“Kind of like a pubescent volatility, some angst, a lot of I'm-sixteen-and-angry-at-my-father syndrome.” -The Rock
Cue up some punk
You’ve known me a year. I met you yesterday. You gave birth to me. So, you’ve figured me out have you? Great, for your next trick maybe you can explain me to me. You know who I want to date? That’s great, you’ve never met them and even I didn’t know what I thought of her, maybe you should be hooking us up, picking out curtains. I never realized I was better than the guy behind me because I have to button my shirt most days, didn’t realize polishing my shoes defined me. Who does that make me today in my torn jacket with a two person sled on my head? If my wardrobe doesn’t match, have I lied to you?
I bought some wine to drink tonight. By myself. I spend hours a week programming. By myself. I didn’t shave today, or yesterday. I like walking barefoot. I like cigars. I study Greek in my spare time. I go to coffee shops, I go to mosh pits, dance clubs, bars, and bookstores. When did these things I do, this stuff I have, your small window into my life, let you know exactly who I am? I do want you to know, but you’re already way ahead of me.
It’s different this time, I don’t feel the need to shout or put safety pins in anything. I understand some of you are giving me the benefit of the doubt too, and I love you for it. Just don’t get carried away, you still don’t know me. I’m not the homeschooler talking to your father to court you. I’m not a stalker, I just play one on IM. I’m not a “saint” because I go to church. I haven’t strayed from the flock just because I don’t. I’m not the recluse geek to keep in your phone book to fix your email. I’m not a self-righteous Christian looking down on you to judge; God’s not going to let me into heaven because I’m a virgin, he’s not going to keep me out because I smoke, drink, and swear. Light up a cigarette, calm the fuck down.
You know that horrible thing you did so long ago? That doesn’t bother me. You’re ashamed of what happened yesterday? I don’t intend to interpret you through that, so let it go. You think I couldn’t possibly understand? Listen, you may be right, but I promise you’ve got nothing to lose in trying.
Alright, I concede there’s a place for being reserved, for privacy, and for tact. There’s also room for trust, and opening up, honest revelations beginning wonderful new friendships without games. So let’s talk. I haven’t put you in a box yet; Teach me about yourself, I want to listen.
Feb 28, 2003
Feb 27, 2003
Okay, first order of business. Once again I need to fight, so if you get this in time, rush over to my house and slam one in my gut. Better yet, surprise me. We’ll go get something to drink if it helps you, but I need to feel every hit. End the monotony.
Hold on. Can we start over? If I stay awake long enough, sleep even longer, can I wake up a new person? This semester was a new beginning, but I feel like I’m already on the wrong foot. At the same time, if I had it to do over again, it’s too complex, I’d do it the same way. I’d have called Jake earlier and made a spare key for my car. That’s about it. The rest is all interrelated, and I can’t imagine what I’d change. Should I have taken the job on the weekends? Should I have stayed up all that one night? Who knows. Nevermind all that, time to move on.
I’ll probably end up replacing this post, I was tired when I wrote it, but you get the idea.
Hold on. Can we start over? If I stay awake long enough, sleep even longer, can I wake up a new person? This semester was a new beginning, but I feel like I’m already on the wrong foot. At the same time, if I had it to do over again, it’s too complex, I’d do it the same way. I’d have called Jake earlier and made a spare key for my car. That’s about it. The rest is all interrelated, and I can’t imagine what I’d change. Should I have taken the job on the weekends? Should I have stayed up all that one night? Who knows. Nevermind all that, time to move on.
I’ll probably end up replacing this post, I was tired when I wrote it, but you get the idea.
Feb 26, 2003
Today my happiness knows no bounds. First of all, I love dreary weather, and the dark and overcast afternoon has just been wonderful. Secondly, I adore the look of snow, and that’s exactly what we have. We got the industrial strength, plastic coated for durability version of the look of snow.
Last night, if you didn’t know, Dallas got a ton of sleet, and today’s high was 28, so it’s still here. The roads were a disaster, but the look was beautiful. It perpetually looks like virgin snow, because you can walk all over it and nothing happens besides you falling on your ass. The greatest part about this weather probably really upset most of you, but it saved me, it killed the roads.
I was up all last night, sort of working on a lab paper and studying for a midterm. I hit my bed at like 4 to take an hour nap. I felt horrible after that, so I took another one and got up at 6 to see the world’s most heart warming and heavenly words on UTA’s website: Due to inclement weather, the university is closed Tuesday, February 25. I danced about the house, thanking God for answering my prayers, and then collapsed on my bed and slept until noon.
Then, this afternoon, my father and I drove my car out to a parking lot and tried losing traction and spinning it. The idea is that it's important to know how to drive in dangerous conditions, and this is the best way to learn. Plus it feels like you're breaking some sort of law. We found out that front wheel drive and anti-lock brakes keep you from doing almost anything crazy in my car, which was at once reassuring and boring. We then returned home and got the ’85 suburban. This thing was awesome. We did 360’s in that thing, slid all over the place and nearly slammed it directly sideways into several curbs. It was more fun than any ride at any amusement park I’ve ever been to, and I would’ve paid anything to do it. My dad says he hasn't had that much fun since driving go carts as a kid. I only wish C4 and the $50 wonder truck could have been there.
So, I’m rather upset tonight, and I’m trying not to be. I seriously have decided that if my life had to have a theme right now, it’d be messed up timing. I have a schedule, and I try to stick to it, honestly. I fully intend on doing my lab reports the night before they’re due, so I’m a procrastinator, but it’s on the schedule. There’s a newly found facet to this rough diamond I find of my life however: Spring Break 2003.
Maybe you’ve thought to yourself when you got back from Spring Break, “Man, I’d sure like another break, maybe a second Spring Break.” Guess what, I get three. In a row. Almost a full month of Spring Break. The part of this arrangement that has relations with lower species of life is that I can’t actually leave town for more than a couple days, as usual. Please tell me what would possess two campi (you like that?) of the same university to have different Spring Breaks? Was it a deal with the beer company to spread out sales? Can the roads not handle that many students simultaneously headed to Mexico? Also, the community college only has three days off for Spring Break, so what’s that about? Whatever, I suppose it doesn’t really matter.
I’m thinking of starting a stalker exchange program. It would only be for one day, and it would be limited to that first stage of stalking where you’re like, “Awww, that’s sweet, I wonder who sent me flowers? That’s a really nice poem, how odd.” And then, at the end of the day, it’s over. Your ego is boosted, and nobody gets hurt or weirded out. On some days you’d stalk, on others you’d be stalked. I'm still working on how you'd find out your next assignment.
Random acts of kindness never seemed to catch on, Pass It On flopped, but I think there’s a lot of us curious people who wonder what it’d be like to have that random feeling of importance, without knowing to whom or in what way. In addition, you may have some really random sappy ideas that really have no place in a real relationship, but this would be the perfect outlet for that too. There’d be limits, you have to do more than sign a Hallmark card, but nothing too elaborate either, kinda like a price limit on gift giving to friends. Now I’d personally bend the rules if the stalker was cute, but that’s another story.
I'm now up to number 7 on Google under the search Lesbo. The fact that I'm rising is disturbing me, and it's no boost to my ego to think that the people most often finding and viewing my page are thinking to themselves, "Hmmm, dumbass is using false advertising." I'd like to think that anyone linking to my page is keeping both of their hands visible at all times.
Last night, if you didn’t know, Dallas got a ton of sleet, and today’s high was 28, so it’s still here. The roads were a disaster, but the look was beautiful. It perpetually looks like virgin snow, because you can walk all over it and nothing happens besides you falling on your ass. The greatest part about this weather probably really upset most of you, but it saved me, it killed the roads.
I was up all last night, sort of working on a lab paper and studying for a midterm. I hit my bed at like 4 to take an hour nap. I felt horrible after that, so I took another one and got up at 6 to see the world’s most heart warming and heavenly words on UTA’s website: Due to inclement weather, the university is closed Tuesday, February 25. I danced about the house, thanking God for answering my prayers, and then collapsed on my bed and slept until noon.
Then, this afternoon, my father and I drove my car out to a parking lot and tried losing traction and spinning it. The idea is that it's important to know how to drive in dangerous conditions, and this is the best way to learn. Plus it feels like you're breaking some sort of law. We found out that front wheel drive and anti-lock brakes keep you from doing almost anything crazy in my car, which was at once reassuring and boring. We then returned home and got the ’85 suburban. This thing was awesome. We did 360’s in that thing, slid all over the place and nearly slammed it directly sideways into several curbs. It was more fun than any ride at any amusement park I’ve ever been to, and I would’ve paid anything to do it. My dad says he hasn't had that much fun since driving go carts as a kid. I only wish C4 and the $50 wonder truck could have been there.
So, I’m rather upset tonight, and I’m trying not to be. I seriously have decided that if my life had to have a theme right now, it’d be messed up timing. I have a schedule, and I try to stick to it, honestly. I fully intend on doing my lab reports the night before they’re due, so I’m a procrastinator, but it’s on the schedule. There’s a newly found facet to this rough diamond I find of my life however: Spring Break 2003.
Maybe you’ve thought to yourself when you got back from Spring Break, “Man, I’d sure like another break, maybe a second Spring Break.” Guess what, I get three. In a row. Almost a full month of Spring Break. The part of this arrangement that has relations with lower species of life is that I can’t actually leave town for more than a couple days, as usual. Please tell me what would possess two campi (you like that?) of the same university to have different Spring Breaks? Was it a deal with the beer company to spread out sales? Can the roads not handle that many students simultaneously headed to Mexico? Also, the community college only has three days off for Spring Break, so what’s that about? Whatever, I suppose it doesn’t really matter.
