When I was a teenager, I knew this girl. That's not too startling in and of itself. I knew a lot of girls. Most of them didn't know me, but that's neither here nor there. The point is, this specific girl was the hottest, coolest, and smartest thing I had ever seen in a mohawk in my entire life. She was gorgeous, talked mad shite, and was a dangerous scrapper.

      I was in love.

      That's putting it lightly. I mean, this chick was totally not for me, and I knew that. I was a lot more subdued, and definitely not the type of guy that I had seen her with in the hallways in school. She was out of my league. Way out. But we had a lot in common. We were both rebels, we were both smart, and we laughed at each other's jokes.

      That spark, though, was never there. At least not on her end. I was totally ga-ga over this young devotchka, but she never knew. I didn't ever tell her that I wanted to take her out. I'm pretty smart like that, and always have been. I never used to get turned down for dates when I was younger. This wasn't because I was such a budding Casanova. I just sensed chemistry, and knew who would ask. I always went with the soft option, asking the girls out that I knew had already been eyeing me. In retrospect, that's my own fault. I should have been more daring. Especially with this girl. She was amazing.

      What made it all okay was that we were really good friends. We did a lot of stuff together, and saw each other through quite a bit of those gratuitous growing pains that are oh-so-present in the teenage life. We spent two years hanging out, getting to know each other, and getting into trouble together. When I look back on it, I had the most fun with her that I had during my entire teenage career. I wouldn't take that back for anything - not even to have been her boyfriend.

      When I was seventeen I moved to another city for a while. We could have still hung out, sure, but we didn't. You know how it is - people drift apart. We were both doing our best to grow up, and that meant doing it in different places - trying to find ourselves, whatever the cost. After the first five years or so, I was resigned to the fact that I wouldn't ever see her again.

      Ten years or so passed, and she somehow stumbled back in my life. What a shock! I went to see her for the first time in ten years the other day. I was full of apprehension. I'm not too big on walks down Memory Lane, and I didn't want to sit in this girl's apartment for a few hours and be all like "Wow! I feel just like I'm fifteen again!" I hate that. Reliving the past isn't much fun - at least not that much fun for me.

      When I saw her, though, it's like we hadn't gone ten years without talking to each other. It was the strangest thing.

      We were still totally comfortable with each other.

      We talked and joked and had a great time, as if we had just hung out yesterday. It wasn't like we were fifteen at all. We were both twenty-six. We had both lived a lifetime in adventure and pain since we'd seen each other last, but it was if that raw connection was still there. It was beautiful. We didn't really do any "catching up". We talked about what was going on now in our lives, and very little about what had happened in the ten years prior to that day. She had two children, one of them an infant, and they were both very precious. She's the most unorthodox mother I've ever seen in my life (and that's not a bad thing, either). She even taught her five year old daughter to do an impersonation from The Shining!

      (with one finger up, bending up and down as she talked): "Danny's not here, Missus Torrence."

      The kid had the voice perfect and everything. It was hilarious, and not something that I would have done when I was five, that's for sure. But I digress.

      My friend's boyfriend, it turned out, was in jail - for being a batterer. I was mortified. Here was this head-strong girl that I had watched kick a lot of ass, with some loser that was slapping her around? It didn't make sense. It turns out that the boyfriend was someone that we both were at Community High School with, and I knew him. I didn't have any bad memories of this cat from when we were at school, and I hadn't seen him since. But hearing my friend talk about the things he had done to her, I didn't like him. Not one bit.

      Okay, I know: I shouldn't be so protective, and I'm not. She makes her own choices in her life. This time, she's had enough. She's got the two small children to worry about, and another on the way. The point is that I'm just so happy that I could be able to find her again. She's going through a lot, and it seems like she needs me. I offer a great deal of moral support, as well as a lot of cheesy humor. She needs that now. Perhaps now we can even turn out to be better friends, since I am no longer smitten with her like I was when I was a schoolboy.

      I guess not everything about our relationship is the same, after all.

I feel like I am going insane. Not in say, a Jim Carrey kind of way. I'd call it more of an Ophelia insanity. I never thought words could hurt so much. I've taken comfort in the fact that the words I see on my computer screen can't touch me. They can't hurt me. I control them. But lately they have controlled me. They control when I sleep, when I eat, when I go out. I am addicted to these words. Not so much the words themselves, as much as the faces behind them. The faces whose eyes will never rest on me. Whose lips will never talk to me. Whose ears will never hear me.

