting a luau / cookout / big gay yard party. Not necessarily gay, heh, but don't expect to hear country. Or to escape a little bit of disco. Or something.
These sweat pants I'm wearing are making me do just that. I'd take them off, but.. I actually don't know why I haven't taken them off. There, that's better.
I went on a date Friday night. It was alright, I guess, but I fear I'm going to do my magic "I'm unfortunately not interested" act again. I know me.
After an episode of ST:TNG, I've determined it's time to go to bed.
(DB) out.
Friday, June 16, 2006
a clear picture of the region between my ears
Author's note: I mean what I say in the title. This is about as cogent and composed as I get. This entry here is me in print. For now.
Tonight, I sat in the diner with the Apple crew for four hours. It felt good to be home.
I was thinking to myself as I drove home how disastrously I've been neglecting my blog(s). I have good reasons, such as keeping up with school, writing this paper that was due today, well Thursday, whatev, staying in touch with friends, etc.
I think what made tonight at the diner so reminiscent of "the old days" was the conversation. Of late, it's been along the lines of 'get some food, joke about work, go home / go on with evening.' Otherwise, it's with people from outside of work. Still enjoyable, but the dynamic is completely different. Tonight it was me, Bec, Alicia, and Patrick. The latter two made appearances, but Bec and I sat there for about four hours or so.
Of course, the usual hilarity ensued. Talking about boys, jokes about sex, bugs flying in and out of my hair (no joke), and the like. But once the coffee and the ambience of Polly's presence sinks in, it's like we're playing Breakout with each other; bouncing introspective statements and disarming questions back and forth, disintegrating whatever walls we live behind, unearthing the ancient ruins of our inner psyches.
That's what I missed the most, I think. To draw on something I said to Bec, I miss seeing people naked. And I miss being naked.
(If you haven't distinguished from my choice of words tonight that I'm not talking about nudity, go read Entertainment Weekly.)
That's what I think makes my "work friends" so unique. If I had to pick reasons for why that is, I'd say it's because we're around each other all the time, working and otherwise, so we've had more time to observe each other in most facets of our daily lives. To be more abstract, I personally place a lot of faith in how another's presence resonates, in the metaphysical "vibe" or "aura" sense. Being immersed in a set of company, through a diverse set of situations and conditions, tends to foster a connection that I, granted from limited experience, view as rare.
So, in summation, we're very well equipped to sand-blast each others' personalities until we're sitting there, naked, looking at our clothes, and learning what it is to live, and why.
It's inspiring.
Looking at my life right now, school's treating me a lot better than I was expecting. No, actually, it's more along the lines of, I'm applying myself and enjoying it more than I was expecting. It's been a good, long-ass time since I've turned in a paper and felt like I was running across a finish line somewhere. As far as I know, aside from missing one point in a lab for Intro to Comps., my grades are perfect. I'm doing homework, acting responsibly, sleeping, not eating the entire contents of my kitchen on a regular basis...
Compared to a month ago, and a year ago, I've got my shit together. Of course, I'd love to sit back and revel in that. But I feel like I've still got a lot more work ahead of me, mostly because I actually do, and therefore I don't want to think about any laurels that I might be tempted to rest on. As I was saying earlier tonight, I don't want to stop until I've reached a point where my potential is no longer limited by decisions I've made.
A lofty goal, but attainable. Aren't the best goals the lofty ones, anyway?
The sense of satisfaction I get from actively pursuing success is helping to quiet the voices inside that tell me I'm lonely. Shit, if you've been reading at all these past couple entries, you might know how loud those voices get. However, one of the textbook coping mechanisms for anything is keeping busy. And, since I can use that to my advantage, I don't feel so much like trying to break it apart and solve the real issue.
In my soul of souls, I know the issue will resolve itself when a) the stars are properly aligned, and b) when I'm good and ready. But, in the more superficial soul above that one, I still feel like I want someone. Don't know who. And really, I don't know what I'd do with someone who met my criteria. Frankly, the chances of that person existing right now are so slim that I'd probably start looking around for the four horsemen of the Apocalypse.
That's not me being emo. That's me acknowledging how picky I am. Which I sometimes think is self-destructive. Enter the soul of souls again, though, and I really know that my standards are for my own good. Plus, combined with the circumstances of my life at present, I've said this before: there isn't much room (or desire) for compromise on my part.
I'm trying to decide where I want to transfer, whenever I'm in a position to do so. I have decided that I don't want to stay in Maryland, if I have anything to say about it. My two choices for schools are ASU in Phoenix, and McGill in Montreal. ASU's transfer requirements seem hellish, but they're probably pretty much in line with those of other American schools. McGill's requirements are even more hellish, because the standardized tests in Canada are a lot more rigorous than they are here.
I think I could probably get past that if I wanted it badly enough. Then there's that problem of transferability of credits to any post-grad stuff I'd want to do. Which, if I stick with psychology, might interfere with getting licensure years down the line. Something to consider, but whatever. Who knows if I'll be sticking with psychology? I think I'd like to now, but I'm still relatively early on in my college experience. Overall, though, I think if I had the chance to go to McGill, I would. ASU would probably be a close second.
As much as I've wanted to go to Phoenix over the past few years, I think McGill would be a more fertile ground for education. And I think Montreal in general would probably be a much more diverse playground for new ideas, etc... I think it'd provoke me to continue further on my never-ending quest to understand myself. While Phoenix is always sunny and I do have family there, something about the opportunity to go to a completely unfamiliar and appealing place is tugging on my leg, asking me to jump in.
(DB) out.
Tonight, I sat in the diner with the Apple crew for four hours. It felt good to be home.
I was thinking to myself as I drove home how disastrously I've been neglecting my blog(s). I have good reasons, such as keeping up with school, writing this paper that was due today, well Thursday, whatev, staying in touch with friends, etc.
I think what made tonight at the diner so reminiscent of "the old days" was the conversation. Of late, it's been along the lines of 'get some food, joke about work, go home / go on with evening.' Otherwise, it's with people from outside of work. Still enjoyable, but the dynamic is completely different. Tonight it was me, Bec, Alicia, and Patrick. The latter two made appearances, but Bec and I sat there for about four hours or so.
Of course, the usual hilarity ensued. Talking about boys, jokes about sex, bugs flying in and out of my hair (no joke), and the like. But once the coffee and the ambience of Polly's presence sinks in, it's like we're playing Breakout with each other; bouncing introspective statements and disarming questions back and forth, disintegrating whatever walls we live behind, unearthing the ancient ruins of our inner psyches.
That's what I missed the most, I think. To draw on something I said to Bec, I miss seeing people naked. And I miss being naked.
(If you haven't distinguished from my choice of words tonight that I'm not talking about nudity, go read Entertainment Weekly.)
That's what I think makes my "work friends" so unique. If I had to pick reasons for why that is, I'd say it's because we're around each other all the time, working and otherwise, so we've had more time to observe each other in most facets of our daily lives. To be more abstract, I personally place a lot of faith in how another's presence resonates, in the metaphysical "vibe" or "aura" sense. Being immersed in a set of company, through a diverse set of situations and conditions, tends to foster a connection that I, granted from limited experience, view as rare.
So, in summation, we're very well equipped to sand-blast each others' personalities until we're sitting there, naked, looking at our clothes, and learning what it is to live, and why.
It's inspiring.
Looking at my life right now, school's treating me a lot better than I was expecting. No, actually, it's more along the lines of, I'm applying myself and enjoying it more than I was expecting. It's been a good, long-ass time since I've turned in a paper and felt like I was running across a finish line somewhere. As far as I know, aside from missing one point in a lab for Intro to Comps., my grades are perfect. I'm doing homework, acting responsibly, sleeping, not eating the entire contents of my kitchen on a regular basis...
Compared to a month ago, and a year ago, I've got my shit together. Of course, I'd love to sit back and revel in that. But I feel like I've still got a lot more work ahead of me, mostly because I actually do, and therefore I don't want to think about any laurels that I might be tempted to rest on. As I was saying earlier tonight, I don't want to stop until I've reached a point where my potential is no longer limited by decisions I've made.
A lofty goal, but attainable. Aren't the best goals the lofty ones, anyway?
The sense of satisfaction I get from actively pursuing success is helping to quiet the voices inside that tell me I'm lonely. Shit, if you've been reading at all these past couple entries, you might know how loud those voices get. However, one of the textbook coping mechanisms for anything is keeping busy. And, since I can use that to my advantage, I don't feel so much like trying to break it apart and solve the real issue.
In my soul of souls, I know the issue will resolve itself when a) the stars are properly aligned, and b) when I'm good and ready. But, in the more superficial soul above that one, I still feel like I want someone. Don't know who. And really, I don't know what I'd do with someone who met my criteria. Frankly, the chances of that person existing right now are so slim that I'd probably start looking around for the four horsemen of the Apocalypse.
That's not me being emo. That's me acknowledging how picky I am. Which I sometimes think is self-destructive. Enter the soul of souls again, though, and I really know that my standards are for my own good. Plus, combined with the circumstances of my life at present, I've said this before: there isn't much room (or desire) for compromise on my part.
I'm trying to decide where I want to transfer, whenever I'm in a position to do so. I have decided that I don't want to stay in Maryland, if I have anything to say about it. My two choices for schools are ASU in Phoenix, and McGill in Montreal. ASU's transfer requirements seem hellish, but they're probably pretty much in line with those of other American schools. McGill's requirements are even more hellish, because the standardized tests in Canada are a lot more rigorous than they are here.
I think I could probably get past that if I wanted it badly enough. Then there's that problem of transferability of credits to any post-grad stuff I'd want to do. Which, if I stick with psychology, might interfere with getting licensure years down the line. Something to consider, but whatever. Who knows if I'll be sticking with psychology? I think I'd like to now, but I'm still relatively early on in my college experience. Overall, though, I think if I had the chance to go to McGill, I would. ASU would probably be a close second.
