Closure (The silly secretarial kind, not the real profound kind)

I closed my first journal today.
I wrote an afterword, and am going to let it sit until I decide whether to burn it or not.
This means something to me, which is why I'll need some time to think about it.
Background:
This journal was given to me at some point early in elementary school, and remained mostly blank (save for crayoning in the front title page) until the seventh grade, when I started writing after a tad of angst caught up with me, and I figured out what it was: sexual frustration. Now, this is the kind of frustration that, now in my college years, is both much tamer, and also, in healthy circumstances, easily corrected. But at that point in time, my social understanding of it was nil. So, I wrote. It wasn't the greatest stuff, but the stream-of-consciousness entries (which survive to this day in journal 2, my little black book) are very eye-opening as to what my thought processes were. I never voluntarily opened this book to anyone. Which is why I am strongly considering burning it.
But, there is a caveat.
I have two considerations in making this caveat. One, there is an entire large chunk of time, between halfway through junior year and leading up to college, that is entirely unjournaled. It was, actually, in livejournal, but that is deleted. That was a symbolic effort saying all that happened in the time that the account was active is not worth my energy reminiscing about.
In the case of the livejournal, it was too easy. Bound materials are harder to destroy, and this blog shows that bound material also unleashes things that can never really be put out there. In my writing, I name names, I say things outright that here I'd spin into innuendo, which, in my attempt to nudge nudge everyone, says way more than I intend it to. Sometimes even the wrong message. This blog is meant for the innocuous things that I need to write about, like being infatuated with a car or playing D&D or seeing a huge turkey, or any of the things I want to tell everyone who will listen. The book is for private time, where no one should really know. I said earlier in this blog that a person who would see the things in my journal would be someone on the level of having sex with me. The one person who has done that actually hasn't seen the book. The one person that has seen it was Patrick, and he didn't really "see" anything, I think I paraphrased a line for him in a conversation we had. It really is that personal. Except for that one entry where I wrote the story about the clicheed secret agent during CIT seminar. Andrew may have seen that because we were both bored and it didn't really matter...anyhoo. Back to my point.
I filled up a lot of my black book freshman year. I intend to keep it until it really is full, buy another one, and continue in that way through college. And these I'll probably keep. My black book already documents more positive things than the other two combined, and reading through it makes me reminscent and nostalgic, not embarassed and angry.
If I burn my first, it'll say very clearly that I'm giving up on looking back at high school. In reality, I am. I need no more reminders that I was unhappy, no more indications that I was living in a fucking bubble. When I read back in the black book, I see college, I see it in all its overwhelming and crazy glory.
My mind has been made up. I'll figure out how, but this weekend, I'll do it.
I'm fucking done with looking backwards.

250 hits!

I am surprised by all of you people who read this. Surprised, and ashamed. You should all be ashamed of yourselves.

So close to being a boring routine again

I'm bringing the car in next Monday. I'll have it back by Wednesday. That's done with.
I'll most likely know about the job by the end of the week, probably starting next week, hopefully.
Once I've gotten a paycheck, I can start going about my "real" summer plans. In the meanwhile, I'll need to say goodbye to the car appropriately. But I know I'm around this weekend.
Rocking out, anyone?
In theory, Dan's home Sunday. Hopefully will see him soon.

Well, shit.

The estimates have all fallen between the 1300 and 1500 range.
That's a shitload of money, but it looks like that's how much is being spent.
Luckily, I'm being helped out by the actual owner of the car, my dad.
But a good chunk is still coming out of my pocket.
But at least then, the car will run for another 50,000 to 70,000 miles, which is nothing to scoff at.

Keinan's music quotes

Uncensored, from the source, my brother himself:
"I power the small massive...with my penis." In reference to an Asian Dub Foundation song.
"I fought the law, and then they fucked me." The Clash. Or Bobby Fuller. It was actually the Dead Kennedys version.
"Yes?"
"No." My brother likes Yes. Apparently he doesn't like them enough.
"Hymie's Basement? Who is Hymie, and where is his basement?"
"Down my throat." I don't want to know, I don't want to know, I don't want to know...
"Who is this?"
"Van Morrison?"
"I'm going to go kill myself now." I guessed Van Morrison. It would have been less embarrassing if it wasn't The Rolling Stones. The second time I guessed Van Morrison, it was the Dead Kennedys. It turns out my brother doesn't even own any Van Morrison.

Things I found in my car today

A...
hammer, a mallet, a copy of my birth certificate, a bathing suit, a towel, several pairs of gloves, a condom wrapper, an assload of receipts, handwritten directions to Bristol, RI, a spark plug, an assload of pachinko balls, a lot of change, a good amount of sand, two clothes hangers, a set of 15 notecards with D&D notes on them, a veritable set of plastic silverware, these little plastic thingies on my floor, and a roll of duct tape.
Ah, spring cleaning.

