August 3, 2009

I woke up to an alarm at 6:30, but I could've sworn I set it to 6. I was annoyed that I was being pulled out of my dream.

I was Timmy on the Fairly Oddparents (a kids show). I had a long list of wishes and my godparents were granting them, just like on the show. Everything looked like a cartoon. I particularly liked the cartoon horse, it was white with white hair and white hooves and a white horn on it's head. It was pretty good looking, considering my mind made it up. It was fun to ride around on. Then the alarm went off.

I had to pay a visit to my dress maker today, since she said my projects should be ready by Monday.

Yet again, I woke up earlier than I should have, but I used the spare time to do a little housework, so that there wouldn't be any discussions about " I get to do all the slave work and you scratch your butt". I'm sure that I took care of pointless argues.

So, after I came back ( on foot, 'cause I spent my last money on cigarettes - but, hey, I gotta respect myself a little here, for I cannot, ever, touch with my lips again that nasty crap my folks are smoking ! ) all heated up from the awful sun outside, the music in my earphones, and some retarded 'wise-guy' driver, I thought to myself that it would make a good idea if I recorded more of my day-logs here, instead of bottlling it up.

Mum came rushing and snorring, blowing rage more than those dragons from my cildhood fairy-tales... She was nervous because of another pacient...Yeah, and I guess I must be really mentally challenged, if I fail to see where's my fault in that. Me and my cousin always end up yelled at for this logical reason :

___(insert imaginary fault here)___

Not to mention that I've been extra careful not to blow up my cover - everybody in my family believes that I obeyed them in forgetting all about I think we need a better codename for this.

Like I said it before, I want to live my own life, not let others do that for me.

Sweet Mother of Jesus! I just remembered something worth mentioning! But in a minute, because I gotta go get some more destruction for my lungs...:)

Just great! Marvellous! Magnificent! Rocambolesque! I just had to pick up the phone! I look like Sylvester right now...Grrr!

Hold that thought, because I'll finish as soon as I get back.

I hurried on the street to be on time at mum's workplace, and, as I expected, she had called me to come help her pack-up and carry a whole lot of raspberry sorbet made by the cooking staff from the hospital, about 20 fresh eggs, coffee, chocolate and some bottles of Jack.

I think there's a little need for an explanation here, seeing that some people actually read this. So, where I live, it's considered an obligation to bring presents, goods, money (yes, I know it's against the law; it's called corruption).

As soon as we arrive home, she tells me what's been bothering her, whilst I think to myself that I'm so lucky to have inherited my father's genes of nonchalance and solitarism. I told her not to blow a fuse, because words are mere words. It's no reason why one should gather so much negative energy regarding some words coming from some co-worker. It's worthless. As if words could bite your ass...Please! Putting so much feeling and focusing on such a small thing does not bring oneself anything. Nope. Nada. No, sir. Not even the other's appologies. Conversely, it could add up to the daily stress level, resulting - God Forbid!- AMI or a cerebral aneuyrism.

Whatever. You can't teach an old dog new tricks.

Returning to my previous ideas, which I earlier left behind, I must embed here, inside of this time, my idea of union between two people.

Yeah, that's right. It's just how it should be. No piece of paper could represent the proof of love between two human beings, unless it's a love letter. No official label is needed to state that 2 people belong together. They don't need that crap. It's insipid, cold and repulsive. It's like someone comes with a bumper-sticker to label you, like the price tags in a supermarket...It's inhuman. It drenches the love out, leaving just an empty shell.

And the saddest part is that more and more people tie these bonds between them without any reason or feeling. Like checking out items on a shopping list.

But that's reality, and as once Ovid said : " Ars est celare artem ".

◊ It's half past eleven now. I just hung up the phone. You were at the other end of the line. Of all the things I wanted to tell, I couldn't manage to come up with a decent conversation. Like some magic - super - mega - power detergent washed away all the thoughts.

No more synapses firing.

Numb.

Simultaneously, I found myself in an eclectic state of listening to your low bass voice. I just wanted you to keep talking. What you were saying was of no matter to me, as long as you kept on, it made perfect sense.

The state when one enjoys a magnificent piece of music, with the notes transcending through the flesh and bones.

It was like this, only better.

I only admired the great performance of your voice, doing magic tricks with the rabbits of my cerebral sulci.

Words were of no use.

Holding the phone, knowing you were at the other end of the line, sufficed more than enough.