As much as I've wanted to go to Phoenix over the past few years, I think McGill would be a more fertile ground for education. And I think Montreal in general would probably be a much more diverse playground for new ideas, etc... I think it'd provoke me to continue further on my never-ending quest to understand myself. While Phoenix is always sunny and I do have family there, something about the opportunity to go to a completely unfamiliar and appealing place is tugging on my leg, asking me to jump in.
(DB) out.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
this is where songs come from
I can see it happening now. All it takes is enough conversation with some intangible boy, and I start to care about him. Then, all he has to do is say one wrong thing, and I start to doubt him. He quickly corrects it, and I shove the doubts to the back of my mind and get back to caring. Combine that with distance and indifference amidst an otherwise desirable set of character traits, and there we have it: the self-perceived Challenge, the uphill battle I seem drawn to fighting.
I will be alone for quite some time, because it seems I'm entirely too self-destructive in my choice of men lately. Something about this cycle has to give, and I'm tired of it being me.
I'm tired of finding disillusionment lining the only road that, inherently, I believe to be the most important. If not for love, there would be no point to life whatsoever. I don't like thinking about that anymore.
I'm a (mostly) good person. I've got a lot to give. I care, sometimes too much, and I'm perfectly capable of loving someone.
Am I, though? I've come to think lately that if someone has deep enough feelings for me, that I'm doing something wrong; that I'm failing to realize something about either them or myself, that will pop up sooner or later and make it all crash and burn. But, turn the tables, and I'll cry myself to sleep over every unstable, idiotic bastard that I happened to identify with, at least until I get tired of it.
That cannot be healthy.
So, am I capable of love, or am I just capable of pretending I want to be? How deep-seated is all this, and how much more digging and sorting through my and others' feelings before I find some semblance of reason?
If I can't do the one thing I've felt we were all put here to do, then what is the point?
Tobacco, that's what.
I will be alone for quite some time, because it seems I'm entirely too self-destructive in my choice of men lately. Something about this cycle has to give, and I'm tired of it being me.
I'm tired of finding disillusionment lining the only road that, inherently, I believe to be the most important. If not for love, there would be no point to life whatsoever. I don't like thinking about that anymore.
I'm a (mostly) good person. I've got a lot to give. I care, sometimes too much, and I'm perfectly capable of loving someone.
Am I, though? I've come to think lately that if someone has deep enough feelings for me, that I'm doing something wrong; that I'm failing to realize something about either them or myself, that will pop up sooner or later and make it all crash and burn. But, turn the tables, and I'll cry myself to sleep over every unstable, idiotic bastard that I happened to identify with, at least until I get tired of it.
That cannot be healthy.
So, am I capable of love, or am I just capable of pretending I want to be? How deep-seated is all this, and how much more digging and sorting through my and others' feelings before I find some semblance of reason?
If I can't do the one thing I've felt we were all put here to do, then what is the point?
Tobacco, that's what.
Monday, June 05, 2006
asdf.
I've been talking to a boy lately. At times I don't know what I think about him. I know for sure that if he lived in Baltimore, we'd have met already. But alas, he lives in DC.
Could my autumnal "find someone" instinct be kicking in early? Perhaps, given all the thought I've been wasting on the subject. Wow, but anyway, we're supposed to somehow meet for lunch next week. Not this one, but the next one.
The rest of this post has been omitted because it's NOT INTERESTING AT ALL.
Could my autumnal "find someone" instinct be kicking in early? Perhaps, given all the thought I've been wasting on the subject. Wow, but anyway, we're supposed to somehow meet for lunch next week. Not this one, but the next one.
The rest of this post has been omitted because it's NOT INTERESTING AT ALL.
I've done a lot more writing this weekend than I'm really used to, and it feels good. I'm half tempted to start drawing shit again tonight. I say half tempted because I have to wake up sometime before noon.
Maybe I'll do my hair.
I have to buy blank DVDs. I didn't spend all this money on a Superdrive for nothing.
Maybe I'll do my hair.
I have to buy blank DVDs. I didn't spend all this money on a Superdrive for nothing.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
P.O.S.T.
It's ridiculously pretty out. I think I was supposed to hang with Dave today or something. But I need to finish cleaning. Ugh.
At least my iPod will keep me company through that.
For no apparent reason, I feel a little bit like crap. Probably because I slept in funny positions last night.
Hah, I only seem capable of one-sentence introspection right now.
Power On Self Test. Makes sense.
I need to dig through my closet, in hopes that old textbooks are all still dwelling there. I also need breakfast.
I'd feel bad eating, though, because I ate like a fat girl last night, between Sushi Hana, dessert, and 3am munchies. Maybe I shouldn't eat.
Do I need to go to the bathroom? Only time will tell.
At least my iPod will keep me company through that.
For no apparent reason, I feel a little bit like crap. Probably because I slept in funny positions last night.
Hah, I only seem capable of one-sentence introspection right now.
Power On Self Test. Makes sense.
I need to dig through my closet, in hopes that old textbooks are all still dwelling there. I also need breakfast.
I'd feel bad eating, though, because I ate like a fat girl last night, between Sushi Hana, dessert, and 3am munchies. Maybe I shouldn't eat.
Do I need to go to the bathroom? Only time will tell.
i can feel your feet touching mine
For the sake of my dubious traces of a reputation, and in deference to my mental state last night, let us call the last line of the previous post "lost in translation."
I was useless today. I slept in, masturbated, ate some cheese, took a nap, and only after that did I really start my day. I had sushi with friends, then stood around talking with Bec in the parking lot for what turned out to be two hours. Then, I got dessert with Tabby, came home, and largely repeated my morning. And thus, here I am.
School starts Tuesday and I'm only half-sure I have the books from when I took one of the classes before. The other class, well, I'm hoping I can pull some money out of my butt before we actually get to needing that book.
However, given the hands-on nature of that class, I don't see too many homework assignments. Could be wrong, though. Probably am.
I'll say one thing, though. I'm going to have to kick this insomnia. Or, more accurately, the dysfunctional sleep schedule I'm keeping. I doubt I'm doing myself too many favors by being up and writing at this hour, but whatever. A girl's got needs.
At the Double T tonight, the table behind me heard me recounting The List. I don't think they knew I was talking about myself. If they did, I imagined them as the type that would say something ignant. What do I know, though?
2006, thus far, has been a pretty strange year, I guess, considering the number of changes that've occurred to what I would've called my baseline, normal life. Plus, my hair certainly isn't getting any shorter. Which only signifies my adherence to my assertions that I was going to grow it out. Stil, though. I talked about it forever,r and now, it's actually happening. Even though it takes shampoo, conditioner, a blow-drying, a go with a straightening iron, and another blow-drying to get it looking right. Sometime I wonder, how might my days be diffrent if I woke up and gave myself enough time to do my hair in the morning? I conclude that the only real effect would be, being that guy who spends too much time on his hair.
(DB) out.
I was useless today. I slept in, masturbated, ate some cheese, took a nap, and only after that did I really start my day. I had sushi with friends, then stood around talking with Bec in the parking lot for what turned out to be two hours. Then, I got dessert with Tabby, came home, and largely repeated my morning. And thus, here I am.
School starts Tuesday and I'm only half-sure I have the books from when I took one of the classes before. The other class, well, I'm hoping I can pull some money out of my butt before we actually get to needing that book.
However, given the hands-on nature of that class, I don't see too many homework assignments. Could be wrong, though. Probably am.
I'll say one thing, though. I'm going to have to kick this insomnia. Or, more accurately, the dysfunctional sleep schedule I'm keeping. I doubt I'm doing myself too many favors by being up and writing at this hour, but whatever. A girl's got needs.
At the Double T tonight, the table behind me heard me recounting The List. I don't think they knew I was talking about myself. If they did, I imagined them as the type that would say something ignant. What do I know, though?
2006, thus far, has been a pretty strange year, I guess, considering the number of changes that've occurred to what I would've called my baseline, normal life. Plus, my hair certainly isn't getting any shorter. Which only signifies my adherence to my assertions that I was going to grow it out. Stil, though. I talked about it forever,r and now, it's actually happening. Even though it takes shampoo, conditioner, a blow-drying, a go with a straightening iron, and another blow-drying to get it looking right. Sometime I wonder, how might my days be diffrent if I woke up and gave myself enough time to do my hair in the morning? I conclude that the only real effect would be, being that guy who spends too much time on his hair.
(DB) out.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
thunderstorm, part II
This pen is far more suitable.
We went to the diner, drove home, and here I am. I came out to the porch to finish a drawing I started earlier, and so I did, mostly. By the end, the perspective on the wall/ceiling panels got screwed up. The occupant of the porch depicted would have to be on an untold number of drugs for that shit to make any visual sense.
So, this is my last "free" weekend before life starts back up. I feel like I want to go out and be crazy and such, but the wiser half knows that the bored half had more fun thonight, making shirts, painting the beginnings of a tea set, drawing, writing, frolicking, whatever. There was a sense of uniqueness and individuality to our activities tonight that I enjoyed immensely.
Louise says married life is boring. I wonder, is single life all that more enthralling? I want to say no. Sure, having the ability to fantasize guilt-free about whoever you want can be amusing, and you don't have to compete for the covers at night, but eh. There's a kind of monogamy to being single. Love only yourself, until an interesting substitute comes by. (Which I guess would constitue adultery?) Oh well. Here I am, making up catchy truisms out of a sense of being alone.
Although, unfettered from the throes of love and the practicalities of a relationship, I feel like I know myself better. I'm responsible for only my feelings, and my romantic indecision / apathy doesn't have earth-shattering consequences... I like to feel like a walking contradiction sometimes.
The lonely heart, yearning for a companion, has no desire to actually find one.
I was trying to explain it to Francis a couple days ago (I still felt weird talking "inner me" with him but we worked that out) and this is how it goes: I'm unwilling to compromise the fairly loose set of standards that I have, and therefore I come off, even to myself, as abrasive and heartless.
However, the notion of someone more "my speed" frightens me.
