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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.