I’m thinking of starting a stalker exchange program. It would only be for one day, and it would be limited to that first stage of stalking where you’re like, “Awww, that’s sweet, I wonder who sent me flowers? That’s a really nice poem, how odd.” And then, at the end of the day, it’s over. Your ego is boosted, and nobody gets hurt or weirded out. On some days you’d stalk, on others you’d be stalked. I'm still working on how you'd find out your next assignment.
Random acts of kindness never seemed to catch on, Pass It On flopped, but I think there’s a lot of us curious people who wonder what it’d be like to have that random feeling of importance, without knowing to whom or in what way. In addition, you may have some really random sappy ideas that really have no place in a real relationship, but this would be the perfect outlet for that too. There’d be limits, you have to do more than sign a Hallmark card, but nothing too elaborate either, kinda like a price limit on gift giving to friends. Now I’d personally bend the rules if the stalker was cute, but that’s another story.
I'm now up to number 7 on Google under the search Lesbo. The fact that I'm rising is disturbing me, and it's no boost to my ego to think that the people most often finding and viewing my page are thinking to themselves, "Hmmm, dumbass is using false advertising." I'd like to think that anyone linking to my page is keeping both of their hands visible at all times.
Feb 24, 2003
Alcohol units: 4, cigs: 8 (v.b. but was birthday, still quitting)
Last night was about the best birthday I’ve ever had. I went to the Flying Saucer with Jake and his newfound friend Michaela, and due to regulations which we believed required us to smoke cigars in 20 degree weather, we smoked a pack of cigarettes. By the end of the evening we had discussed God, why girls are attracted to those guys that don’t seem to make any sense, nationalism, marriage, and music. Michaela picked up the tab, which was awesome, though it made both of us feel a little small.
I was given the best gift I can imagine last night, I got to watch my good friend falling in love with someone I very much believe is perfect for him, as far as first impressions go. It was so wonderful to watch her lay her head on his shoulder as we drove home, and the world felt a little warmer with at least these two in their proper place. With all the things he’s gone through, it just made me very content to see him so happy.
Yesterday, between long bouts of talking to angry people on the phone, I got to talk to a couple girls I’ve had strong interest in before, and hadn’t talked to in a while. It was nice not having any of the tension or misinterpretation that existed when I was still romantically interested in them, and it was really great finding out that we’re still on friendly terms. Between that and the evening activities, I began to question why I should desire a relationship with a girl, other than non-romantic friendship. I am finding such great contentment on my own, and such joy at seeing others find that companionship, that I guess it just doesn’t seem right to think in any other terms. I just want to show love in the way best fitting to my friends, I want you to be as happy as I am.
Last night was about the best birthday I’ve ever had. I went to the Flying Saucer with Jake and his newfound friend Michaela, and due to regulations which we believed required us to smoke cigars in 20 degree weather, we smoked a pack of cigarettes. By the end of the evening we had discussed God, why girls are attracted to those guys that don’t seem to make any sense, nationalism, marriage, and music. Michaela picked up the tab, which was awesome, though it made both of us feel a little small.
I was given the best gift I can imagine last night, I got to watch my good friend falling in love with someone I very much believe is perfect for him, as far as first impressions go. It was so wonderful to watch her lay her head on his shoulder as we drove home, and the world felt a little warmer with at least these two in their proper place. With all the things he’s gone through, it just made me very content to see him so happy.
Yesterday, between long bouts of talking to angry people on the phone, I got to talk to a couple girls I’ve had strong interest in before, and hadn’t talked to in a while. It was nice not having any of the tension or misinterpretation that existed when I was still romantically interested in them, and it was really great finding out that we’re still on friendly terms. Between that and the evening activities, I began to question why I should desire a relationship with a girl, other than non-romantic friendship. I am finding such great contentment on my own, and such joy at seeing others find that companionship, that I guess it just doesn’t seem right to think in any other terms. I just want to show love in the way best fitting to my friends, I want you to be as happy as I am.
Feb 22, 2003
You know, it’s funny I should say, “I hate straining at things too big for me,” and then sit there speculating on what heaven without thought would be like. Oh well, just a post, just a part of my past.
Today already feels unreal, did I sleep night before last? Last night was great, if you enjoy watching the ceiling. The body seems to fight back with a mind of its own. “Oh really, so you want to stay up late huh? Wake me up after only a few short hours? Just try and sleep now Mark.”
If things keep going this way, I’m definitely writing horror today. I was in the shower, thinking of how horrible it would be if I heard running up and down the hallways, followed by an urgent pounding on the door, a deep voice yelling,
”Get out, what the Hell do you think you’re doing!” What if when I opened it, dripping wet, nobody was there? I look around, and all I see is my own face in the mirror, grinning fiercely, eyelids torn off, deep red gashes across my cheeks. In a breath, the vision is gone, a whisper of laughter in my ears. Oh well, off to work.
Today already feels unreal, did I sleep night before last? Last night was great, if you enjoy watching the ceiling. The body seems to fight back with a mind of its own. “Oh really, so you want to stay up late huh? Wake me up after only a few short hours? Just try and sleep now Mark.”
If things keep going this way, I’m definitely writing horror today. I was in the shower, thinking of how horrible it would be if I heard running up and down the hallways, followed by an urgent pounding on the door, a deep voice yelling,
”Get out, what the Hell do you think you’re doing!” What if when I opened it, dripping wet, nobody was there? I look around, and all I see is my own face in the mirror, grinning fiercely, eyelids torn off, deep red gashes across my cheeks. In a breath, the vision is gone, a whisper of laughter in my ears. Oh well, off to work.
You know what’s truly wonderful, something that makes me want to keep living? Being able to take care of things. I love being asked a question I know the answer to, or know where to find it. I enjoy being asked, or even required to do something, knowing full well that I can do it. I may not be the best at it, it may be hard work, but I’m capable and competent. What ever happened to all of that?
You know what I hate? Not having a fucking clue what to do, and knowing I have to do something anyway. I hate fumbling with things that are much too delicate, straining at things far too big for me to move, stumbling onto the stage of a play I’ve never read. I’m not sure if it’s much better to realize there’s nothing I can do, nothing I can say. I hate watching pain I can’t ease, and I hate watching things die I can’t save.
“I just don’t have the stamina I used to.” That’s because you’ll probably never fully recover from the cancer that put you here Mom. It seems to hurt you so, thinking of death, makes me wish it were me. Sounds like I’m more ready for it than you.
How many times have I heard your voicemail? I see you’re losing your accent. What ever happened to the friendship you told me you couldn’t do without? I miss those nights talking of life, watching Spanish TV. I remember our last kiss, and I still wish you the best, I just wish it wasn’t all passing away.
So, I missed another night of Naked and Wet Time at LU tonight. That wasn’t cool. I also had some great conversations about the canon of Scripture with my parents. My Mom and I talked about the meaning of life, literally. I told her my suspicion that heaven will mean we’re mindless idiots. I described life as merely a game we play waiting for eternity. She’s worried about me, but I think tonight I made myself a little more clear, and eased her mind some. She didn’t cry tonight.
I’ll touch on the mindless idiots, since there will be many who might be offended by that. I brought up all the passages speaking of rationality and thinking, God’s thoughts are not like ours, I came to you not with persuasive arguments. C.S. Lewis speaks to this in The Great Divorce. Thinking in my mind is a search for answers, a great questioning process. Lewis said that heaven is answers, and questions are no longer necessary. I’m trying to think about what it’d be like not to think, only to praise. I suppose that’s ironic. Ignorance is bliss. I guess we’ll see, and I trust He’s set it up right, He does some really good work, I’ve not seen Him mess up yet.
Feb 21, 2003
I sat in class tonight feeling like I was watching my life go to Hell right in front of me. We were talking about semaphores, and it hit me. Why should I care? I’m usually ashamed to even tell people what I do. We go out to parties, clubs, meeting people, and my roommate says he’s a pilot, girls swoon. Papa Luv, with every suave move I’ve ever known at his disposal makes being an engineer somehow alright. So, Lesbo, what do you do? “I staple papers together.”
I’m a philosopher, I’m a lover of books, I want to be a philologist. I love life, truth, beauty. Why do I know binary and memorize things like what a PSW or a PCB are? I have no desire to be a geek. Then it hit me, like a wave of comforting reason. I’m studying the very atomic nature of life itself. Computers try to imitate life, especially in my favorite field of A.I. When we develop lengthy algorithms and give them stupid acronyms, it’s to better emulate things which may seem simple, but are actually complex interconnected components of life. Every once in a while you catch a glimpse of the complexity you take for granted.
For instance, children can very quickly be taught things like sharing and good manners. This may seem simple, it’s not. Become a computer science major and try to get computers to play nicely with each other and you’ll begin to understand. This guy Dekker gets credit for an algorithm which essentially boils down to taking turns and not being too selfish. On this low level, everything takes time, and requires great effort. Don’t even start thinking about the actual components making up the integrated circuits that comprise the computer. It can get overwhelming.
My goal is not to come up with some new video game. I don’t care if your new cell phone can make noises like a pig. I want to create life. I want to blur the lines between artificial and real intelligence. I want to get upset someday because my project knows something I don’t. This is the promise of my field. I just needed some encouragement.
I’m a philosopher, I’m a lover of books, I want to be a philologist. I love life, truth, beauty. Why do I know binary and memorize things like what a PSW or a PCB are? I have no desire to be a geek. Then it hit me, like a wave of comforting reason. I’m studying the very atomic nature of life itself. Computers try to imitate life, especially in my favorite field of A.I. When we develop lengthy algorithms and give them stupid acronyms, it’s to better emulate things which may seem simple, but are actually complex interconnected components of life. Every once in a while you catch a glimpse of the complexity you take for granted.