I think I'm more fun when I'm not in love. Acerbic sarcasm is the air I breathe in social situations. Everyone knows my warm, chewy inside, and the juxtaposition between the pulp and the rind can be quite amusing. Even if cynicism is the breakfast of champions for people trying to nurse inner pain... well, if it can get a chuckle, nurse me. The laughter of others can temporarily fill the gaping hole that is my desire to hear "I love you" with an echo.
I delude myself by thinking, "Well, this will help my art." What art, though? All I do is bitch about work, school, friends, disillusionment with life. Then, I drop a few tonal and metaphorical references to every time I feel disgusting about having bad sex.
<>
(DB) out.
We went to the diner, drove home, and here I am. I came out to the porch to finish a drawing I started earlier, and so I did, mostly. By the end, the perspective on the wall/ceiling panels got screwed up. The occupant of the porch depicted would have to be on an untold number of drugs for that shit to make any visual sense.
So, this is my last "free" weekend before life starts back up. I feel like I want to go out and be crazy and such, but the wiser half knows that the bored half had more fun thonight, making shirts, painting the beginnings of a tea set, drawing, writing, frolicking, whatever. There was a sense of uniqueness and individuality to our activities tonight that I enjoyed immensely.
Louise says married life is boring. I wonder, is single life all that more enthralling? I want to say no. Sure, having the ability to fantasize guilt-free about whoever you want can be amusing, and you don't have to compete for the covers at night, but eh. There's a kind of monogamy to being single. Love only yourself, until an interesting substitute comes by. (Which I guess would constitue adultery?) Oh well. Here I am, making up catchy truisms out of a sense of being alone.
Although, unfettered from the throes of love and the practicalities of a relationship, I feel like I know myself better. I'm responsible for only my feelings, and my romantic indecision / apathy doesn't have earth-shattering consequences... I like to feel like a walking contradiction sometimes.
The lonely heart, yearning for a companion, has no desire to actually find one.
I was trying to explain it to Francis a couple days ago (I still felt weird talking "inner me" with him but we worked that out) and this is how it goes: I'm unwilling to compromise the fairly loose set of standards that I have, and therefore I come off, even to myself, as abrasive and heartless.
However, the notion of someone more "my speed" frightens me.
I think I'm more fun when I'm not in love. Acerbic sarcasm is the air I breathe in social situations. Everyone knows my warm, chewy inside, and the juxtaposition between the pulp and the rind can be quite amusing. Even if cynicism is the breakfast of champions for people trying to nurse inner pain... well, if it can get a chuckle, nurse me. The laughter of others can temporarily fill the gaping hole that is my desire to hear "I love you" with an echo.
I delude myself by thinking, "Well, this will help my art." What art, though? All I do is bitch about work, school, friends, disillusionment with life. Then, I drop a few tonal and metaphorical references to every time I feel disgusting about having bad sex.
<
(DB) out.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
thunderstorm, part I
Tonight, Jinah, Adam, and I decided to go to A.C. Moore rather than drive around aimlessly. I'd say it was a good choice. We got materials to make T-shirts, and a tea serving tray.
We spray painted the hell out of everything we bought, stunk up my basement, then went out and frolicked in crazy, pouring rain.
So now, I'm practicing kana, and having tea. A+J are inside watching TV.
This pen is not suitable for writing.
We spray painted the hell out of everything we bought, stunk up my basement, then went out and frolicked in crazy, pouring rain.
So now, I'm practicing kana, and having tea. A+J are inside watching TV.
This pen is not suitable for writing.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
today is Turn On Your Broken Air Conditioner Day
9:12AM- Last night, I fell the fuck asleep, haha. I sat in bed (mistake), intent on writing something, and fell asleep, pen in hand. I woke up largely in the same position hours later. It is insanely beautiful out today. Sucks, because I must spend most of my day trapped away in an office. You know, it's funny. When I first started, I was elated to have a job that didn't require moving around in any fashion. Now, I hate sitting still. I look forward to any chance I get to move around, or whatever. So, today, the Signius Project begins. Between phone calls, I'm going to try and write a poem a day, or a cogent artistic musing a day, or something. It's a way to capitalize on all this ridiculous "free" time. Hopefully, it can stand in for any sense of accomplishment or satisfcation that I might wish for whilst at work. Somehow, I'm going to get my ass to Deep Creek this summer. I don't care who with. Even if it's just by myself. (Preferably not, but whatever.) Well, I know Jinah's wanted to go forever, so she'll have to come. That and, I miss the ocean too... We're all supposed to go camping again in August, but I think that would require finding all of our stuff again; given how it was haphazardly scattered through in everyone's trunks, that would take weeks. It'd probably be easier to just rent cheap hotel rooms, as I have in the past. Come to think, we probably should have gone to Point Lookout during swimming season.. Mmm.. I have off this coming weekend! Maybe I can get down to the ocean for a night or two! I know Jin and I were talking about that, except I think everyone's going down on Sunday, which isn't that convenient, time-wise... Eh, I'll figure it out.
11:19AM- People are idiots. And I am not a telemarketer, or an answering machine. Thankfully, I'm not going to have to struggle with that much longer. And I don't care about "capturing phone numbers and mailing addresses" and trying to upsell people on things. My job is to mindlessly enter information for people and pretend to like it. And pretend to be knowledgeable on things that I'd never pay good money for in my whole life. Also, if I were a caller for any one of these companies, I'd be upset at the number of flaming hoops I'd have to jump through to get an answer about anything. If anything, at least I have a short list of doctors, lawyers, and apartment complexes that I wouldn't consider if my life depended on it. After today, only three days left. I hate how fake I sound when I pick up these calls. My phone voice is nothing like my normal voice, sometimes, anyway. Sometimes, I make no effort to sound enthused, or, no effort to mask that I hate what I'm doing. There really is something to be said for caring about what one does.
12:36PM- I do like The Format's new album. It's more energetic overall, I think. Still, it doesn't have a First Single analog, which I still feel bad for caring about, but overall I'd say there are more "skip-to" songs.
12:54PM- I wish being at this cubicle didn't drain all the vitality out of me.
1:07PM- I wish I didn't have to hear the same sob story about the same S.O.B.... that... uhhhh... they broke up because of an AIM prank, designed to trap the guy into saying the wrong thing.
1:28PM- Cigarette. Finally. Praise Jesus.
1:43PM- My mission for today is to punch thousands of tiny pinholes into a piece of paper. Then, I will hang it on my wall or something.
1:50PM- Speaking of hanging things on walls, I need to remove all the pictures from my cubicle, because I'm leaving and my room could certainly use some current photos. But, I know if I take them down now, I'll be bored out of my mind until I finally do leave. Not like I look at them all that often, but they cast an ambient glow over this grey prison.
3:03PM- I got the most amusing call ever. A maintenance man fixed a toilet. Then, he shit in it. He didn't do a great job fixing it. After the flush, his shit exploded upwards and outwards. The woman kept screaming, "There is doo-doo everywhere!" At least eight times.
4:13PM- It is STUPID BALLS HOT out. At least it was in my car, where I had lunch. Something about eating, alone, in an undecorated, windowless break room, with only the hum of bending machines to tickle my ears, well. Kinda makes me unhappy. It's funny. Morale here usually seems fine, but looking at anyone alone in that break room, it just feels like they hate being there.
4:57PM- People are monkeys. I understand it sucks that your AC doesn't work. But I am a hundred miles away. Get a life.
6:52PM- We have been STUPID busy. I don't know why so many people had a Memorial Day deadline to turn on their air conditioners. Retarded.
11:40PM- Turns out my parents turned ours on today, too.
(DB) out.
11:19AM- People are idiots. And I am not a telemarketer, or an answering machine. Thankfully, I'm not going to have to struggle with that much longer. And I don't care about "capturing phone numbers and mailing addresses" and trying to upsell people on things. My job is to mindlessly enter information for people and pretend to like it. And pretend to be knowledgeable on things that I'd never pay good money for in my whole life. Also, if I were a caller for any one of these companies, I'd be upset at the number of flaming hoops I'd have to jump through to get an answer about anything. If anything, at least I have a short list of doctors, lawyers, and apartment complexes that I wouldn't consider if my life depended on it. After today, only three days left. I hate how fake I sound when I pick up these calls. My phone voice is nothing like my normal voice, sometimes, anyway. Sometimes, I make no effort to sound enthused, or, no effort to mask that I hate what I'm doing. There really is something to be said for caring about what one does.
12:36PM- I do like The Format's new album. It's more energetic overall, I think. Still, it doesn't have a First Single analog, which I still feel bad for caring about, but overall I'd say there are more "skip-to" songs.
12:54PM- I wish being at this cubicle didn't drain all the vitality out of me.
1:07PM- I wish I didn't have to hear the same sob story about the same S.O.B.... that... uhhhh... they broke up because of an AIM prank, designed to trap the guy into saying the wrong thing.
1:28PM- Cigarette. Finally. Praise Jesus.
1:43PM- My mission for today is to punch thousands of tiny pinholes into a piece of paper. Then, I will hang it on my wall or something.
1:50PM- Speaking of hanging things on walls, I need to remove all the pictures from my cubicle, because I'm leaving and my room could certainly use some current photos. But, I know if I take them down now, I'll be bored out of my mind until I finally do leave. Not like I look at them all that often, but they cast an ambient glow over this grey prison.
3:03PM- I got the most amusing call ever. A maintenance man fixed a toilet. Then, he shit in it. He didn't do a great job fixing it. After the flush, his shit exploded upwards and outwards. The woman kept screaming, "There is doo-doo everywhere!" At least eight times.
4:13PM- It is STUPID BALLS HOT out. At least it was in my car, where I had lunch. Something about eating, alone, in an undecorated, windowless break room, with only the hum of bending machines to tickle my ears, well. Kinda makes me unhappy. It's funny. Morale here usually seems fine, but looking at anyone alone in that break room, it just feels like they hate being there.
4:57PM- People are monkeys. I understand it sucks that your AC doesn't work. But I am a hundred miles away. Get a life.