And the words hurt. When they yell at me, when they tear at my soul with their venomous talons of hatred, when they tell me I'm worthless. I believe them. I look deep down inside of myself and tear myself apart. I've never known anything but these words I see on a daily basis. I used to take comfort and solstice in their kind and generous counsel, but they've turned on me and I have no choice left but to run. Oh, poor Ophelia. Can't you see my walls are crumbling?

I was accepted to two more colleges today. There's only one I still have to hear from, and I'm going to an interview there on Monday. I hate college. I hate my parents. I hate people. I hate everything. I hate to hate. But it feels so good. "I can't handle you anymore." Those words hurt more than anything else. Lately, I can't handle myself either. But I have to deal with it on my own now. It's just me and my words now. Like it was before. Like it will be for the rest of my life. But it hurts so much..

shouldn't the sky look more important?

and shouldn't i be able to reach the stars?

i remember, when i was younger, thinking how high the light switch was and how i could never hope to rule something as penetrating as darkness. but i grew up and learned such ignorance was just foolishness.. attribute it all to lack of years and experience.

i held out hope beyond all reason that life would not have the strength to take me this far. that, perhaps, if i wallowed in immaturity and fought against the better voice inside of me, i might be able to stunt my growth. i need intellectual cigarettes and a cup of coffee. black. sugar only makes me feel more alive.

so this resistance screams inside, telling myself in something harder than words that we can stop this, the night doesn't have to give way to dawn, the sun can collapse before i wake.

but no, it seems the conductor never got the message and the train is still gliding by somewhere downtown, right on time as always, except on the nights when some suicidal cow jumps the tracks.

would the consquences be so great if i froze the world in place tonight? no one will come singing tomorrow, or if they do, their cheery voices will hold only the hollowed and vacant thoughts of the past, creeping up in all ways to ambush me, to incarcerate me forever within the future's beginnings.

i have no choice. i grow, only now more people seem to notice. just like people to acknowledge only the brighter moments.

remember that i was never complete, never will be; that the endless repitition of years will never compensate for the air i pleasure to breathe at the moment.

and if all these courageous thoughts tinged with apathy are more to myself than to any one else, then so is this--

happy birthday, dear.*


*so, could the violent downvoting stop for one day? just one. then you can hate me all you want for the rest of your online existence.

In what must be a rare burp in the normal space time continuum, my flight from New York to Chicago on American Airlines arrived in Chi-town 20 minutes EARLY. Yes, EARLY. I actually heard the American Airlines pilot say that we were going to be arriving ahead of schedule--I thought he was kidding. Alas, he was not! Both LaGuardia and O'Hare seemed unusually empty today...surprising, since Saturday is normally a busy travel day.

And, all my baggage arrived with me and in one piece! Something must be really off today. Maybe I should be a lottery ticket.

Mmmmmm...glorious Central Time Zone.

Now, to sit down and watch my tape of the Iron Chef marathon! And later, my new DVD of It's A Wonderful Life!

Ok. It's 3. It's sunday. I haven't done anything this weekend. I've got 9 hours left. What am I going to do? I don't even know my options. Maybe if I had them listed out in front of me, it would be so much easier.

I guess I should go study. BBL.


Ok, so I have to be up in 6 hours, so I'll keep this short. I didn't do much today anyway.

I wasted the morning by sleeping until noon, then I wasted the afternoon by sitting around trying to decide what to do today, instead of actually doing something.

I went to the gym at about 7:00 and spent an hour there, burning 750 calories or so. I came back home and consumed that amount of calories in about 5 minutes. At least it cancelled out a meal. My weight was back up 2 pounds. Looks like I've got no excuse not to go to the gym every night this week. I've got nothing to do...

I spent the rest of the night on IRC #everything and scanning in old documents so I can get them organized in files and throw most of the paper away. I came across some old photos of myself, as well as my mom and grandmother. I came across a really awful photo ID of myself, where I was really not prepared for a picture. Bad hair day doesn't even begin to describe it. I came across a picture of me and my mom when I was 4 years old. My mom looked so much different back then; she was only about 22 then.

I didn't get a call back from Sara. I didn't get an email from her either, as she did last time I left her voice mail. It's strange because I didn't get any mailing list email nor spam today. I wonder if there's a problem at our mail server. Anyway, I'm really starting to feel let down and left out. I suppose it's ironic that the last time I had any positive feedback from her was on our date to watch Cast Away.