For instance, children can very quickly be taught things like sharing and good manners. This may seem simple, it’s not. Become a computer science major and try to get computers to play nicely with each other and you’ll begin to understand. This guy Dekker gets credit for an algorithm which essentially boils down to taking turns and not being too selfish. On this low level, everything takes time, and requires great effort. Don’t even start thinking about the actual components making up the integrated circuits that comprise the computer. It can get overwhelming.
My goal is not to come up with some new video game. I don’t care if your new cell phone can make noises like a pig. I want to create life. I want to blur the lines between artificial and real intelligence. I want to get upset someday because my project knows something I don’t. This is the promise of my field. I just needed some encouragement.
Feb 20, 2003
I just have to laugh to keep from hurting bad
their simple minds just cannot seem to understand
you are neurotic and depressed
it doesn't mean that you're sad . . .
I will never be normal like you.
Normal Like You, Everclear
A warning to those with tongues pierced. Don’t play with the piece too much, I just discovered a very small groove being worn between two of my bottom teeth. Imagine that.
Oh yeah, I’m staying up tonight, and for the best of reasons: I don’t really have to. My huge project of the evening is to write one page on agency for Microeconomics. Heh, I love community college. Chrissy is up tonight, Bildo is up tonight, why the Hell shouldn’t I be up tonight? Why weren’t you? I love the night. I wish I were at a club right now. “Now the record always spills on the trails we blazed, The walls are closin in, but that’s ok, ‘Cause I been waitin all week to feel this way, And it feels so good, so good, I’m on top of the world. Oh my, starry eyed surprise, sun down to sun rise, dance all night.” So I cheated and quoted two songs.
So, I’m now staying up because I have to. My connection is down for an indefinite amount of time, and I haven’t started that paper. One page and a broken connection now keep me up. I was just about to finish a conversation with Bildo concerning our views on women. I can only imagine what he’s posting right now. It was brought up by my commenting on the musicians and actresses I have crushes on.
Audrey Hepburn is my icon. She had dignity and elegance, she was powerful and graceful. I wouldn’t go out with her, I revere her, or rather what she represents. Diana Krall is tall and beautiful and talented, and thus necessarily is part of the list. I had mentioned that I recently fell in love with Ani DiFranco, and until tonight hadn’t seen what she looked like. After seeing her, I found she is not of above average physical appearance. I told Bildo that did nothing to detract from my attraction to her. I didn’t know why, so we discussed it.
He believed that my high standards of intellect and soul in choosing who to develop relationships with have caused me to lower my standards regarding appearance in order to better my chances. I choose not to accept this explanation. It seems merely that the definition of attractive is to blame. The thing that attracts me to people, men and women, is something unseen. Something about a person’s desire to live, their true self, I guess it’s their soul. Once I’ve felt that connection with someone, I tend to always feel drawn to them. Their beauty is in who they are, and I can see it in everything about them, even in their faults. No matter how long it’s been or how far away they are, that connection makes me feel close to them. Regardless of their appearance, there’s beauty in the person I know. This doesn’t take away from the fact that physical attraction is real and required for romantic involvement, it’s just not nearly as important.
Sometimes I have to remind myself of this fact of attraction though, not at all because physical attraction is bad, but because it can often blur my vision and cause me to think I’ve felt connection on a deeper level. This won’t last, and it’s not worth either of us getting involved, though I have before, and it’s not a bad thing. It’s just not the greatest.
Well, I wrote the paper, even though the internet was down at my house. I think I did a pretty half-ass job (good enough for government and community college work), but that’s okay I guess. I’ll put more effort into my tough classes to compensate. No apologies for what I can’t change, I’ll work on what I can. I encourage you to say, “Fuck the bullshit,” and I encourage you to be kind. I hope you can find the same joy I have today. If you see something beautiful today, would you let me know?
their simple minds just cannot seem to understand
you are neurotic and depressed
it doesn't mean that you're sad . . .
I will never be normal like you.
Normal Like You, Everclear
A warning to those with tongues pierced. Don’t play with the piece too much, I just discovered a very small groove being worn between two of my bottom teeth. Imagine that.
Oh yeah, I’m staying up tonight, and for the best of reasons: I don’t really have to. My huge project of the evening is to write one page on agency for Microeconomics. Heh, I love community college. Chrissy is up tonight, Bildo is up tonight, why the Hell shouldn’t I be up tonight? Why weren’t you? I love the night. I wish I were at a club right now. “Now the record always spills on the trails we blazed, The walls are closin in, but that’s ok, ‘Cause I been waitin all week to feel this way, And it feels so good, so good, I’m on top of the world. Oh my, starry eyed surprise, sun down to sun rise, dance all night.” So I cheated and quoted two songs.
So, I’m now staying up because I have to. My connection is down for an indefinite amount of time, and I haven’t started that paper. One page and a broken connection now keep me up. I was just about to finish a conversation with Bildo concerning our views on women. I can only imagine what he’s posting right now. It was brought up by my commenting on the musicians and actresses I have crushes on.
Audrey Hepburn is my icon. She had dignity and elegance, she was powerful and graceful. I wouldn’t go out with her, I revere her, or rather what she represents. Diana Krall is tall and beautiful and talented, and thus necessarily is part of the list. I had mentioned that I recently fell in love with Ani DiFranco, and until tonight hadn’t seen what she looked like. After seeing her, I found she is not of above average physical appearance. I told Bildo that did nothing to detract from my attraction to her. I didn’t know why, so we discussed it.
He believed that my high standards of intellect and soul in choosing who to develop relationships with have caused me to lower my standards regarding appearance in order to better my chances. I choose not to accept this explanation. It seems merely that the definition of attractive is to blame. The thing that attracts me to people, men and women, is something unseen. Something about a person’s desire to live, their true self, I guess it’s their soul. Once I’ve felt that connection with someone, I tend to always feel drawn to them. Their beauty is in who they are, and I can see it in everything about them, even in their faults. No matter how long it’s been or how far away they are, that connection makes me feel close to them. Regardless of their appearance, there’s beauty in the person I know. This doesn’t take away from the fact that physical attraction is real and required for romantic involvement, it’s just not nearly as important.
Sometimes I have to remind myself of this fact of attraction though, not at all because physical attraction is bad, but because it can often blur my vision and cause me to think I’ve felt connection on a deeper level. This won’t last, and it’s not worth either of us getting involved, though I have before, and it’s not a bad thing. It’s just not the greatest.
Well, I wrote the paper, even though the internet was down at my house. I think I did a pretty half-ass job (good enough for government and community college work), but that’s okay I guess. I’ll put more effort into my tough classes to compensate. No apologies for what I can’t change, I’ll work on what I can. I encourage you to say, “Fuck the bullshit,” and I encourage you to be kind. I hope you can find the same joy I have today. If you see something beautiful today, would you let me know?
Feb 19, 2003
There’s something nice about waking up, like being born again. Doubts and frustrations of the day before seem to have lost their power. I hate losing so many hours to just lying around watching mindless entertainment, but that’s what sleeping amounts to for me. Last night I was transporting weapons for some sort of militia, car chases and shootouts involved. Television and movie makers have to do a pretty good job to beat my subconscious.
On another note, I’d like to once again bring attention to the role music plays in our lives. It plays the role of medication from time to time, and last night Disturbed helped clear up a few mental infections I’d picked up. I believe I’m going to keep a supply in my car, who knows the next time I might come down with the sickness?
I know, that was sad, have a great day.
On another note, I’d like to once again bring attention to the role music plays in our lives. It plays the role of medication from time to time, and last night Disturbed helped clear up a few mental infections I’d picked up. I believe I’m going to keep a supply in my car, who knows the next time I might come down with the sickness?
I know, that was sad, have a great day.
Okay, I’ll try to remain brief tonight. I’m so low on sleep I nearly ran off the road several times on my way to and from Arlington today, so I suppose my writing will veer similarly without careful attention.
More wonderful things! Samoas, and bags of new pens. Now if you haven’t had a Samoa, I’m not recommending them any more than I’d recommend cigarettes, because you can’t quit either without counseling and direct intervention from God Himself. I once chain ate an entire pack of Samoas before I came to my senses, or at least I came dangerously close. They possess your mind and won’t allow anything else in, often driving you to wander the city streets at night approaching anything looking like a girl scout. This can lead to jail, and that can lead to great personal discomfort. All this for an innocent seeming cookie! Next time they try and sell you a pack, I recommend you run away yelling, NO, you can’t have my soul! I’ll be the guy behind you buying up every last pack of Samoas they have.
Pens are cool too, but I have a pet peeve about people taking my pens, regardless of how cheap they are. It’s because I write such personal stuff in my journals, and the whole process of writing is for me an almost spiritual release. To take the instrument of that catharsis is to rob me of something more dear to me than you realize. I don’t hold it against you, honestly, but realize that I’m not being a tightwad when I ask for my pen back, I’d gladly give you a new one instead.
Feb 18, 2003
I don’t understand these, but they’re cool.
1. Getting blindsided isn’t always bad.
2. I do not grow tired of Louisiana Hot Sauce
3. Simple Pleasures, so good, so free
4. The fascination I have with blood
5. My love/hate relationship with Half Price Books
6. The dry feeling in your mouth that gets drier with each cup of coffee
7. The beautiful sinking feeling some songs give you every time you hear them
8. Abject horror, and how I’m drawn to it
Some explanation may be necessary. My fascination with blood is not homicidal, I don’t enjoy seeing other people’s blood, though it doesn’t repulse me. It’s not suicidal either, I don’t let it out on purpose.