6:52PM- We have been STUPID busy. I don't know why so many people had a Memorial Day deadline to turn on their air conditioners. Retarded.
11:40PM- Turns out my parents turned ours on today, too.
(DB) out.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
what i think when i'm away
...from a keyboard.
7:11AM- It's sad when a pen and paper are more of a backup blog, rather than a blog being a digital backup diary. I wish I had done something useful with myself last night. I stayed in, watched about 20 minutes worth of Monster In Law, listened to the new Format album, and allowed it to take too much sleep from me. And now, I'm at work. I got two hours of sleep, optimistically speaking. Of course, pessimistically speaking, I got about fifteen minutes of sleep, interspersed throughout two hours of tossing and turning, sweating, and finding my pillows way too uncomfortable; even though they're absolutely great, I can't take much solace in their company when I know I have to leave them. Am I talking about goose down pillows, or concubines? Is there much of a difference? I'm going to attempt writing as a form of therapy, if not intellectual stimulation, to keep me awake. Is it bad that I'm almost wishing to get a migraine, so I can have an excuse to go get some sleep?
10:00AM- I just ate a little bit, had some caffeine, and a cigarette. And for about ten minutes, everything will be okay with the world.
10:10AM- I find my mind dwelling on two things. The first being, I can't wait to actually be done here, to finally stop having to live and work in the proverbial shadows, doing jobs that nobody wants to do. I much prefer Apple. I much prefer enjoying my job and being appreciated.
10:32AM- The second thing is, memories that are so vivid I could live in them. I only have a couple of them, two good, one bad. The bad one just happened. The good one was last summer. The other good one.. which I guess I would more accurately call bittersweet, that was in the fall. "And about all the pain, I suppose it was worth it.. You could do it again, but I just don't deserve it..."
11:11AM- I'm afraid of relationships and commitment in general. I'll admit it. I look at where my life is, where I want it to be, and how much I've got on my plate, and I am of the opinion that I've got absolutely nothing to give, at least as far as time and energy go, and that I'm far too picky to find any guy for whom I'd be willing to compromise. As far as my freedom goes, hah. I have no idea what kind of superhero would be required to distract me from my love affair with my own capricious free will.
2:58PM- That poem took entirely too long to write, but it's been pretty busy today. Aside from an hour or two of unconsciousness in the morning, it's flown
(DB) out.
7:11AM- It's sad when a pen and paper are more of a backup blog, rather than a blog being a digital backup diary. I wish I had done something useful with myself last night. I stayed in, watched about 20 minutes worth of Monster In Law, listened to the new Format album, and allowed it to take too much sleep from me. And now, I'm at work. I got two hours of sleep, optimistically speaking. Of course, pessimistically speaking, I got about fifteen minutes of sleep, interspersed throughout two hours of tossing and turning, sweating, and finding my pillows way too uncomfortable; even though they're absolutely great, I can't take much solace in their company when I know I have to leave them. Am I talking about goose down pillows, or concubines? Is there much of a difference? I'm going to attempt writing as a form of therapy, if not intellectual stimulation, to keep me awake. Is it bad that I'm almost wishing to get a migraine, so I can have an excuse to go get some sleep?
10:00AM- I just ate a little bit, had some caffeine, and a cigarette. And for about ten minutes, everything will be okay with the world.
10:10AM- I find my mind dwelling on two things. The first being, I can't wait to actually be done here, to finally stop having to live and work in the proverbial shadows, doing jobs that nobody wants to do. I much prefer Apple. I much prefer enjoying my job and being appreciated.
10:32AM- The second thing is, memories that are so vivid I could live in them. I only have a couple of them, two good, one bad. The bad one just happened. The good one was last summer. The other good one.. which I guess I would more accurately call bittersweet, that was in the fall. "And about all the pain, I suppose it was worth it.. You could do it again, but I just don't deserve it..."
11:11AM- I'm afraid of relationships and commitment in general. I'll admit it. I look at where my life is, where I want it to be, and how much I've got on my plate, and I am of the opinion that I've got absolutely nothing to give, at least as far as time and energy go, and that I'm far too picky to find any guy for whom I'd be willing to compromise. As far as my freedom goes, hah. I have no idea what kind of superhero would be required to distract me from my love affair with my own capricious free will.
2:58PM- That poem took entirely too long to write, but it's been pretty busy today. Aside from an hour or two of unconsciousness in the morning, it's flown
(DB) out.
Monday, May 22, 2006
leave for the city, well, count me out
Bec says The Format's new album isn't as good as Interventions and Lullabies. I was supposed to get it from her tonight, but suddenly, I'm not all that anxious to. Suddenly, I actually think I might wait until it hits stores. Or whatever other avenues might bring it my way. I find it akin to the feeling I had that I didn't want to watch the sequels to The Matrix, because I didn't want to ruin the first one for myself.
I've been reading Devlin's blog lately, and just finished replying to an email he wrote me. Whether or not my readers know, he's in Japan. He's apparently having the time of his life. Having never seen him blogging before, it was strange, but something became clear; whether or not I'm familiar with his writing, the change of scenery's made him happier, or at least, given him something to be excited about. I was just telling him that it seems we're, if on separate sides of the planet, in similar boats; both of us have come upon circumstances that could completely change our futures, at least, how we see them.
I find that exhilarating. In two weeks, school will begin, Signius will be done, and I could be on a completely different road than I was a couple months ago. Or, I could do what I always do, and brilliantly fail.
The difference, this time, is that I don't view failure as an option. It's not like the last couple of times, where my thinking was more to the tune of, "well, if I fail, I'll deal with it and move on." Well, I've tried that one, and it hasn't worked. Plain and simple, I must excel, if I want anything to change. And that's a pretty silly "if," really.
Friday night, I was retarded, and decided to go to a party in honor of yet another friend of mine who's headed off to the military. (I say retarded because I only had about an eight-hour buffer zone between getting out of work and having to be back the next morning.) Granted, he's not as close as certain others, but I think it's served as a distressing reminder that as we age, people are going to leave. A scenario that recently came up in conversation was one where, in five years, some of us are going to come back from college, and find our hometowns empty. Well, not empty, but you know. Everyone we once held dear will be gone. Somewhere else, out of town, even dead, who knows? Besides wishing people the best, there's really nothing else one can do.
And, the other night, when Dave referred to dropping out of school as "pulling a Danny," I feel like a good bit of motivation fell into my lap. I look back, and I see an unglorious past. I look forward, and I see the support structure that cradled me through that past going threadbare. The more I think about making my life happen, the more I realize that I don't need that support structure. I don't need to be in the presence of people whose accomplishments amount to as little as mine; and I don't need to feel intimidated around people working towards a masters or a doctorate.
The mark I leave on this world has nothing to do with how I compare with my peers, and much more to do with what I bring to the table, and how I do it.
(For the purposes of disambiguation, the aforementioned support structure has nothing to do with my friends, and people I otherwise hold close to me. More like the abstract sense of feeling more comfortable in the company of fellow slackers and dropouts. Which is gross, I know, but true.)
Okay, so, it's May. Why is it absolutely butt freezing outside? Aside from the facts that I'm wearing a microfiber shirt, not moving, and smoking, of course.
For the record, this weekend has been monstrously sleep-deprived. So I think I might retire or something along those lines.
(DB) out.
I've been reading Devlin's blog lately, and just finished replying to an email he wrote me. Whether or not my readers know, he's in Japan. He's apparently having the time of his life. Having never seen him blogging before, it was strange, but something became clear; whether or not I'm familiar with his writing, the change of scenery's made him happier, or at least, given him something to be excited about. I was just telling him that it seems we're, if on separate sides of the planet, in similar boats; both of us have come upon circumstances that could completely change our futures, at least, how we see them.
I find that exhilarating. In two weeks, school will begin, Signius will be done, and I could be on a completely different road than I was a couple months ago. Or, I could do what I always do, and brilliantly fail.
The difference, this time, is that I don't view failure as an option. It's not like the last couple of times, where my thinking was more to the tune of, "well, if I fail, I'll deal with it and move on." Well, I've tried that one, and it hasn't worked. Plain and simple, I must excel, if I want anything to change. And that's a pretty silly "if," really.
Friday night, I was retarded, and decided to go to a party in honor of yet another friend of mine who's headed off to the military. (I say retarded because I only had about an eight-hour buffer zone between getting out of work and having to be back the next morning.) Granted, he's not as close as certain others, but I think it's served as a distressing reminder that as we age, people are going to leave. A scenario that recently came up in conversation was one where, in five years, some of us are going to come back from college, and find our hometowns empty. Well, not empty, but you know. Everyone we once held dear will be gone. Somewhere else, out of town, even dead, who knows? Besides wishing people the best, there's really nothing else one can do.
And, the other night, when Dave referred to dropping out of school as "pulling a Danny," I feel like a good bit of motivation fell into my lap. I look back, and I see an unglorious past. I look forward, and I see the support structure that cradled me through that past going threadbare. The more I think about making my life happen, the more I realize that I don't need that support structure. I don't need to be in the presence of people whose accomplishments amount to as little as mine; and I don't need to feel intimidated around people working towards a masters or a doctorate.
The mark I leave on this world has nothing to do with how I compare with my peers, and much more to do with what I bring to the table, and how I do it.
(For the purposes of disambiguation, the aforementioned support structure has nothing to do with my friends, and people I otherwise hold close to me. More like the abstract sense of feeling more comfortable in the company of fellow slackers and dropouts. Which is gross, I know, but true.)
Okay, so, it's May. Why is it absolutely butt freezing outside? Aside from the facts that I'm wearing a microfiber shirt, not moving, and smoking, of course.
For the record, this weekend has been monstrously sleep-deprived. So I think I might retire or something along those lines.
(DB) out.
Friday, May 19, 2006
we are family...
I guess. Now's not the best of times to be asking about the topic.