---

after submitting I'll call and confess.

Oh how I yearn to return to my "College and Coffee Shop" days, when I would walk around town after community college or on the weekends to the coffee shop, to talk to friends and spend too much money on coffee.

I would walk to the library to browse for the latest Piers Anthony and log into Everything2, where I spent hours reading about other peoples' youthful experiences including but not limited to: loves, losses, triumphs, philosophies, etc. That is why I love you guys - everybody here is tantamount to a great brain that isn't afraid to tackle anything... that's why we're here, is it not?

But after quitting college to work, and spending over three years now in the "grown-up world," I've come to see some things in different light.

There is a song by Five for Fighting that says something about "Only one hundred years to live." Well, if I make it to 100... you know what, I can't even say. My mind has changed so much already and I'm only 23... so who knows? But my point is: Even if we live a hundred years, we will never be able to see and do Everything.

But the wonderful thing is - that's why there are so many people in the world! Nobody can do it all, but everyone can do something, and because of that and the fact that people will find ways to intermingle, we learn from one another.

And that is a beautiful truth. The hard part is when we are stubborn, and cling to old ideas like a security blanket. I've been guilty of this myself, so I can talk! I'm sure I'm not the only person that has said "If I could go back to my body then but keep my mind now..."

But like Yusuke said, "I don't deal in What-If's." I can't go back, but the sentiments remain. I firmly believe it is never too late to repent my sins. If my heart is true, I can reclaim my innocence, but retain my wisdom.

Above all else, do what is right. Listen to your heart, you'll know.

Yesterday, I woke up at 8:30, after going to bed only five hours earlier. The morning sun hadn't a chance to heat things up when I was called away from my slumber at the chance for a day away from the normal. After politely declining my invitation at first, I then dragged my dead weight from the sheets and before I knew it, I was on a trip to the high country. It went something like a 100Th Ave. to I-65 to I-70, and a hour later I'm rubbing elbows and hob-knobbing it with the rich snobs. Those bastards. It's alright, I was able to lay my peepers on some of the most beautiful wild life the highest botanical gardens the United States has to offer, and the flowers adorning the several waterfalls had their own appeal. By the end of the day I was exhausted from sitting in a car and walking all day. The sun and stress, beating down on me like a drum, drained precious manna and zapped any remaining energy I might of had stored before the trip. I was left tired but not sleepy; life-less but not dead. After everything, I couldn't wait to get home and take a few vrips of some high quality marijuana from the vaporizer, soak into the sofa and became catatonic for a couple hours.

Life is too short to fuss, we must live each day to it's fullest. And in Vail it's not an ordinary farmer's market, they take that mantra serious. There is live music and cooked food, and in simple terms it's a week long festival. There were hot dogs, but not plain old hot dogs; they're the best tatsting Vienna Chicago style hot dogs. There was bratwurst and other German sausages. They had Phillie steak-n-cheese and Greek gyros, smoked salmon from an award winning chef, and empanadas along with tamales. So much good food it was entirely too easy to over eat. It was without any doubt better than the food at Furr's we ate later, but because I wasn't paying for myself I was vastly limited to what I could say. I quietly accepted.

Then to top it all off, when we returned home after the egregious journey, we come to find the humble aboded unprotected from the scum of the earth. It is unknown to me when or how the garage door opened its self, but I wish it wouldn't do it again. To pull up and find my home open to anyone curious enough to look was a taxing experience. My imagination sprung into action and filled my mind with hundreds of possible situations that were not good. We live in a good neighborhood on the corner of a busy street amongst friends in a city with more cops per capita than most other cities in the state--if not every other city in the country-- so any criminal didn't stand much chance. In fact two cops drove by within minutes after getting home. This lead me to a more concerning thought, but I don't figure a judge would warrant a search of my property in light of a cop finding less than an eighth of marijuana, but I still was freaking out thinking about what if a cop checked the house like the time they did my grandma's house. One night her garage door was left open, and her neighbors called the police. The cops did a quick search of property to check if everything was okay and my grandma didn't even wake up. They shut the door and left. She was paranoid for the longest time after that incident.

And today I woke up at 6:30 after six hours, and it's going to make for another long day. As of right now it's almost four-twenty server time and I have another 13 hours ahead of me after already putting in four. My frontal lobe is already starting to throb, and the base of my neck is stiff. But I can feel in my bones it's going to be a good day.

March 31, 2009 | August 18, 2009