It’s strange though, I remember just being fascinated the time the guy at the plasma donation clinic didn’t wrap my arm tightly enough and my arm bled all over the floor. I looked down at the hole in my arm, and I was in awe of the look of the thick and rich flow pulsing out. Even the way it stood in stark contrast to the otherwise clean floor transfixed me.
Now remember that I had just lost a pint or more of plasma, and the additional whole blood loss made me nearly black out, so everything was abstract and a copy of reality anyway, but I still thought it was beautiful. Blood is so powerful, so precious.
Number 7 for me means Innocent by Our Lady Peace, The World I Know by Collective Soul, Last Kiss as covered by Pearl Jam, and Black and Blue by Counting Crows. Even though it hurts in a way, I can’t turn away. I breathe in each song every time I hear it, letting go, opening up and letting myself feel each emotion. I guess music is the most powerful when you let it play you that way.
1. Getting blindsided isn’t always bad.
2. I do not grow tired of Louisiana Hot Sauce
3. Simple Pleasures, so good, so free
4. The fascination I have with blood
5. My love/hate relationship with Half Price Books
6. The dry feeling in your mouth that gets drier with each cup of coffee
7. The beautiful sinking feeling some songs give you every time you hear them
8. Abject horror, and how I’m drawn to it
Some explanation may be necessary. My fascination with blood is not homicidal, I don’t enjoy seeing other people’s blood, though it doesn’t repulse me. It’s not suicidal either, I don’t let it out on purpose.
It’s strange though, I remember just being fascinated the time the guy at the plasma donation clinic didn’t wrap my arm tightly enough and my arm bled all over the floor. I looked down at the hole in my arm, and I was in awe of the look of the thick and rich flow pulsing out. Even the way it stood in stark contrast to the otherwise clean floor transfixed me.
Now remember that I had just lost a pint or more of plasma, and the additional whole blood loss made me nearly black out, so everything was abstract and a copy of reality anyway, but I still thought it was beautiful. Blood is so powerful, so precious.
Number 7 for me means Innocent by Our Lady Peace, The World I Know by Collective Soul, Last Kiss as covered by Pearl Jam, and Black and Blue by Counting Crows. Even though it hurts in a way, I can’t turn away. I breathe in each song every time I hear it, letting go, opening up and letting myself feel each emotion. I guess music is the most powerful when you let it play you that way.
Feb 15, 2003
A little advice taken
Well, today once again I packed up my stuff and headed out to annoy the crap out of some alumni. I’m sorry to all of you out there, but I can’t afford not to. So it meant that today was time to write more. I’ve decided not to post this stuff right away as it’s confusing and would be taken entirely wrong by everyone I know. It’s interesting stuff, and at least it’s more original than that stuff I wrote last week. It came to my attention that all I was writing were the interpretations I associated with some of the character description at the beginning of The Rainbow by Lawrence. If you’ve read it, you’ll realize it’s not the same, but it was loosely based, so I think I’m going to can that storyline for now. The new one involves my view of life in a monastery, sort of.
It’s still early, so I hope I’m not going to be here later on, but that’s starting to look like the plan. I suppose tonight will be yet another foray into the land of Linux. If you have a moment, IM me with either encouragement or Linux tips.
Well, today once again I packed up my stuff and headed out to annoy the crap out of some alumni. I’m sorry to all of you out there, but I can’t afford not to. So it meant that today was time to write more. I’ve decided not to post this stuff right away as it’s confusing and would be taken entirely wrong by everyone I know. It’s interesting stuff, and at least it’s more original than that stuff I wrote last week. It came to my attention that all I was writing were the interpretations I associated with some of the character description at the beginning of The Rainbow by Lawrence. If you’ve read it, you’ll realize it’s not the same, but it was loosely based, so I think I’m going to can that storyline for now. The new one involves my view of life in a monastery, sort of.
It’s still early, so I hope I’m not going to be here later on, but that’s starting to look like the plan. I suppose tonight will be yet another foray into the land of Linux. If you have a moment, IM me with either encouragement or Linux tips.
I’m in ecstasy here. It’s been a while since I’ve messed with MP3’s, so some things have changed, I’m getting my hands on some music I’ve wanted for some time, and it’s making my day. I just listened to The Perfect Drug by Nine Inch Nails. I’m using Winamp, and it automatically cross faded into Head Like A Hole (I’m giddy). Not only that, I just got my hands on a download of Something I Can Never Have (all of these are NIN songs), and that’s the perfect ending to a perfect day.
I distinctly remember hearing this song and loving it the very first time. It was a little after 10 one summer night when I was a sophomore in high school. I was required by my parents to be in bed at about this time, and 106.3 The Edge, which no longer exists in Phoenix, would play the top ten most requested songs of the day starting at 10. Somehow this NIN song made it to the number one slot that night, which is very odd, but I was very pleased. I don’t really know why I enjoyed the song so much, but it’s memories like this that define a great deal of my tastes, and I suppose my life.
I’ll drink a Natural Light every year until the day I die. The reason for this is the friends I’ve had that wouldn’t drink anything else, for it reminds me of all of them. Woff Pappa Luv, Hard Dick, and all the rest. I’ll really miss what we had. It’ll never be the same again, at least let’s hope.
I’ll enjoy cigars often when I have the means to because of the evenings I spent talking with Brian Lee. We would walk to a park and discuss our lives and future wives with each other over a fine cigar. We had so many ideals then, there was never going to be compromise. I pray God shows us both how to pick up where we are now.
Coffee reminds me of Jeff and the nights we hammered out the beginnings of our personalities at Barnes and Noble. That was the first time we contemplated trying cigars, the time we formed our book lists, the time we decided Christianity required a critical mind. We wanted to be the Inklings, but neither of us wrote. You started so many things for me Jeff, thanks for everything.
Tea reminds me of the best summer of my life, nights spent walking the block with one of my best friends in the world, one I’ll likely never spend much time with ever again. Good luck with your wife, your new child, and may God protect you.
Cigarettes will never fail to remind me of Kyle, though I hope never to return to them. There was the time I first got hooked, met a couple wonderful girls (why couldn’t I have been an MK?), and stayed up all night in a strange place watching the sun rise. There was the very next year, I spent nearly everyday for two weeks, smoking with him, talking about love, life, and what’s supposed to come next. I miss smoking, a lot.
It’s late, and my download of Something I Can Never Have terminated halfway through. I’m tired, so tired I won’t even postulate whether that’s some kind of omen. I will tell you, however, that I just fell in love. I just heard Untouchable Face by Ani DiFranco, and melted. Mmmmm.
Feb 14, 2003
Is this life a mere circle?
Or am I the only one
Who sees turning, returning
I’m now back where I’d begun
So, this morning I woke up and received information that my student loans were not going to be awarded and then received a phone call from one of my credit card companies requiring payment I can’t afford. I became rather despondent regarding my financial situation, which is constantly fluctuating between bad and critical. And it occurred to me once again that it doesn’t matter.
The things that have gone well in my life up to this point have had nothing to do with me. The concerns which seem unmanageable aren’t mine. I keep saying that I just can’t deal with one more thing, when the truth is, I’ve not really dealt with any one thing yet. It’s like He’s been taking one thing after the next, and somehow I think He can’t handle this next one. No wonder I keep coming back around, I just don’t seem to learn. I just need a little help letting go.
Or am I the only one
Who sees turning, returning
I’m now back where I’d begun
So, this morning I woke up and received information that my student loans were not going to be awarded and then received a phone call from one of my credit card companies requiring payment I can’t afford. I became rather despondent regarding my financial situation, which is constantly fluctuating between bad and critical. And it occurred to me once again that it doesn’t matter.
The things that have gone well in my life up to this point have had nothing to do with me. The concerns which seem unmanageable aren’t mine. I keep saying that I just can’t deal with one more thing, when the truth is, I’ve not really dealt with any one thing yet. It’s like He’s been taking one thing after the next, and somehow I think He can’t handle this next one. No wonder I keep coming back around, I just don’t seem to learn. I just need a little help letting go.
Feb 12, 2003
"I am not worried, I am not overly concerned
With the status of my emotions 'Oh', She says, 'You're changing.'
But we're always changing"
- Anna Begins, Counting Crows
Ok God, I get the picture, and I’ll try this time
Really try, not to try anymore.
It’s not the way I’m used to doing things
But I’m used to doing things all wrong
It’s so much easier to just let go
When I don’t even know what it is I want
What are you trying to teach me?
When I just stop caring and do nothing
You bring about more than I could ever dream
And then as soon as I begin to grasp, it’s gone.
Okay, that’s me when I’m tired. I got almost no sleep the night before last, and the day felt like an eternity. I often write things down, only to find out later that I’ve totally changed my mind, so usually I throw them out. I kept this, because my change of heart and mind is my topic.
Tell me if this rings a bell. I hate it when people say one thing and mean another. I’ve been told before, “This is for your own good.” I don’t think anyone besides my parents have ever said that and then acted accordingly. It is for my own good that I go to chapel, that I pay insurance on my car, that I pay social security. This is deception, and fills the earth with it’s filthy stench. This is one end of a spectrum.
The next thing down the line of this spectrum is saying one thing one day, and saying something contradictory the next. By this I don’t mean lying, for both things are true, if perhaps using only part of the facts or from only an isolated viewpoint. Some call these half-truths, and some put them in the same category as lies. I think there are times these are unavoidable, and definitely not always wrong (tact often requires them), but I still have a strong distaste for them, even when necessary.