Today just didn't go right at all. It was that one day off in the 9 on, 1 off cycle that my life has been lately. Fortunately, I haven't got too much longer to be dealing with that. One thing I will say about Signius that I don't particularly care for is their penchant for giving me random days off during the week, then working me straight through every single weekend. I get off tomorrow night at 10:30, then go back in at 7 on Saturday. I'm not a machine, and I'm not a manager. Machines wouldn't care, and managers get paid a good bit more because that comes with the territory.
That and, if your check arrives Thursday night, but you can't pick it up unless you're scheduled to work, and therefore have to wait until Friday (which begins the hell cycle of no free time until pretty much next week), that's straight up bullshit.
So after finding out that little gem, and having a long-winded and unpleasant conversation with my parents, I turned off my phone and went to sleep. It's not too often that I hit a point where I'm about to break, but every now and then, I get in this precious self-defeating mood where I hate myself, I hate everything, and all I want to do is not exist.
Right now, I take solace in being able to look a turkey sandwich in the eye, and tell it without a shadow of a doubt, that resistance is futile.
(note: if the time appears incorrect in this post, it's definitely because i let it sit for about two days before actually hitting publish.)
Today just didn't go right at all. It was that one day off in the 9 on, 1 off cycle that my life has been lately. Fortunately, I haven't got too much longer to be dealing with that. One thing I will say about Signius that I don't particularly care for is their penchant for giving me random days off during the week, then working me straight through every single weekend. I get off tomorrow night at 10:30, then go back in at 7 on Saturday. I'm not a machine, and I'm not a manager. Machines wouldn't care, and managers get paid a good bit more because that comes with the territory.
That and, if your check arrives Thursday night, but you can't pick it up unless you're scheduled to work, and therefore have to wait until Friday (which begins the hell cycle of no free time until pretty much next week), that's straight up bullshit.
So after finding out that little gem, and having a long-winded and unpleasant conversation with my parents, I turned off my phone and went to sleep. It's not too often that I hit a point where I'm about to break, but every now and then, I get in this precious self-defeating mood where I hate myself, I hate everything, and all I want to do is not exist.
Right now, I take solace in being able to look a turkey sandwich in the eye, and tell it without a shadow of a doubt, that resistance is futile.
(note: if the time appears incorrect in this post, it's definitely because i let it sit for about two days before actually hitting publish.)
Saturday, May 13, 2006
i somewhat know where to begin
Sorry about the absence of a post in recent days.
Up until Thursday, I had no reason to neglect my blog. Thursday hit, and I suddenly had all the reason in the world.
Without getting too far into it, because most of my readers probably already know this.. well, okay. I'll try to do it in one sentence. In the course of a day, a spontaneous hernia (I hope) has turned me back towards college, and most likely toward the demise of my new job.
That aside, everything's been fine. My doctor's appointment is Monday, and I suppose that's when crunch time begins. I have to figure some way of taking care of whatever ailment this is before June 5th, because that's when school starts.
I'm hoping the difference between success and failure, this time, will come from the lack of any alternatives. It was either 1) go on the fast track back to school, or 2) rack up thousands of dollars in medical debt. The choice seems clear.
I mentioned in prior posts th... okay, I'll finish this after some bed.
(DB) unusually sleepily out.
Up until Thursday, I had no reason to neglect my blog. Thursday hit, and I suddenly had all the reason in the world.
Without getting too far into it, because most of my readers probably already know this.. well, okay. I'll try to do it in one sentence. In the course of a day, a spontaneous hernia (I hope) has turned me back towards college, and most likely toward the demise of my new job.
That aside, everything's been fine. My doctor's appointment is Monday, and I suppose that's when crunch time begins. I have to figure some way of taking care of whatever ailment this is before June 5th, because that's when school starts.
I'm hoping the difference between success and failure, this time, will come from the lack of any alternatives. It was either 1) go on the fast track back to school, or 2) rack up thousands of dollars in medical debt. The choice seems clear.
I mentioned in prior posts th... okay, I'll finish this after some bed.
(DB) unusually sleepily out.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
entry, part II
I totally meant to finish that entry last night. But I think something happened along the lines of me nearly collapsing at the keyboard.
I was just thinking to myself, what should I listen to while I blog tonight? So I looked through my playlists and realized they were all way too predictable. Thus I've made a playlist entitled "I'm Sick of Predictable Playlists." It's chock full of goodies that I don't listen to all the time, formulated via the ultra-scientific method of scrolling around my library and picking something random from each screen.
But if I had fears of the random pick sucking, I'd definitely pick something a few songs up or down, that sounded a little more promising. Yeah, I'm fickle. But yeah, I designed the experiment myself. So they're my rules to break.
It'd figure, though, I'd go through the trouble to pick out some relatively less traditional blogging music, and have nothing to blog about. Well, maybe something.
So, in writing a story, there are only a finite number of conflicts any given character can run into. I remember only really touching on four in school, even though Wikipedia says there are eight or so. Right now, my conflict is Man vs. Himself.
But to be kind, I'll summarize, as this is just a variation on a theme lately: I need college to get where I need to go in life, but I hate sitting through classes. I'm smart and can accomplish anything I want to, given sufficient incentive. But, my track record is as follows: I mess up every chance that falls in my lap, and the ones I seek out always turn out to be nowhere near as satisfying as I'd hoped. So, through significant fault of my own, plus some genuinely unfortunate outward circumstances, nothing's really worked out the way it was supposed to.
I asked my mom tonight if all people do in life is work towards some promise of an eventual payoff. And that thought scares me more than anything. If I go through with college, get a degree in something, get a job, get a house, get a dog, get married, have kids, then pay for their college? Seems like once people satisfy the demands they once strived to meet, they go looking for bigger prizes and bigger challenges.
I'm wondering, at what point does one stop and take some time to enjoy those hard-earned things? Does such a point exist? And if life truly is all about the endless pursuit of increasingly lofty goals, how the hell can that be satisfying at all?
I personally don't feel like spending every day of my life preparing to have a better one. I'd like to reach a point where I'm done with that, and I can be happy. And I hope my view of American life, and my view of my own life and future, well... I hope they're just overly cynical, and wrong. There's nothing I'd like more than to be told I'm making absolutely no sense at all, and that the drive to improve oneself (or acquire toys, for some people) does really hold some sort of beauty and exhilaration which I haven't yet figured out. Somebody, please, give me some hope!
And on the more short-term end of the spectrum, I wouldn't be opposed to trees genetically engineered to reproduce without pollen. I'd much rather avert my eyes from oaks humping each other than have such a runny nose that I'd sell my soul to be able to sneeze uncontrollably.
And now, for your moment of Zen, thanks to wired.com: uh, wow. and it's like a nightmare.
Goodnight.
(DB) out.
I was just thinking to myself, what should I listen to while I blog tonight? So I looked through my playlists and realized they were all way too predictable. Thus I've made a playlist entitled "I'm Sick of Predictable Playlists." It's chock full of goodies that I don't listen to all the time, formulated via the ultra-scientific method of scrolling around my library and picking something random from each screen.
But if I had fears of the random pick sucking, I'd definitely pick something a few songs up or down, that sounded a little more promising. Yeah, I'm fickle. But yeah, I designed the experiment myself. So they're my rules to break.
It'd figure, though, I'd go through the trouble to pick out some relatively less traditional blogging music, and have nothing to blog about. Well, maybe something.
So, in writing a story, there are only a finite number of conflicts any given character can run into. I remember only really touching on four in school, even though Wikipedia says there are eight or so. Right now, my conflict is Man vs. Himself.
But to be kind, I'll summarize, as this is just a variation on a theme lately: I need college to get where I need to go in life, but I hate sitting through classes. I'm smart and can accomplish anything I want to, given sufficient incentive. But, my track record is as follows: I mess up every chance that falls in my lap, and the ones I seek out always turn out to be nowhere near as satisfying as I'd hoped. So, through significant fault of my own, plus some genuinely unfortunate outward circumstances, nothing's really worked out the way it was supposed to.
I asked my mom tonight if all people do in life is work towards some promise of an eventual payoff. And that thought scares me more than anything. If I go through with college, get a degree in something, get a job, get a house, get a dog, get married, have kids, then pay for their college? Seems like once people satisfy the demands they once strived to meet, they go looking for bigger prizes and bigger challenges.
I'm wondering, at what point does one stop and take some time to enjoy those hard-earned things? Does such a point exist? And if life truly is all about the endless pursuit of increasingly lofty goals, how the hell can that be satisfying at all?
I personally don't feel like spending every day of my life preparing to have a better one. I'd like to reach a point where I'm done with that, and I can be happy. And I hope my view of American life, and my view of my own life and future, well... I hope they're just overly cynical, and wrong. There's nothing I'd like more than to be told I'm making absolutely no sense at all, and that the drive to improve oneself (or acquire toys, for some people) does really hold some sort of beauty and exhilaration which I haven't yet figured out. Somebody, please, give me some hope!
And on the more short-term end of the spectrum, I wouldn't be opposed to trees genetically engineered to reproduce without pollen. I'd much rather avert my eyes from oaks humping each other than have such a runny nose that I'd sell my soul to be able to sneeze uncontrollably.
And now, for your moment of Zen, thanks to wired.com: uh, wow. and it's like a nightmare.
Goodnight.
(DB) out.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
entry, part I
And I'm planning on it in the fall. I'll need to start saving soon. Like, next paycheck. But I really need to be able to go, and sometime in October. I think that's when I wanna do it.
I don't know why I'm so compelled to go. Actually, I do. I just don't know why I'm so compelled to actually believe that I could make it happen. I'd probably need at least $500 or $600 for the trip, and that's a good bit of money. And I suck at saving. But I still want to go.
I find myself unusually short for words tonight, and I don't readily have a good reason for it. Today was spent swimming with Jinah, working, hanging out at Double T with Jinah, Adam, Shelly, and Francis, then coming home and desiring to go to Ireland.