I'm going to try to call her again tomorrow night. I'm tired of being down. This is like an emotional roller coaster. No wonder so many people isolate themselves from these situations. It's like they're afraid of the thrill ride that is part of being emotionally attached to someone. I don't care, I'm holding on with white knuckles and riding it out. The highs are just too good to give it up for the lows.

Wow, I'm becoming optimistic. Scary.

Sleep now.

Ok, what did I do to get a -3 on this? /msg me!

Last night i got drunk. really drunk.

i didn't particularly mean to it just happened. not my fault even.
there are several people i could blame my drunkenness on, in no particular order they are: psydereal, kimonade, mellissa joan hart, whoever writes the scripts for dumb teen movies, and the owners of the McCormick liquor company (particularly those who oversee the vodka division).

i couldn't help it. there is a certain point where too much teen perkiness makes me want to vomit so i have to keep the bile down with a good amount of alcohol. i only place kim and chris on the list cause they supplied me with said alcohol.

so i got drunk. and i ranted, a lot.
mostly on how shitty high school was and how much cliques suck and how i wish i'd lost my virginity to this guy i was seeing last year. and then we all tried to play truth or dare and it sort of degenerated into this big truth telling orgy wherein i finally managed to tell three of my better friends that i am bi.
it just sucks that it took getting drunk to do it i guess. the big problem with sobriety though is how to bring stuff like that up...i mean really, think about it.

me: lovely weather we're having isn't it kim?

kim: yup

me: think it'll get cold again?

kim: i dunno

me: so i am sexually attracted to boys and girls.

kim: *confused expression*

so in order to avoid something like that happening i just never really brought it up.
that and not knowing exactly how they'd take it.

which brings me to the general point of this "diary" entry: how fucking cool my friends are and how much i love them. if it weren't for them i'd have gone plum crazy eons ago, but i don't because they are there as my backup and i hope like hell that i am a good backup for them too.

which is why, after stumbling home dead drunk with dave-o (and flashing a guy in a scholarship hall while dave mooned him), and after having slept things off a bit i got up this morning with the hungover intention of joining everything as to be sort of a link to my friends. (whom i really didn't see much of last semester)

so here i am. i don't really feel up to posting an actual bit of information as of yet but i thought i'd solidify my joining by writing this at least.

and thats it. love your old friends madly, make your new ones carefully and drink better vodka than McCormicks. that's all the advice i can offer.

It is so weird how at different times in life, you can end up at exact opposite ends of the same situation.

That probably made no sense. Allow me to explain.

Maybe two years ago, I was supposed to be doing this solo with the choir I sing with. I mean, it was a sweet solo; the first one I actually requested (all the others I just sorta get asked to do). I was totally excited about it, it was such a sweet song. Long story short, I ended up having to share the solo with this other woman who was, by far, much better at it than I was. At least, I thought she was. I remember singing the song during the first service and then finding out, just before we're supposed to sing it second service, that this other person was going to do it. The director never said anything to me. It totally broke my heart.

Well, that and my pride.

I remember hiding out in the bathroom and bawling about it. It seems almost silly writing it out, but I had come off the stage, hearing everyone give the other woman endless accolades and I felt like crap.

This morning, I was the other woman.

This is the second solo I've ever requested. It's rather close to me 'cause I'd done it with another choir when I was younger; we did it when we played Detroit, so I was totally looking forward to doing it again. Well, I've gotten to do a lot of singing recently, so they decided to let this other girl do the song first time through. She did a nice job...it was a little high for her, but she's young and has plenty of time to further develop her range. Before second time through, the director asked me to do the second service.

He neglected to tell the other girl, though.

So there I am, standing beside her, and she's already grabbed the microphone, thinking she's going to do it again. And I'm there without my robe on (usually, the soloist doesn't wear a robe...I think that started in an effort to escape the hideous things at any excuse). At this point, I have no idea what to say to her. We're on stage, for crying out loud, and it was obvious she didn't know. I considered just letting her do it anyway, just to avoid having to tell her. She looks over at me and asks if I'm singing the solo. Of course, I'm apologetic, since the person who should have told her kindly left it to me to do it. She took it well.

To boot, I'd never sung the song better than I did this morning.