Further down the line comes something very confusing. This is where you say something completely truthful, because it’s honestly what you’re thinking and feeling, and then the next day you say something completely opposite, because once again that’s what you feel and what you think. I hate this the worst, because it’s me, everyday, and seemingly a thousand times. The situation has once again remained the same, but I’ve changed. I’m usually very reserved, contemplative, and I prefer not to speak or express myself, but contemplation never ends in answers for me. There’s always another side of the argument.
So the time comes, or I decide it’s time to fish or cut bait, and I open my mouth. Sometimes I’m just speaking to myself, but that’s irrelevant. I commit, not because I’ve thought it all out and am convinced, but because it’s time to get off the fence, I just got done telling myself that. So it’s out there, it’s spoken, set in stone and for all times. I have to stick to this now, it’s a part of me, and Lord knows I hate turning my back on myself. I don’t mind telling you that I was wrong, but I HATE finding out that I’ve deceived myself.
A million times, and believe me I’ve counted, I’ve told myself that this was a turning point. “You know Mark, seventy years down the road you’ll look back and say, ‘That was the day I turned around, woke up, came to my senses, and became what I am today.’, won’t it be grand?” This gets me every time, I wouldn’t lie to myself right? I’m sure I’m telling the truth, after all, this is the new me!
It’s been a thousand things. Sometimes I’ve told myself that I’m anti-social, and that I’d just never realized it before. I then proceed to shun all my family and friends, I don’t want to talk to anyone, and for a while, that really is me, and your comments and professions of friendship or love mean nothing to me. I just want to be alone, I know this because I just told myself that I like being alone, that I need to be alone. I don’t want you to come back later, this is the new me, I’ll still be here 70 years hence.
I’m full of crap though, I get lonely 2 hours later, begging for anyone to talk to, stranger or friend. In fact this is one of the only things I’m sure of about myself. I’m in dire need of social contact. I love people, and there’s nobody in the world that I’d kick out of my solitary cell. No Twilight Zone was ever scarier than the one where everybody disappeared. Yell at me, berate me, tell me my ideas are rot, but don’t leave me alone.
I’ll tell you what I want. I want to know myself, even just a few more pieces of myself. I want to say I feel something and wake up the next morning still feeling it. I want to believe and not doubt. I want to love and not fall out. I want to comprehend, and not need to relearn. I know I’m changing, it’s true, we are always changing, but is there anything ‘me’ left?
With the status of my emotions 'Oh', She says, 'You're changing.'
But we're always changing"
- Anna Begins, Counting Crows
Ok God, I get the picture, and I’ll try this time
Really try, not to try anymore.
It’s not the way I’m used to doing things
But I’m used to doing things all wrong
It’s so much easier to just let go
When I don’t even know what it is I want
What are you trying to teach me?
When I just stop caring and do nothing
You bring about more than I could ever dream
And then as soon as I begin to grasp, it’s gone.
Okay, that’s me when I’m tired. I got almost no sleep the night before last, and the day felt like an eternity. I often write things down, only to find out later that I’ve totally changed my mind, so usually I throw them out. I kept this, because my change of heart and mind is my topic.
Tell me if this rings a bell. I hate it when people say one thing and mean another. I’ve been told before, “This is for your own good.” I don’t think anyone besides my parents have ever said that and then acted accordingly. It is for my own good that I go to chapel, that I pay insurance on my car, that I pay social security. This is deception, and fills the earth with it’s filthy stench. This is one end of a spectrum.
The next thing down the line of this spectrum is saying one thing one day, and saying something contradictory the next. By this I don’t mean lying, for both things are true, if perhaps using only part of the facts or from only an isolated viewpoint. Some call these half-truths, and some put them in the same category as lies. I think there are times these are unavoidable, and definitely not always wrong (tact often requires them), but I still have a strong distaste for them, even when necessary.
Further down the line comes something very confusing. This is where you say something completely truthful, because it’s honestly what you’re thinking and feeling, and then the next day you say something completely opposite, because once again that’s what you feel and what you think. I hate this the worst, because it’s me, everyday, and seemingly a thousand times. The situation has once again remained the same, but I’ve changed. I’m usually very reserved, contemplative, and I prefer not to speak or express myself, but contemplation never ends in answers for me. There’s always another side of the argument.
So the time comes, or I decide it’s time to fish or cut bait, and I open my mouth. Sometimes I’m just speaking to myself, but that’s irrelevant. I commit, not because I’ve thought it all out and am convinced, but because it’s time to get off the fence, I just got done telling myself that. So it’s out there, it’s spoken, set in stone and for all times. I have to stick to this now, it’s a part of me, and Lord knows I hate turning my back on myself. I don’t mind telling you that I was wrong, but I HATE finding out that I’ve deceived myself.
A million times, and believe me I’ve counted, I’ve told myself that this was a turning point. “You know Mark, seventy years down the road you’ll look back and say, ‘That was the day I turned around, woke up, came to my senses, and became what I am today.’, won’t it be grand?” This gets me every time, I wouldn’t lie to myself right? I’m sure I’m telling the truth, after all, this is the new me!
It’s been a thousand things. Sometimes I’ve told myself that I’m anti-social, and that I’d just never realized it before. I then proceed to shun all my family and friends, I don’t want to talk to anyone, and for a while, that really is me, and your comments and professions of friendship or love mean nothing to me. I just want to be alone, I know this because I just told myself that I like being alone, that I need to be alone. I don’t want you to come back later, this is the new me, I’ll still be here 70 years hence.
I’m full of crap though, I get lonely 2 hours later, begging for anyone to talk to, stranger or friend. In fact this is one of the only things I’m sure of about myself. I’m in dire need of social contact. I love people, and there’s nobody in the world that I’d kick out of my solitary cell. No Twilight Zone was ever scarier than the one where everybody disappeared. Yell at me, berate me, tell me my ideas are rot, but don’t leave me alone.
I’ll tell you what I want. I want to know myself, even just a few more pieces of myself. I want to say I feel something and wake up the next morning still feeling it. I want to believe and not doubt. I want to love and not fall out. I want to comprehend, and not need to relearn. I know I’m changing, it’s true, we are always changing, but is there anything ‘me’ left?
Feb 11, 2003
Okay, this is out of hand once again. Monday nights are the bane of my existence, but only because they precede Tuesdays, my days of torment. Homework? Yeah, but I have to write a few things out of my system.
It was so thought provoking, reading his diary. One of my best friends growing up randomly sent me an email today. I responded and then he responded, I gave him my blog address, and he directed me to this online diary thing that he’s been writing on since about this time last year.
I knew him about as well as I suppose anybody when we were growing up, and right around the time I saw him last it hit me that he had dramatically changed. I’m not sure if the same is true of me or not. I only hear what makes it from his parents to my parents, and I was encouraged to read that he’s doing well and has his head on straight. I relate a lot more to him now than I thought I would. It was really encouraging to hear that I’m not the only one struggling to understand myself, the world, life and love.
Mmmmm, coffee is truly wonderful. It’s warm and comforting, and right now it’s like wrapping an enormous fuzzy blanket around myself. My coffee is my companion at this hour. It doesn’t care that I’ve wasted my time, that I should be in bed. It cares for me and listens anyway, and promises to be with me as long as I need.
You know, at times like this I feel the commonly held emotion shared by many disillusioned Christians. I should be closer to God. The words I used to describe my coffee describe my God. Honestly, I know he’s omnipotent and deserving of praise, all that stuff, but seriously, I wish he’d have a drink with me or comment on my blog, even if he only laughed and said something like, “You have so much to learn son.” I know that’s heretical and wrong and that I’ll suffer in hell for it, I should just sing the spiritual orgasm song (Yes Lord, Yes Lord, Yes Yes Lord? You know the one), and not think the way I do. Seriously though, why shouldn’t I want it? Didn’t the disciples get to hang out with God? Did they get to do “guy stuff”?
It’s simply true that in my life, I’m not saying for anyone else, I need the lofty, the intellectual, the abstract and the philosophical ideal. I also need the physical, the hugs, the warmth that doesn’t need description, tenderness, vulnerability to trustworthy friends, the silence full of meaning, the awesome, inescapable beauty of tiny things. It’s primarily because I’m tired, but I really wish He was here right now to hug me. I miss Him.
It was so thought provoking, reading his diary. One of my best friends growing up randomly sent me an email today. I responded and then he responded, I gave him my blog address, and he directed me to this online diary thing that he’s been writing on since about this time last year.
I knew him about as well as I suppose anybody when we were growing up, and right around the time I saw him last it hit me that he had dramatically changed. I’m not sure if the same is true of me or not. I only hear what makes it from his parents to my parents, and I was encouraged to read that he’s doing well and has his head on straight. I relate a lot more to him now than I thought I would. It was really encouraging to hear that I’m not the only one struggling to understand myself, the world, life and love.
Mmmmm, coffee is truly wonderful. It’s warm and comforting, and right now it’s like wrapping an enormous fuzzy blanket around myself. My coffee is my companion at this hour. It doesn’t care that I’ve wasted my time, that I should be in bed. It cares for me and listens anyway, and promises to be with me as long as I need.
You know, at times like this I feel the commonly held emotion shared by many disillusioned Christians. I should be closer to God. The words I used to describe my coffee describe my God. Honestly, I know he’s omnipotent and deserving of praise, all that stuff, but seriously, I wish he’d have a drink with me or comment on my blog, even if he only laughed and said something like, “You have so much to learn son.” I know that’s heretical and wrong and that I’ll suffer in hell for it, I should just sing the spiritual orgasm song (Yes Lord, Yes Lord, Yes Yes Lord? You know the one), and not think the way I do. Seriously though, why shouldn’t I want it? Didn’t the disciples get to hang out with God? Did they get to do “guy stuff”?