Swimming was nice, though. Jinah and I needed to have some exclusive us-only time, so we sat around like fat kids watching courtroom reality shows, then went swimming. The water was clear, and it was cold, but not numb cold, it was eventually warm cold. We spent about an hour there, and I went to work. Of course we met up later, because our lives are basically a continuum of doing whatever and reconvening to wonder what to do.
I've got something on my mind, but I can't really talk about it without getting too down and dirty, and starting to talk about other people. Whose business is not mine to spread.
(insert break of about a day here)
I don't know why I'm so compelled to go. Actually, I do. I just don't know why I'm so compelled to actually believe that I could make it happen. I'd probably need at least $500 or $600 for the trip, and that's a good bit of money. And I suck at saving. But I still want to go.
I find myself unusually short for words tonight, and I don't readily have a good reason for it. Today was spent swimming with Jinah, working, hanging out at Double T with Jinah, Adam, Shelly, and Francis, then coming home and desiring to go to Ireland.
Swimming was nice, though. Jinah and I needed to have some exclusive us-only time, so we sat around like fat kids watching courtroom reality shows, then went swimming. The water was clear, and it was cold, but not numb cold, it was eventually warm cold. We spent about an hour there, and I went to work. Of course we met up later, because our lives are basically a continuum of doing whatever and reconvening to wonder what to do.
I've got something on my mind, but I can't really talk about it without getting too down and dirty, and starting to talk about other people. Whose business is not mine to spread.
(insert break of about a day here)
Monday, May 01, 2006
we still kill the old way
Every now and then, I'm compelled to listen all the way through Lostprophets' Start Something.
Every time that happens, I think about when I used to hang out with Brian, and how much enjoyment (?) and / or satisfaction we gleaned from doing absolutely nothing. We'd listen to this album, drive around, maybe ponder a fine point or two of life, leave the occasional trail of beer cans on the side of some random road, and ultimately conclude it was time to go home around 3am. Most of the times, it was all pointless. Sometimes, dangerous. Still, I feel like I enjoyed it nonetheless.
As summer starts to stir, I find myself thinking about how different this one is, or at least looks like it will be. Namely, the formerly inseparable old crew. Looking at us now, it seems like the only reasonable cause for us all to be in the same room would be a funeral. I start wondering, how meaningful was my relationship with each of those people? The thought crosses my mind that maybe those relationships weren't all that substantial, if they seemed to dissolve so easily. Did we all spend all our time together, was the group dynamic the only thing we had going for us? Even though a year or two isn't that long, so much water's passed under so many different bridges, and that makes it easy to look back and make blanket statements. Statements which, in turn, make it easy to forget details, and make it easier to deal with that loss of friendship.
Tonight, I caught myself looking back, resting on certain memories with more than a passing glance. Heh... I think I'm not alone in knowing that a part of me will always live in Mike's dad's basement. There were occasional guest stars, but the cast remained the same, usually. There wasn't a one of us who hasn't seen the other laugh, cry, throw up, get naked, fall in love, fall out of love. We all knew each others' various faces, even the ones most of us didn't show other people. Sure, there are tons of people who would describe their senior year of high school / first year of college the same way.
But, I can't think of a single person in that cast to whom I never bared my feelings and pleaded for help, or vice-versa. Whatever happened, everything always worked out okay. No matter how ugly we were on the inside, we still loved each other, and stuck at one anothers' sides. We're talking about the kids who knew me as a neurotic closet-case with a taste for Jack Daniels and demolition DDR, and the habit of saying the wrong thing one time too many. I'm talking about the kid I secretly envied for his occasionally self-destructive inability to give a damn. Or the kid whose boundless generosity often pushed her own concerns to the back burner, leading to problems. Or the kid whose passion for inane, loopy ideas was as often as subtly annoying as it was exhilarating. Or the self-professed asshole who would only publicly drop that facade only for prospective romance, even though closed doors tended to reveal that puppy dog we all knew was there. I could go on too long with these, so I'll take it on faith that you get the point.
I'm pretty sure than anyone who even made it halfway through Psych. 101 could easily name a personality disorder for every single person I just described. And the "misery loves company" adage, at first glance, couldn't fit a group of people better. But it wasn't like that. Two or three of us would go somewhere one day, then a different set would go somewhere else the next day. We didn't need to be all together in one place to have fun, and forge great memories. Get us all in one room though, and we'd all just play off one another.
If you're familiar with the physics behind a nuclear fission reaction, it all makes sense. Pared down to the absolute bare minimum, it goes like this: A fissile fuel atom breaks down and throws out a neutron or two. Which then hits another fuel atom, causing it to fission. Releasing more neutrons. Lather, rinse, repeat. Energy everywhere.
Even if we were in uninspired or otherwise foul moods, sometimes one joke was all it took to get that reaction going.
(As an aside, looking down at iTunes and seeing this makes me feel like at least something about my thoughts tonight was cosmically intended.)
But, to address the question I posed earlier, my relationship with each one of them was perfectly substantial. And the fact that we're all orbiting different planets these days is a lot harder to reconcile than it should be. One never likes losing friends, especially for idiotic reasons. Although, my perspective on things might be different, because I didn't have any blood feuds erupt between myself and anyone else as life started dragging us off to our respective peripheries.
Jinah and I were talking tonight, about how we all know we miss the old times. And I realized, even if we were all in the same place again, doing the same things, it wouldn't be the same. You can only stand on a mountaintop for so long before you eventually have to worry about where dinner's going to come from. Even if we all forgot about the personal differences that have popped up over time, I think those spontaneous nuclear reactions we loved so dearly wouldn't happen so readily anymore.
We thrived on uncertainty. Sunday off was a requisite for partying Saturday night. Even though we could all theoretically be up for work or whatever, it was always more exciting when we were wondering just what the next day would hold. Any given Saturday night could be considered a microcosm of our lives at the time. None of us had "real" jobs. Community college was barely on the horizon, and when it came, it hadn't hit that shit-or-get-off-the-pot point where you're forced to seriously consider your future. When the future could be anything, the present is unquantifiably more exciting.
So even if we were all kicking back with some drinks, and being collectively stomped by one person in Halo 2, we'd all have that worry of where dinner's going to come from lurking around the corner in our minds.
But that's not how things work in the real grown-up world. People don't stop calling their friends because they get jobs. That's only supposed to happen when they have kids.
We all watched each other start to realize just who the people occupying our shoes were. And after that, we all witnessed each other learn to walk. Aside from lousy time management, there's no fantastic reason why we can't still walk together every now and then.
So, after waxing poetic about it, I think I might do something about it.
I don't know why I felt that was appropriate, but I did.
You know, I had other stuff on my mind before I started typing all this. Thankfully, most of it's taken the backseat it's generally more suited for. Except, I'm really disliking my new work schedule. I don't think I like the idea of Sunday and Monday being the new Saturday and Sunday, respectively. Even though Monday makes a good Sunday (everything's open, and it's easier to circumvent my broad, deep hatred of real Sundays), Sunday makes for one shit-bomb blow fest of a Saturday. Real Saturdays don't exist anymore, at least not in my world.
Bedtime.
(DB) out.
Every time that happens, I think about when I used to hang out with Brian, and how much enjoyment (?) and / or satisfaction we gleaned from doing absolutely nothing. We'd listen to this album, drive around, maybe ponder a fine point or two of life, leave the occasional trail of beer cans on the side of some random road, and ultimately conclude it was time to go home around 3am. Most of the times, it was all pointless. Sometimes, dangerous. Still, I feel like I enjoyed it nonetheless.
As summer starts to stir, I find myself thinking about how different this one is, or at least looks like it will be. Namely, the formerly inseparable old crew. Looking at us now, it seems like the only reasonable cause for us all to be in the same room would be a funeral. I start wondering, how meaningful was my relationship with each of those people? The thought crosses my mind that maybe those relationships weren't all that substantial, if they seemed to dissolve so easily. Did we all spend all our time together, was the group dynamic the only thing we had going for us? Even though a year or two isn't that long, so much water's passed under so many different bridges, and that makes it easy to look back and make blanket statements. Statements which, in turn, make it easy to forget details, and make it easier to deal with that loss of friendship.
Tonight, I caught myself looking back, resting on certain memories with more than a passing glance. Heh... I think I'm not alone in knowing that a part of me will always live in Mike's dad's basement. There were occasional guest stars, but the cast remained the same, usually. There wasn't a one of us who hasn't seen the other laugh, cry, throw up, get naked, fall in love, fall out of love. We all knew each others' various faces, even the ones most of us didn't show other people. Sure, there are tons of people who would describe their senior year of high school / first year of college the same way.
But, I can't think of a single person in that cast to whom I never bared my feelings and pleaded for help, or vice-versa. Whatever happened, everything always worked out okay. No matter how ugly we were on the inside, we still loved each other, and stuck at one anothers' sides. We're talking about the kids who knew me as a neurotic closet-case with a taste for Jack Daniels and demolition DDR, and the habit of saying the wrong thing one time too many. I'm talking about the kid I secretly envied for his occasionally self-destructive inability to give a damn. Or the kid whose boundless generosity often pushed her own concerns to the back burner, leading to problems. Or the kid whose passion for inane, loopy ideas was as often as subtly annoying as it was exhilarating. Or the self-professed asshole who would only publicly drop that facade only for prospective romance, even though closed doors tended to reveal that puppy dog we all knew was there. I could go on too long with these, so I'll take it on faith that you get the point.
I'm pretty sure than anyone who even made it halfway through Psych. 101 could easily name a personality disorder for every single person I just described. And the "misery loves company" adage, at first glance, couldn't fit a group of people better. But it wasn't like that. Two or three of us would go somewhere one day, then a different set would go somewhere else the next day. We didn't need to be all together in one place to have fun, and forge great memories. Get us all in one room though, and we'd all just play off one another.
If you're familiar with the physics behind a nuclear fission reaction, it all makes sense. Pared down to the absolute bare minimum, it goes like this: A fissile fuel atom breaks down and throws out a neutron or two. Which then hits another fuel atom, causing it to fission. Releasing more neutrons. Lather, rinse, repeat. Energy everywhere.