We exited the stage, the accolades began, and I wanted nothing but for them to stop, because I knew how it would make her feel, how she would probably cry on the way home, doubting her ability, feeling like garbage. And she really shouldn't, because she's great.

Grr. Neither side of this coin is that marvelous, I must say.

During the latter half of this week I've found myself unable to discern what day it is. All days now are broken into "working" days and "non-working" ones. I have not had a break in over a week, so my internal calendar is currently being trampled by so many eight or nine-hour shifts and a dull headache I've been incubating for a couple days.

My schedule is such that when coupled with my geographical location and the current tilt of the northern hemisphere away from the sun, I get up before before daylight every morning. Rising while it is still dark is one of the more oppressive things one does in their lifetime. To wake without morning light royally fucks with my circadian rhythms. Of course, my wake/sleep schedule has never been concrete, but I’d prefer green sunlight fighting through pinprick pupils instead of getting up before my body has realized it is morning.

Drove away from the city with glorious sunrise #34 in my rearview. Arrived to find only three cars in the parking lot aside from my own and only then realized exactly what day it was.

I'm currently working in a huge stockroom, attempting to clean up the messy and generally entropic wasteland the former gentleman in charge left in his wake. He was apparently quite the pack rat, and I continue to find little caches of old McDonalds cartons and mouldered bottles of water in the corners. Burst several blood vessels in my left hand while lifting an especially heavy sheet of glass.

My route to/from work is such that I drive away from the sunrise and into the sunset. While driving home today I entertained visions of multiple Phoenix (Phoeni?) dancing from the ashes of their former selves, only to burn again at the end of the day. Each time the mythical bird reemerged from its own charred remains, it was even more beautiful than its former incarnation. My wish for the day as I drove home was to continue on straight into the sun.

The cycle I'm in is beginning to eat me alive.

Heinous in Germany - 14 Jan 2001

On Sunday, I embarked on a lovely adventure to Bamberg. Fortunately, Marc had lent me his watch, as there are no clocks whatsoever in the company flat. It is like being in a weird time warp, where you can only estimate the time based on the position of the sun, or the moon. I was afraid I was reading the watch incorrectly at first, and that I was an hour late, but I finally I heard the bells from the church, and realized that it was not too late to meet Michael at the train station.

I met Michael, and then we went on to Bamberg. We had a really good time in Bamberg. We walked around for a while,trying to find the center of the city. Apparently Michael does not take the train that often (to Bamberg), and didn't realize how far the station was from the city center. We had a nice "authentic" Bavarian lunch at a very dark restaurant. The bier was quite nice, though I must say that I am beginning to grow tired of Schwien. They are very worried at the moment about Mad Cow's disease, and most food that is normally made with beef is being made with pork now. After lunch, we went to see the cathredral. It was very nice, and had an exceptionally nice looking organ. We took a lot of pictures there. Then, we wandered around for a while in the back of the church. I saw a door that was open, and wanted to go through it. Michael protested that we probably should not , but I convinced him to go anyway.

We spent a lot of time sneaking through nice people's back yards. The first area was a nice old garden, and we tried to exit to a public walkway in the back, but it had a fence with barbed wire (thanks to good 'ole Decalb, Illinoise). I would have climed it normally, but I had a skirt on at the time. We found a shorter fence to the side and I climbed over that. We were in an even more private back yard, that didn't appear to have any kind of unlocked exit. We saw a nice bunny rabbit in a hutch and fed it some stuff in exchange for it letting us take pictures of it. We ended up exiting the way we came in.

We went around to the walkway we had been trying to get to, and found a nice playground. We had a lot of fun on the swing-set, and the see-saw, in particular. I hadn't been to a playground in quite some time, and had a really good time.

After this, it was pretty cold, so we went walking back through town to find the Irish pub that I wanted to go to. It was nice to go somewhere where I could get away with ordering in English, even if the pub wasn't really all that Irish. They did have Guinness, served out of a proper nitrogen tap, and that made me quite happy. The game between the Giants and Minnesota was on the telivision, and I attempted to explain the rules of football to Michael. Hopefully I didn't just confuse him more. After a couple hours there, we finally left and came back.

After Michael left the train, they announced something in German on the train, that seemed to indicate that I needed to change trains to get back to Nuremberg. So I did. Luckily, it all worked out okay, and I ended up safe and sound in Nuremberg without incident.

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