It’s simply true that in my life, I’m not saying for anyone else, I need the lofty, the intellectual, the abstract and the philosophical ideal. I also need the physical, the hugs, the warmth that doesn’t need description, tenderness, vulnerability to trustworthy friends, the silence full of meaning, the awesome, inescapable beauty of tiny things. It’s primarily because I’m tired, but I really wish He was here right now to hug me. I miss Him.
Feb 9, 2003
Heart Felt Confessions of a Hopeless Romantic
His world is filled with curtseys and bows
The ladies and gents dance all through the night
His armor shines brightly as the damsels he saves
From windmills and wicked men, unscrupulous knaves
But the maidens he sees are young women today
Their corsets and tea parties taken away
To where should this gentleman of yesteryear go?
What use is his chivalry, what else does he know?
‘Tis best, live in dreamland and offer your hand
Bow to your ladies, take your high moral stand
Condemned to live lonely with your visions so grand
With respect and my pity, grip your hourglass sand
Where you go, I’ll not follow . . .
Okay, so I’ve decided upon a course of action to counteract the brain numbing boredom at my telemarketing job. I’ve taken inspiration from the Merry Scholar, and I’m going to write short stories, ON THE CLOCK! Yes, the stipulation shall be that I must come up with all of my material and major plot arrangement between clocking in and clocking out to sell alumni directories on Saturdays and Sundays. I’ll allow for some minor spelling, grammatical, and other editorial changes, but the bulk must be done while being paid to do something else. Anyway, this isn’t tonight’s blog, just wanted you to be aware of Short Stories On The Clock By the way, Edward, the current character I've chosen to be the Hopeless Romantic, may very well have some interesting and complicated plot developments later down the line, so don't assume he's me. He's not any of you either. Every character I write will be a part of me, but I'm not writing anyone's biography here.
Feb 8, 2003
Spannungbogen: The self imposed delay between the desire for a thing and the act of reaching out to grasp the thing.
- Dune, Frank Herbert
Okay, I’m ready to admit I need help. I have a problem. I’ve never felt so crazed with desire, and it has to stop, or somebody is going to get hurt. It consumes my mind completely, often for long periods of time, and to the detriment of other areas of my life. Tonight, I realized the horrible truth: I’m addicted to books.
This isn’t as high and noble as some might believe. I am indeed greatly in love with the reading of books, and that’s all very healthy and good. The problem arises because I’m never satisfied. I love the feel and texture of books, their smell, their look, and all that they represent. I can’t simply read them, I caress them, I inhale deeply and ecstatically breathe them in. I have a desire to be with them, even to own them.
I picked up a beautiful volume of 5 novels by Steinbeck tonight, and nearly lost all touch with reality. I haven’t even read all the way through any of Steinbeck’s works. Imagine what would have happened if it was Fitzgerald, Poe, Wilde, Lewis, or Hemmingway! I stood there in Half Price books, and like Sirens they all called to me. I actually calculated how many books I could buy and still have enough money to put gas in my car to make it to work and class up until my next paycheck. My sickness knows no bounds, and I fear it’s only picking up speed.
In other news, I’m not doing very well at selling alumni directories. Imagine this, I can’t even sell to the over 70 crowd, what am I doing wrong as a salesman? Seriously, doesn’t every 75 year old long for instant access to over 180,000 people who went to the same school that they’ve never met? And for only $80, what a deal! I spoke with a lady in California today from the class of ’26. I had a script telling me that she wanted a book with 10 pages of history about the university. You talk about history, her children may have fought in World War II! I seriously doubt she feels any need to look up people from college. I have trouble remembering people from my freshman year, I bet it’s a little harder some 80 years later.
Okay, back to my fun term of the day. The reason I was in Half Price Books was to find that word. I own the second, third, and fourth volumes of the Dune series, but only borrowed the first, and still don’t own it. I was thinking of this line, and couldn’t remember it, and I didn’t feel like waiting until Tuesday when I could go to the library at UTA. This brought to mind an age old question that you may think is trite to bring up, but I’m eternally curious. Can we think, or what’s more important, can we feel without words?
Our language obviously does not contain the word spannungbogen, though I’m sure it’s understood by the description. It is curious however that we rarely think about this concept. It’s not the same thing as patience. It seems active and planned, rather than calm and passive. This word sounds strategic, and while patience seems to be a restraining or abatement of desire, this word seems to speak of more intense and well ordered desire.
That one word takes in all the meaning of the words used to describe it, built as though out of simple building blocks. There are no synonyms, it’s not simply a different flavor of those words, it is more complex, it is higher. Each of the words in the definition are themselves made up of even more atomic words. In order to understand the higher, more complex meanings, the lower must be first be known, or at least it would seem.
As we think more complex thoughts, are there more complex feelings? Is there an understanding of how the emotions interplay and relate that cannot be obtained without a more thorough understanding of the base emotions? That’s how I feel, carried about from one base emotion to the next without any overarching order or pattern. Perhaps it is through lack of education, perhaps through lack of experience. Perhaps it was the prenatal surge of testosterone that nearly severed the hemispheres of my cerebrum.
Maybe I’m just snobbishly assuming that with a greater vocabulary comes some sense of a higher existence, thus giving me superiority with each obscure and obtuse word I acquire. I’ll bet that’s it.
- Dune, Frank Herbert
Okay, I’m ready to admit I need help. I have a problem. I’ve never felt so crazed with desire, and it has to stop, or somebody is going to get hurt. It consumes my mind completely, often for long periods of time, and to the detriment of other areas of my life. Tonight, I realized the horrible truth: I’m addicted to books.
This isn’t as high and noble as some might believe. I am indeed greatly in love with the reading of books, and that’s all very healthy and good. The problem arises because I’m never satisfied. I love the feel and texture of books, their smell, their look, and all that they represent. I can’t simply read them, I caress them, I inhale deeply and ecstatically breathe them in. I have a desire to be with them, even to own them.
I picked up a beautiful volume of 5 novels by Steinbeck tonight, and nearly lost all touch with reality. I haven’t even read all the way through any of Steinbeck’s works. Imagine what would have happened if it was Fitzgerald, Poe, Wilde, Lewis, or Hemmingway! I stood there in Half Price books, and like Sirens they all called to me. I actually calculated how many books I could buy and still have enough money to put gas in my car to make it to work and class up until my next paycheck. My sickness knows no bounds, and I fear it’s only picking up speed.
In other news, I’m not doing very well at selling alumni directories. Imagine this, I can’t even sell to the over 70 crowd, what am I doing wrong as a salesman? Seriously, doesn’t every 75 year old long for instant access to over 180,000 people who went to the same school that they’ve never met? And for only $80, what a deal! I spoke with a lady in California today from the class of ’26. I had a script telling me that she wanted a book with 10 pages of history about the university. You talk about history, her children may have fought in World War II! I seriously doubt she feels any need to look up people from college. I have trouble remembering people from my freshman year, I bet it’s a little harder some 80 years later.
Okay, back to my fun term of the day. The reason I was in Half Price Books was to find that word. I own the second, third, and fourth volumes of the Dune series, but only borrowed the first, and still don’t own it. I was thinking of this line, and couldn’t remember it, and I didn’t feel like waiting until Tuesday when I could go to the library at UTA. This brought to mind an age old question that you may think is trite to bring up, but I’m eternally curious. Can we think, or what’s more important, can we feel without words?
Our language obviously does not contain the word spannungbogen, though I’m sure it’s understood by the description. It is curious however that we rarely think about this concept. It’s not the same thing as patience. It seems active and planned, rather than calm and passive. This word sounds strategic, and while patience seems to be a restraining or abatement of desire, this word seems to speak of more intense and well ordered desire.
That one word takes in all the meaning of the words used to describe it, built as though out of simple building blocks. There are no synonyms, it’s not simply a different flavor of those words, it is more complex, it is higher. Each of the words in the definition are themselves made up of even more atomic words. In order to understand the higher, more complex meanings, the lower must be first be known, or at least it would seem.
As we think more complex thoughts, are there more complex feelings? Is there an understanding of how the emotions interplay and relate that cannot be obtained without a more thorough understanding of the base emotions? That’s how I feel, carried about from one base emotion to the next without any overarching order or pattern. Perhaps it is through lack of education, perhaps through lack of experience. Perhaps it was the prenatal surge of testosterone that nearly severed the hemispheres of my cerebrum.
Maybe I’m just snobbishly assuming that with a greater vocabulary comes some sense of a higher existence, thus giving me superiority with each obscure and obtuse word I acquire. I’ll bet that’s it.
“I want you to hit me as hard as you can.”
It’s been far too long so turn it loud
It’s something I need, my ears? Let ‘em bleed
Bang my head, turn it louder
Throw me into the crowd or
Let me drive, fast as Hell
And all will be well when I’m in the pit.
Let’s get crazy, let’s mosh.
Officer, let me explain. You see, my music was loud, now do you understand? It’s not speeding if your ears are bleeding.
So tonight was fantastic, and accordingly, I’m depressed. I went and saw the Pianist tonight, and it was beautiful, I nearly cried. So many feelings were brought out by that movie, it’s hard to begin.
The first thing I thought as the movie began was how much I regret not playing the piano any more. It’s such a wonderful instrument, I love hearing and I love watching. I gave up too soon, like so many things in my life.
The second thing was hate, and how little I understand it. I truly am a child. The scary thing about hate is not what it will do to me, but that it is in me. The Nazis were human, despite what’s comfortable to believe. I just want to crawl into a Quaker hole and have everyone get along. The only violence should occur among friends in front of a punk rock band that’s angry in a way that’s just for show.