Even if we were in uninspired or otherwise foul moods, sometimes one joke was all it took to get that reaction going.
(As an aside, looking down at iTunes and seeing this makes me feel like at least something about my thoughts tonight was cosmically intended.)
But, to address the question I posed earlier, my relationship with each one of them was perfectly substantial. And the fact that we're all orbiting different planets these days is a lot harder to reconcile than it should be. One never likes losing friends, especially for idiotic reasons. Although, my perspective on things might be different, because I didn't have any blood feuds erupt between myself and anyone else as life started dragging us off to our respective peripheries.
Jinah and I were talking tonight, about how we all know we miss the old times. And I realized, even if we were all in the same place again, doing the same things, it wouldn't be the same. You can only stand on a mountaintop for so long before you eventually have to worry about where dinner's going to come from. Even if we all forgot about the personal differences that have popped up over time, I think those spontaneous nuclear reactions we loved so dearly wouldn't happen so readily anymore.
We thrived on uncertainty. Sunday off was a requisite for partying Saturday night. Even though we could all theoretically be up for work or whatever, it was always more exciting when we were wondering just what the next day would hold. Any given Saturday night could be considered a microcosm of our lives at the time. None of us had "real" jobs. Community college was barely on the horizon, and when it came, it hadn't hit that shit-or-get-off-the-pot point where you're forced to seriously consider your future. When the future could be anything, the present is unquantifiably more exciting.
So even if we were all kicking back with some drinks, and being collectively stomped by one person in Halo 2, we'd all have that worry of where dinner's going to come from lurking around the corner in our minds.
But that's not how things work in the real grown-up world. People don't stop calling their friends because they get jobs. That's only supposed to happen when they have kids.
We all watched each other start to realize just who the people occupying our shoes were. And after that, we all witnessed each other learn to walk. Aside from lousy time management, there's no fantastic reason why we can't still walk together every now and then.
So, after waxing poetic about it, I think I might do something about it.
I don't know why I felt that was appropriate, but I did.
You know, I had other stuff on my mind before I started typing all this. Thankfully, most of it's taken the backseat it's generally more suited for. Except, I'm really disliking my new work schedule. I don't think I like the idea of Sunday and Monday being the new Saturday and Sunday, respectively. Even though Monday makes a good Sunday (everything's open, and it's easier to circumvent my broad, deep hatred of real Sundays), Sunday makes for one shit-bomb blow fest of a Saturday. Real Saturdays don't exist anymore, at least not in my world.
Bedtime.
(DB) out.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
third wind
I've got no idea just how this auxiliary subsection of my personality has managed to take over, and thrive for the past couple of hours.
I conquered the hellishly long word day with aplomb. And with only two hours of sleep to go on. So I feel like everything turned out okay, in that respect. When I got home from Apple I was resolved to eat, and immediately sleep.
But SNL turned out to be funny, so I stayed up and watched it with my parents. My dad went to bed, I had a cigarette, then went up to the computer, intent only on blogging about my conquest of today, and then sleeping my big gay ass off.
It didn't end there. I'd left Wikipedia up at some point earlier in the day. It sucked me straight in. I've felt like a zombie, hopelessly aquiring useless information just for the hell of it, slowly finding that I didn't need to fight off sleep. The urge started to fade by itself. And while I've been catching myself about to commit more and more typographical sins, I feel more readily conscious than I did a couple hours ago.
I don't feel like there can be any healthy explanation for that.
I do know I finished at least one REM cycle during my micro-nap this morning, which might have allowed me to survive the day at Signius with relatively few mistakes. And I know the Red Bull allowed me to survive Apple. But as for now, I refuse to believe that an episode of SNL can serve as metaphysical fuel. All I know is, this third wind feels disconcerting, to say the least.
I feel like my body and mind are at odds with each other. My mind knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I should be asleep. And I think my body knows that too. But for some reason, it's not listening. It's just doing its own thing. It's not the first time that's happened, of course- but this is one of the only instances in recent recollection where it's happening for no particular reason. Given the current circumstances, my concsciousness serves absolutely no purpose.
Random aside: Why the crap is it 42 degrees outside? Isn't May, like, Monday?? I don't know. I feel like I shouldn't be able to see my breath without the aid of a cigarette. That and, for some reason, it smells like autumn out here. That's kinda depressing.
I don't know why it's depressing. My first instinct is to type, "I feel like, in order to appreciate that smell, I need a tumultuous summer of accomplishment, folly, and emotion in general to look back on." Which I guess makes sense. What I don't get is, my summers usually aren't that much different from the rest of the year, except the weather makes me happier by default. Hell, if you compare my relatively idle summer of 2005 to the winter/spring of 2006... well, you've got sloth in one hand, and ambition in the other.
Although if I look at this past winter, despite financial woes and boy trouble, I remember it as having been a whole lot more fun than a lot of ones in the past. And I think I can trace that back to the night of the Apple X-mas party, when all of us piled in the van, went down to DC, and let loose for an evening. It brings back memories of when we all lived at the diner, and the hectic holiday shopping rush had us effectively working together constantly, and playing together constantly. Of course, the circumstances of one's life tend to change, and things have largely returned towards what I'd call the baseline. I don't know. I'd go looking through iPhoto, but I'd probably get a little misty. At least inwardly.
I think I'm going to try sleep now, because I can't think of anything else I feel competent enough to communicate.
(DB) out.
I conquered the hellishly long word day with aplomb. And with only two hours of sleep to go on. So I feel like everything turned out okay, in that respect. When I got home from Apple I was resolved to eat, and immediately sleep.
But SNL turned out to be funny, so I stayed up and watched it with my parents. My dad went to bed, I had a cigarette, then went up to the computer, intent only on blogging about my conquest of today, and then sleeping my big gay ass off.
It didn't end there. I'd left Wikipedia up at some point earlier in the day. It sucked me straight in. I've felt like a zombie, hopelessly aquiring useless information just for the hell of it, slowly finding that I didn't need to fight off sleep. The urge started to fade by itself. And while I've been catching myself about to commit more and more typographical sins, I feel more readily conscious than I did a couple hours ago.
I don't feel like there can be any healthy explanation for that.
I do know I finished at least one REM cycle during my micro-nap this morning, which might have allowed me to survive the day at Signius with relatively few mistakes. And I know the Red Bull allowed me to survive Apple. But as for now, I refuse to believe that an episode of SNL can serve as metaphysical fuel. All I know is, this third wind feels disconcerting, to say the least.
I feel like my body and mind are at odds with each other. My mind knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I should be asleep. And I think my body knows that too. But for some reason, it's not listening. It's just doing its own thing. It's not the first time that's happened, of course- but this is one of the only instances in recent recollection where it's happening for no particular reason. Given the current circumstances, my concsciousness serves absolutely no purpose.
Random aside: Why the crap is it 42 degrees outside? Isn't May, like, Monday?? I don't know. I feel like I shouldn't be able to see my breath without the aid of a cigarette. That and, for some reason, it smells like autumn out here. That's kinda depressing.
I don't know why it's depressing. My first instinct is to type, "I feel like, in order to appreciate that smell, I need a tumultuous summer of accomplishment, folly, and emotion in general to look back on." Which I guess makes sense. What I don't get is, my summers usually aren't that much different from the rest of the year, except the weather makes me happier by default. Hell, if you compare my relatively idle summer of 2005 to the winter/spring of 2006... well, you've got sloth in one hand, and ambition in the other.
Although if I look at this past winter, despite financial woes and boy trouble, I remember it as having been a whole lot more fun than a lot of ones in the past. And I think I can trace that back to the night of the Apple X-mas party, when all of us piled in the van, went down to DC, and let loose for an evening. It brings back memories of when we all lived at the diner, and the hectic holiday shopping rush had us effectively working together constantly, and playing together constantly. Of course, the circumstances of one's life tend to change, and things have largely returned towards what I'd call the baseline. I don't know. I'd go looking through iPhoto, but I'd probably get a little misty. At least inwardly.
I think I'm going to try sleep now, because I can't think of anything else I feel competent enough to communicate.
(DB) out.
Friday, April 28, 2006
they say your middle name is trouble, but i know it's caroline
I think my body hates me, or something along those lines.
I woke up this morning feeling sick as a dog, and after stifling that with much medicine, avoiding soda, and trying to get to sleep early, I tossed and turned for hours until I woke up at 2. I haven't been able to get back to sleep since. Which is a pity, considering I told Signius I'd work a surprise shift tomorrow at noon.
Okay, it's only from noon to 3, which is practically only enough time for me to scratch my balls, yawn, and wonder what to do next. But still, once you get in that "day off!!" mindset, it's tough to reconcile with yourself if you give it up.
Tonight was the first night I really got to break in my cubicle, after spending the past two weeks floating around to train. (Once they decide they're fed up with Win98, I'll be totally happy in any cubicle.) But anyway, I like mine. Tonight, after waking up and realizing I wasn't getting back to sleep anytime soon, I went through iPhoto and printed out some 4x6's to keep me amused during the day. Surprisingly, the whole process took a lot more thought than I ever realized.
When you walk by someone's cubicle, and you look at the photos they've got up, you subconsciously try to extrapolate some kind of story from those photos. Personally, I don't care if I'm right or not, but it's fun to look for details and start fabricating entertaining lies. If I see a picture, I see a teenage son, a girlfriend that the mother's not too entirely happy about, but they're both smiling, so she feels bad for having her doubts. I see a family at the beach, and I think, wow, they look happy, but I totally remember all my family vacations and the squabbling about where to go for dinner. If I get as far as to wonder the potential dinner spots those people in the photo squabbled about, chances are I've looked too long.
Does anybody else do this? I'd like to feel like I'm not completely insane.