I’m so tired, and it’s that time of week again ladies and gentlemen, I’m off to the phones tomorrow bright and early. Pray I’m not calling for you.
Feb 6, 2003
Well I made it. I slept for a good 20 minutes last night, and then another 40 minutes in my car before going to my second class. I think I did alright on my test, so I guess it was worth it. My problem now lies in the fact that UT Arlington is going to try to drop all of my classes tomorrow, again.
Since I didn’t take the TASP in high school, since I didn’t go to high school, they’re requiring verification that I can read. Due to classes I’ve taken, they’ve exempted me from the other portions of the test, but since I haven’t taken any standardized literature classes, they need confirmation that I have a high school reading level. I have 115 credit hours completed. I’m a last semester senior for all intents and purposes, and they aren’t sure I can read. I have to get them an official copy of my SAT scores now. I called the SAT board, and they’ve sent me confirmation that they forwarded the scores. This would seem to take care of things, but you’d be wrong in assuming that.
The problem is, they only download scores once a month. Now I know I’ve bitched about this before, but honestly, what the hell goes on in that office? I check my email way too often, I admit this, but if someone’s financial and academic future is on the line, don’t you think you could just click the damned button? It’s not hard, I could get a job there, go through training, learn how to do it according to their procedures, do it myself, give my two weeks notice, and still be more efficient than them.
I can’t take them the scores, they have to be officially sent, and they’ve already been sent, they’re just waiting there, somewhere online, and there isn’t a damned thing I can do about it. I get to wake up early tomorrow, my only day off, and drive back out there to show them an official paper explaining that when they do decide to wander back onto the scary internet, my SAT scores will be there smiling back at them.
I’m sorry, but today is going to have to be a concentrated bitching day. I think the lack of sleep contributes. I was trying to be good today and have a positive attitude. I usually view the students in my classes as morons, and I’ve been trying to do better about this. We were talking about marketing today, and we brought up Pace salsa. It was mentioned that the lids are green for mild, yellow for medium, and red for hot. On the way out of class, two guys were talking about this again, and one said, “Yeah, I don’t know why they didn’t just do it like red light green light, you know, then medium would be like orange.” I am honestly dumber every time I attend that class.
On the positive side I started a new checking account, which always makes me feel good, and I enrolled for their automatic savings plan which takes $25 out of my checking and puts it into savings. This is silly because I can put it right back, but it made the savings account free, so I’m not arguing. I also get to go into work at the newspaper tomorrow for some more hours, and that’s happy. Most of all, I finally found the name of the movie I had seen a preview for and wanted to see. It’s called Max, it’s got John Cusak in it, and it’s about Adolf Hitler. I’m going to go see it tomorrow night, so things are really quite bright, so please forgive my sour attitude, I’ll be better when I get some sleep.
It's like a bad movie
She is lookin' through me
If you were me, then you'd be
Screamin' "Someone shoot me!"
As I fail miserably,
Tryin' to get the girl all the bad guys want.
She's the girl all the bad guys want!
There she goes again
With fishnets on, and dreadlocks in her hair
She broke my heart, I wanna be sedated
All I wanted was to see her naked!
- Girl all the bad guys want, Bowling for Soup
I am a sick, sick man. I’m up at 2:20 a.m. with marshmallows in my coffee writing and reading blogs instead of studying. I would just go to sleep, but then I’d feel bad for not studying. The internet is a drug, thank God it doesn’t leave track marks. The marshmallows were new tonight, and not bad.
I’ve been informed of many things tonight, the most important of which is that I’m in a weird mood. This is always a startling revelation, because it usually happens when I feel like I’m being very characteristically me. I think I surprised a few people, but that’s cool, no hard feelings I hope. That was earlier, but now I know I’m feeling weird.
I was just in the bathroom, took of my shirt for reasons which escape me, and spent 15 minutes playing with my hair. I’ve decided I’m growing it out long again. I think if I straighten it, it’ll be okay. I liked having long hair before, I just didn’t like the poof ball that it made in back. The hair back to the elastic would be pulled straight, and then the rest would look exactly like you should put shower gel in it and lather up. I suggested this to a few girls at the time, no takers, I guess we both lost on that deal. I also think I want an eyebrow piercing and a cartilage piercing. I also think that I’d like to not give a fuck anymore, it’s more fun, but I’ll probably revert back tomorrow.
You know, I’m really quite happy with my life, I just want to know what it’s like to do all these other things. I want to grow my hair out and be a hippie for a while. I’d like to shave my head and join a gang and get tattoos and get into huge brawls. I’d like to get into cars and work on an old muscle car, and then turn around and drive a rice rocket for a while. I’d like to be a skater, listen to punk, and put safety pins in everything I own. Just to know who those people are, just to get a taste of their lives. There’s nothing wrong with mine, I like it too.
When Dan got his tattoo, “Nosce Te Ipsum”, I thought, that’s cool, I’d get something like that. This, I discover, would be the height of hypocrisy for me. Not only do I not know a shred of Latin, but I don’t know a thing about myself. I just wasted another 15 minutes looking up gnothi sauton, the Greek equivalent, or rather precedent phrase. I’d get that, maybe. At least I can stumble through Greek, and even if I don’t know myself, it’s a good mandate.
So now it’s 3:05. I’ve got a test tomorrow, so I don’t think I’ll be sleeping. Why couldn’t I just read this book when I was supposed to? Now I’m cramming away facts and they’re all spilling out of my head. I’ll be too tired tomorrow to remember any of it, so what’s the point? I don’t know, it’s one more piece in the puzzle to earn my license to work.
It’s funny, I associate sleep deprivation with an almost euphoric perception that my senses have all been heightened. I seriously doubt that this is the case, but usually when I haven’t had much sleep, I’ve been drinking massive amounts of caffeine, and caffeine is a neural stimulant. It’s sad, I get to the point where I’m hearing things that aren’t there, and I can almost perceive things like the walls moving, doors opening, and most often, faces in the dark and bodies on the other sides of darkened windows. If you were to gain a look through my mind John Malkovich style while I’m sleep deprived, you’d probably scream and never return. It’s frightening.
Feb 3, 2003
Good morning, just turned midnight. Today just plain sucked, with a few rays of hope coming through. I woke up, still sick, but not debilitated, so off to the best job I know of, telemarketing. I spent eight hours today trying to sell alumni directories, and nearly had to shoot myself in the head. I honestly have no idea how long I can continue to subject myself to this for money. If I end up calling one of you or your parents, feel free to swear at me, I would if I were you.
I say good morning, because I won’t be sleeping tonight, and I’m comfortable with that. The world is really quite a big place after all. There is more beauty around than I can take, so much I see and just marvel at. I’m getting more and more comfortable not understanding things, but I’m a little too close to adopting an attitude that scares me. I’ve heard, from some girls who meant a lot to me, the concept of never wanting anything so much that you’re disappointed when you don’t get it. There have been times I’ve thought about feeling that way. That scares me, but it never lasts.
I can’t live my life for any length of time denying that I desire passionately. I long and I yearn to a fault, but I couldn’t and wouldn’t want it any other way. I’d rather live my life with ecstatic highs and devastating lows than play it safe and never feel pain. I’m a borderline masochist, and I almost enjoy the pain and the anguish of lost dreams, because I still believe in them, and I think they’re worth it. I’ve had my heart handed to me on the floor before, and I will again, and I’m not going to do anything to try and stop it. I’ll open myself up to hurt at any time, and I don’t need much encouragement. There are so many things I look for in life, and you can tell me they don’t exist, that I’m only asking to get hurt and that I’m crazy. Maybe I am, but thank you God!, it can be so beautiful this way.
This is all true of me, and I know it. This doesn’t mean I always feel it. There are times I question why I put so much effort into chasing after the un-obtainable. My nearly four years of academic instruction are a good example. I want a comfortable life with a loving wife. I can’t have either, but I’ve spent $80k in the pursuit. I’ve thought about changing my dreams, living a life on the road, in poverty, reading books, just on my own. But I can’t do that, I want a place to call my own and a lifelong companion who enjoys sex. There are things in this life I could have, obtainable goals, if I could settle, but I can't. I’ll die still wanting these higher things, but the only thing I’ll regret is not smoking more. What is the purpose of my long life?
I finished Catch-22, and you must read it, it’s absolutely amazing. It’s the funniest thing I’ve come across since the Hitchhiker’s guide to the Galaxy, and that’s the funniest thing in the world. It’s also pointed at times, showing the absurdity of life, the depressing harshness of reality. It’s about World War II, it’s not at all historically accurate, and it couldn’t be truer to life. Those who lie succeed, and those who believe in God question. People die for nothing, and we are all crazy. There’s always a catch, it’s always the best in the book, and everyone’s got a share.
Rules for commenting on this post:
1. You have to tell me a dream you have for this life.
2. You have to tell me something beautiful.
I say good morning, because I won’t be sleeping tonight, and I’m comfortable with that. The world is really quite a big place after all. There is more beauty around than I can take, so much I see and just marvel at. I’m getting more and more comfortable not understanding things, but I’m a little too close to adopting an attitude that scares me. I’ve heard, from some girls who meant a lot to me, the concept of never wanting anything so much that you’re disappointed when you don’t get it. There have been times I’ve thought about feeling that way. That scares me, but it never lasts.