So, whilst looking through my photos, I feel like I was thinking about it entirely too much. I was thinking, what stories do I want people to make up from my photos? I figured the following- no pictures of just me and someone, because a) I'm not dating them, and b) Shelly would ask why we don't have any ones of just me and her. And I'd have to tell her that she forbade me to print any of the pictures of her that I particularly care for, because she feels like she doesn't look good in them. Furthermore, I was careful to avoid pictures of any of my friends with beer bottles in their hands. (That one made things especially tough.) Then I thought, is it too transparent to have tons of pictures of friends? There's a lot more to my photo collection than that. So I picked a few of my favorite landscapes. Then I wondered, is that transparent? If I walked past my cubicle and saw those pictures, what would I think?
The pictures I chose tell the following story: this kid travels a good bit. He's got a lot of friends. They all look so happy. I wonder if they're all still happy? I wonder how long ago that was taken, do they all still talk? Would they all still appear in another picture looking just about the same? He's also got quite an eye for scenery. I bet he thinks he's some hot-shit photographer. I wonder if he even took those. Seriously, who prints on non-glossy 4x6's? I don't see any girls he's hugging, he must be one of those gays...
And I'm okay with that story. Because, ultimately, my life is interesting, for better or worse, and I'm fine with people noticing that.
Saturday is the work day from hell. 8-4 at Signius, 6-close at Apple. I've never worked that long a day before. I'm both excited and terrified, thinking about how it will turn out. Sure, I've partied that long, but that's a much more free-form activity than general purpose customer service. Will I get off work and go out, desperately needing to unwind? Or will I go home, crash, and wake up sometime Sunday afternoon? I guess only time will tell.
Speaking of time, I've got entirely too much of it. No matter how hard I try, I haven't been able to get myself to sleep. I don't even know what my body's telling me to do. One voice says "sleep!" Another voice says "Seek more cold medicine!" Then the "That would be dangerous" voice quickly puts that one to rest. If the chorus of "You're hungry!" and "You're nauseous!" and "Drink more water!" and "FIND SOME CAFFEINE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!" doesn't stop, well, at least one voice will win- I'll eventually tire myself out, thinking about what I'm really thinking.
By the way, the "You have to work today, bastard, because you're responsible and said yes when they said they needed you, and you're not in bed yet, muhahaha!" voice is really bugging the hell out of me.
That paper Jaime was writing, remember that? I proofread it the other night, and sent her a couple notes she later hailed as brilliant. Then she informed me that I have way too much potential to ignore college, but not in a condescending way, rather in an encouraging one. I then spewed out a little insight that's rare for me to spew out anytime before midnight:
I went on to talk about how my home situation and ailing car seem like they're significant emergencies waiting to happen. For clarification, my home situation isn't, like, bad. It's more along the lines of, I'm getting older, and my parents are getting older. Our relationship is just fine. But we're on opposite sleep schedules, and my dad's got a worsening case of real, clinical insomnia, so when I'm here, I have to be practically silent. I can rarely ever have company, because the parents don't like the idea of surrending their house to a bunch of kids. Which is fine. Hell, it's their house, and I'm at the age where I really need to stake my claim on my own living space and get on with it. But, it's just really inconvenient to have to live like I'm a guest, rather than a resident.
Jaime said it's good that I wasn't being a bitch about it. I told her, all the years of thinking that way landed me nowhere.
In other news, I feel like life without MySpace is a lot more rewarding than life with it. I've been forced to stop using it as a crutch for my bored and uninspired mind, and thus, been forced to give my noodle a little exercise. (Please refrain from any masturbatory references, because I'd like to take the high road for once.)
(LOL, just kidding.)
But seriously, I like it. I feel slightly more alive, and slightly less like I don't exist.
Would it be unprofessional to ask if I could bring in my own keyboard and mouse, to make the working experience more pleasant? I doubt they'd let me, but would it hurt to ask?
Meh. I think pretty soon I'm going to find something to eat, and try sleeping again. And maybe some more cold medicine. The voices are starting to organize, and rally against the "stay awake and keep blogging" voice. So on that note, goodnight. Or good morning.
(DB) out.
I woke up this morning feeling sick as a dog, and after stifling that with much medicine, avoiding soda, and trying to get to sleep early, I tossed and turned for hours until I woke up at 2. I haven't been able to get back to sleep since. Which is a pity, considering I told Signius I'd work a surprise shift tomorrow at noon.
Okay, it's only from noon to 3, which is practically only enough time for me to scratch my balls, yawn, and wonder what to do next. But still, once you get in that "day off!!" mindset, it's tough to reconcile with yourself if you give it up.
Tonight was the first night I really got to break in my cubicle, after spending the past two weeks floating around to train. (Once they decide they're fed up with Win98, I'll be totally happy in any cubicle.) But anyway, I like mine. Tonight, after waking up and realizing I wasn't getting back to sleep anytime soon, I went through iPhoto and printed out some 4x6's to keep me amused during the day. Surprisingly, the whole process took a lot more thought than I ever realized.
When you walk by someone's cubicle, and you look at the photos they've got up, you subconsciously try to extrapolate some kind of story from those photos. Personally, I don't care if I'm right or not, but it's fun to look for details and start fabricating entertaining lies. If I see a picture, I see a teenage son, a girlfriend that the mother's not too entirely happy about, but they're both smiling, so she feels bad for having her doubts. I see a family at the beach, and I think, wow, they look happy, but I totally remember all my family vacations and the squabbling about where to go for dinner. If I get as far as to wonder the potential dinner spots those people in the photo squabbled about, chances are I've looked too long.
Does anybody else do this? I'd like to feel like I'm not completely insane.
So, whilst looking through my photos, I feel like I was thinking about it entirely too much. I was thinking, what stories do I want people to make up from my photos? I figured the following- no pictures of just me and someone, because a) I'm not dating them, and b) Shelly would ask why we don't have any ones of just me and her. And I'd have to tell her that she forbade me to print any of the pictures of her that I particularly care for, because she feels like she doesn't look good in them. Furthermore, I was careful to avoid pictures of any of my friends with beer bottles in their hands. (That one made things especially tough.) Then I thought, is it too transparent to have tons of pictures of friends? There's a lot more to my photo collection than that. So I picked a few of my favorite landscapes. Then I wondered, is that transparent? If I walked past my cubicle and saw those pictures, what would I think?
The pictures I chose tell the following story: this kid travels a good bit. He's got a lot of friends. They all look so happy. I wonder if they're all still happy? I wonder how long ago that was taken, do they all still talk? Would they all still appear in another picture looking just about the same? He's also got quite an eye for scenery. I bet he thinks he's some hot-shit photographer. I wonder if he even took those. Seriously, who prints on non-glossy 4x6's? I don't see any girls he's hugging, he must be one of those gays...
And I'm okay with that story. Because, ultimately, my life is interesting, for better or worse, and I'm fine with people noticing that.
Saturday is the work day from hell. 8-4 at Signius, 6-close at Apple. I've never worked that long a day before. I'm both excited and terrified, thinking about how it will turn out. Sure, I've partied that long, but that's a much more free-form activity than general purpose customer service. Will I get off work and go out, desperately needing to unwind? Or will I go home, crash, and wake up sometime Sunday afternoon? I guess only time will tell.
Speaking of time, I've got entirely too much of it. No matter how hard I try, I haven't been able to get myself to sleep. I don't even know what my body's telling me to do. One voice says "sleep!" Another voice says "Seek more cold medicine!" Then the "That would be dangerous" voice quickly puts that one to rest. If the chorus of "You're hungry!" and "You're nauseous!" and "Drink more water!" and "FIND SOME CAFFEINE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!" doesn't stop, well, at least one voice will win- I'll eventually tire myself out, thinking about what I'm really thinking.
By the way, the "You have to work today, bastard, because you're responsible and said yes when they said they needed you, and you're not in bed yet, muhahaha!" voice is really bugging the hell out of me.
That paper Jaime was writing, remember that? I proofread it the other night, and sent her a couple notes she later hailed as brilliant. Then she informed me that I have way too much potential to ignore college, but not in a condescending way, rather in an encouraging one. I then spewed out a little insight that's rare for me to spew out anytime before midnight:
10:49:57 PM danny c.: here's the official story on me and college: i'm working now, just so i can get my life in order before i attempt to take college seriously again
10:50:21 PM jaime b.: yes...
10:51:44 PM danny c.: here's the unofficial version: i've already screwed it up twice. i hate being there, and i hate essex, but i don't have a choice. it's there or nowhere, with my high school GPA. the last two semesters i went, all it took was a couple nice large emergencies, which in my head i blew out of proportion and was able to rationalize as an excuse for losing all interest. so in all reality, i'm waiting because i need to be more mature and self-motivated if i'm ever going to make this work, because i couldn't take screwing up again
I went on to talk about how my home situation and ailing car seem like they're significant emergencies waiting to happen. For clarification, my home situation isn't, like, bad. It's more along the lines of, I'm getting older, and my parents are getting older. Our relationship is just fine. But we're on opposite sleep schedules, and my dad's got a worsening case of real, clinical insomnia, so when I'm here, I have to be practically silent. I can rarely ever have company, because the parents don't like the idea of surrending their house to a bunch of kids. Which is fine. Hell, it's their house, and I'm at the age where I really need to stake my claim on my own living space and get on with it. But, it's just really inconvenient to have to live like I'm a guest, rather than a resident.
Jaime said it's good that I wasn't being a bitch about it. I told her, all the years of thinking that way landed me nowhere.
In other news, I feel like life without MySpace is a lot more rewarding than life with it. I've been forced to stop using it as a crutch for my bored and uninspired mind, and thus, been forced to give my noodle a little exercise. (Please refrain from any masturbatory references, because I'd like to take the high road for once.)
(LOL, just kidding.)
But seriously, I like it. I feel slightly more alive, and slightly less like I don't exist.
Would it be unprofessional to ask if I could bring in my own keyboard and mouse, to make the working experience more pleasant? I doubt they'd let me, but would it hurt to ask?
Meh. I think pretty soon I'm going to find something to eat, and try sleeping again. And maybe some more cold medicine. The voices are starting to organize, and rally against the "stay awake and keep blogging" voice. So on that note, goodnight. Or good morning.
(DB) out.
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