I can’t live my life for any length of time denying that I desire passionately. I long and I yearn to a fault, but I couldn’t and wouldn’t want it any other way. I’d rather live my life with ecstatic highs and devastating lows than play it safe and never feel pain. I’m a borderline masochist, and I almost enjoy the pain and the anguish of lost dreams, because I still believe in them, and I think they’re worth it. I’ve had my heart handed to me on the floor before, and I will again, and I’m not going to do anything to try and stop it. I’ll open myself up to hurt at any time, and I don’t need much encouragement. There are so many things I look for in life, and you can tell me they don’t exist, that I’m only asking to get hurt and that I’m crazy. Maybe I am, but thank you God!, it can be so beautiful this way.
This is all true of me, and I know it. This doesn’t mean I always feel it. There are times I question why I put so much effort into chasing after the un-obtainable. My nearly four years of academic instruction are a good example. I want a comfortable life with a loving wife. I can’t have either, but I’ve spent $80k in the pursuit. I’ve thought about changing my dreams, living a life on the road, in poverty, reading books, just on my own. But I can’t do that, I want a place to call my own and a lifelong companion who enjoys sex. There are things in this life I could have, obtainable goals, if I could settle, but I can't. I’ll die still wanting these higher things, but the only thing I’ll regret is not smoking more. What is the purpose of my long life?
I finished Catch-22, and you must read it, it’s absolutely amazing. It’s the funniest thing I’ve come across since the Hitchhiker’s guide to the Galaxy, and that’s the funniest thing in the world. It’s also pointed at times, showing the absurdity of life, the depressing harshness of reality. It’s about World War II, it’s not at all historically accurate, and it couldn’t be truer to life. Those who lie succeed, and those who believe in God question. People die for nothing, and we are all crazy. There’s always a catch, it’s always the best in the book, and everyone’s got a share.
Rules for commenting on this post:
1. You have to tell me a dream you have for this life.
2. You have to tell me something beautiful.
Feb 2, 2003
Feeling alone in a crowd of people.
I don’t want to stand apart, to remain aloof, yet I’m trapped.
Longing so deeply for something so simple, yet so out of reach.
How can I be a thousand things I never could?
What is it you see in me, and who am I to you?
Let me go, leave me be, but can you love me?
These words speak my feelings, did I hear them from you?
Can you see the small boy who hides silent and scared?
Do you see the young man who adores and only lives when you’re near?
My heart aches when it’s full, is it sickness to you?
I’m just fine with me, pride mingled with self esteem,
But only at times, because in-between
I’m enraptured with you, because I don’t understand
How you’re soft and you’re tender, unbending as steel.
You're lovely and kind, and you bite with your words.
You’re my friend, and yet . . .
Something about you won't let me rest.
Can I spend another day with you?
Yeah, I do feel sick right now, I ache everywhere, and I get to spend tomorrow on the phone selling alumni directories. If you read this and it made no sense, was too sappy, too personal, too transparent, or just too lame . . .then let me introduce myself. My name is Mark, pleased for you to meet me. Feel free to pass judgement, God knows I have, I've posted this 20 times.
I don’t want to stand apart, to remain aloof, yet I’m trapped.
Longing so deeply for something so simple, yet so out of reach.
How can I be a thousand things I never could?
What is it you see in me, and who am I to you?
Let me go, leave me be, but can you love me?
These words speak my feelings, did I hear them from you?
Can you see the small boy who hides silent and scared?
Do you see the young man who adores and only lives when you’re near?
My heart aches when it’s full, is it sickness to you?
I’m just fine with me, pride mingled with self esteem,
But only at times, because in-between
I’m enraptured with you, because I don’t understand
How you’re soft and you’re tender, unbending as steel.
You're lovely and kind, and you bite with your words.
You’re my friend, and yet . . .
Something about you won't let me rest.
Can I spend another day with you?
Yeah, I do feel sick right now, I ache everywhere, and I get to spend tomorrow on the phone selling alumni directories. If you read this and it made no sense, was too sappy, too personal, too transparent, or just too lame . . .then let me introduce myself. My name is Mark, pleased for you to meet me. Feel free to pass judgement, God knows I have, I've posted this 20 times.
Feb 1, 2003
Okay, so it’s Friday, and I suck. I'm up late doing nothing besides reading books and blogs. It’s not completely a wash yet, because I still have plans to go out later and play broom ball with my sister and the college group of a church I don’t attend. I think this still puts me at a LeTourneau level or worse for a Friday night. This situation, combined with the fact that I just applied for and got another telemarketing job because I’m too poor for scruples, have led me to focus my eyes on the prize, my dream.
My dreams for the future are quite simple. I want a 24-hour coffee shop/bookstore. This place will also sell cigars, and I hope to have fine alcohol of some sort available. Ideally, I’d like to start this place either in Phoenix or somewhere in Colorado, but anywhere will do. I want someone who can share this dream, too. I used to have two friends that held this to be the greatest achievement possible in life, but they’re both getting married, so we’ll see. I’m not even kidding myself to believe I could find a girl that would do this with me, which is why I still believe that I’ll end up with one of my best guy friends as a life mate/co-founder, though they’ll probably be married. I think it’d be cool if I could find a place to start this operation with a small apartment upstairs and then I could live up there. I think I could be quite happy having daily debates and spending my time discussing and enjoying fine alcohol, tobacco, and books with customers. We could have live music, put up local artists’ work on the walls, mmmmm. Okay, with that in mind, I’m ready to start my new job, got to get capital.
So, this evening was interesting to say the least. My younger sister, Sarah (17), and I went to a college activity which involved the college group she is about to enter at Plano Bible Chapel, which is the church most of my family attends, besides my older sister and I. Also present were several Christian groups based at UT Dallas, and some other local groups. About 50 or so in all showed up, and we played broomball. Broomball is immensely fun, and requires almost no skill whatsoever to enjoy. Most of the time is spent falling down, or watching and laughing as other people fall down. Great icebreaker, if you’ll excuse the pun, since the game is played on a skating rink.
Within the first 10 minutes of playing, someone accidentally hit my sister in the face with their stick. Though it’s called broomball, I’ve never actually played with brooms. The stick used has a hard rubber like end on it which looks a little like the broom with the bristles all cut short, which is how the game started out. She got about an inch long cut over her eye, and a bigger cut on the inside of her lip. This proceeded to bleed quite profusely, and scared me quite a bit more than it scared her. I’m very proud of her though, she took it like a trooper, even though as with most head wounds, it looked horrible. It looks like she may need to get it looked at tomorrow and sewn up to keep from getting a bigger scar than necessary.
Since I personally don’t know anyone there, I just sit next to Sarah and say hi to people who come to check on her. She informs me that she feels awkward with me just standing around, so I ended up playing again for a while, and oddly enough seeing a girl who looked amazingly familiar. I couldn’t place where I knew her, so I’m sure I looked stupid looking over at her every couple of minutes trying to figure it out. It finally clicked that she worked at Corban Communications, location of my internship two years ago. She still works there, remembered me, and so I was able to talk to her and her friends for the rest of the time we were there. I always get a thrill out of seeing people after a long time. Other than that, I’m now tired, bored, and I’ve got training in the morning for new telemarketing job. Have a great weekend.
My dreams for the future are quite simple. I want a 24-hour coffee shop/bookstore. This place will also sell cigars, and I hope to have fine alcohol of some sort available. Ideally, I’d like to start this place either in Phoenix or somewhere in Colorado, but anywhere will do. I want someone who can share this dream, too. I used to have two friends that held this to be the greatest achievement possible in life, but they’re both getting married, so we’ll see. I’m not even kidding myself to believe I could find a girl that would do this with me, which is why I still believe that I’ll end up with one of my best guy friends as a life mate/co-founder, though they’ll probably be married. I think it’d be cool if I could find a place to start this operation with a small apartment upstairs and then I could live up there. I think I could be quite happy having daily debates and spending my time discussing and enjoying fine alcohol, tobacco, and books with customers. We could have live music, put up local artists’ work on the walls, mmmmm. Okay, with that in mind, I’m ready to start my new job, got to get capital.
So, this evening was interesting to say the least. My younger sister, Sarah (17), and I went to a college activity which involved the college group she is about to enter at Plano Bible Chapel, which is the church most of my family attends, besides my older sister and I. Also present were several Christian groups based at UT Dallas, and some other local groups. About 50 or so in all showed up, and we played broomball. Broomball is immensely fun, and requires almost no skill whatsoever to enjoy. Most of the time is spent falling down, or watching and laughing as other people fall down. Great icebreaker, if you’ll excuse the pun, since the game is played on a skating rink.
Within the first 10 minutes of playing, someone accidentally hit my sister in the face with their stick. Though it’s called broomball, I’ve never actually played with brooms. The stick used has a hard rubber like end on it which looks a little like the broom with the bristles all cut short, which is how the game started out. She got about an inch long cut over her eye, and a bigger cut on the inside of her lip. This proceeded to bleed quite profusely, and scared me quite a bit more than it scared her. I’m very proud of her though, she took it like a trooper, even though as with most head wounds, it looked horrible. It looks like she may need to get it looked at tomorrow and sewn up to keep from getting a bigger scar than necessary.
Since I personally don’t know anyone there, I just sit next to Sarah and say hi to people who come to check on her. She informs me that she feels awkward with me just standing around, so I ended up playing again for a while, and oddly enough seeing a girl who looked amazingly familiar. I couldn’t place where I knew her, so I’m sure I looked stupid looking over at her every couple of minutes trying to figure it out. It finally clicked that she worked at Corban Communications, location of my internship two years ago. She still works there, remembered me, and so I was able to talk to her and her friends for the rest of the time we were there. I always get a thrill out of seeing people after a long time. Other than that, I’m now tired, bored, and I’ve got training in the morning for new telemarketing job. Have a great weekend.
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