In case you couldn't tell, I'm excited

Now on the road. The smallest engine in our garage, a 2.2L 5S-FE, compared to Dad's 3.0 and Mom's 3.3. Not as much power as either of them, but with 150 ft-lbs of torque, it pulls way harder than the minivan. Also corners way better than the minivan too. I've been out driving 3 times in the two days it's been alive, and the thing steers just like I remember. The intake growl is addictive, and amazing considering the piping providing it was built and installed by yours truly. The clutch actually has more feel to it than I remember, and that should be even better after the work is done. And, even better, I've travelled nearly 110 miles on between 3 and 4 gallons of gas. Now that is cool. The thing does get 30mpg, both city and highway if I baby it. So, it's 30/34 conservative, 27/32 the way I actually drive it. Neither of which are too bad.

As promised...

A big turkey.

IT'S ALIVE! IT'S ALIVE!!!

My car is alive now.
I jumped it, and it came back to life.
I didn't let it sit long enough. Now I have to jump it again. Yay.
It has plates, insurance and everything. For all intents and purposes, it is street legal and driveable.

Let me be the first to say:
YES!

Huzzah!

I have successfully removed the rear plate mounting bolts.

VICTORY IS MINE!!!

They are now soaking in WD-40, and will be reinstalled along with the new plate by the end of the day.
Then, I get to drill holes in the car. And then, finally,
DRIVE IT!
I'm excited.

A holiday weekend

Well, Dad's back from Scotland, which means more misadventures this weekend with both the car and our dining room floor. At this point, his idea for removing those damn screws is to take them out destructively, and it actually sounds like he knows how to do this without damaging the car, which is good. After that, we'll finally mount the plates and jump the car. Which is good, because it needs to be drivable by Tuesday in order to get the third estimate for the clutch and the timing belt. WOO! Looks like having the car done by the first of June is a tad optimistic, but not too far off. I may have it by the time I start work, or there may be a week of time where I'm still in the van. No big deal either way.
Went to Chase's party last night, which was cool...reminded me of the people in high school I didn't want to actively strangle. That's good. Nice to see some familiar faces.
Oh well. Dinner soon, then another night of wasting time. I'm excited.

The Concert

OK, just got back from the show. A synopsis of the three acts:

Apollo Sunshine: Meh. Didn't even stick around, got food instead. Cheery indie whatever. I didn't care.
Atmosphere: He's good. I recognized two of the songs he did in the set, and my foot was tapping along. He could hold the audience, but didn't compare to...
Matisyahu: Holy shit, this was probably the best live set I have ever seen. I have not seen too many live shows, so that may not be saying much, but damn, it was sick. We were jumping up and down and shouting out all the words we knew and dancing in the fucking aisles through the whole set, into and through a searing encore of 'Heights'. 'King Without A Crown' was spectacular, starting a capella and real slow, and then after one verse of a capella, everybody came in full force, and the crowd went absolutely nuts. Everyone was on their feet the whole set, and how could you not be?
I won't be able to listen to any of my Matisyahu for weeks, because it was just that much better live. I won't be able to listen to any music for a few days because my ears are so shot. Hell, I probably won't even be able to talk tomorrow. And it was so worth it. I could care less I was in row Q, or wherever I ended up by the end, up by the booth in the front of the section. I heard what I needed to hear, was on my feet the whole time, dancing like I never wanted the night to end because hell, I didn't. Absolutely amazing.

The key guide to live shows, part 1

Tonight is the first concert of the summer, seeing Matisyahu at the FleetBoston Pavilion. There are important things to remember when seeing a show:
1. Wear comfortable clothes. Try to avoid layers, due to the fact that you will want to shed them, and then, therefore lose them. Also try to avoid logos of bands that are a genre very different from the show you want to see. Remember: Sonic Youth shirt at a Pixies concert, OK, blink-182 shirt at a Pantera concert, most definitely NOT OK.
2. Eat beforehand. But not too close beforehand.
3. General admission shows are your friend. Not only does it mean the tickets are cheaper, it also means you can get up close and personal without shelling out extra money.

Yeah, those tips aren't that helpful, but I try. Speaking of trying, Jello Biafra is doing a spoken word performance in Somerville on June 23rd. Anyone interested in going? Let me know.

This is weird

It looks like Stealthy/Pious is well on its way to getting 200 hits in a month. That may not be a lot, but considering that all I do here is post my long-winded stories, bitch about my love life, and occasionally talk about roleplaying and science fiction, that is a huge number. I mean, that's almost 7 people a day coming to read my self-absorbed tripe. I, quite frankly, am impressed. I mean, there aren't even any photos or interesting things here. But yet, the people who visit keep on increasing. So, I will offer a few tidbits of advice because, frankly, I can:
1. Do things you never thought you'd ever do in hell: Like join a fraternity! I scoffed at it, I didn't consider it, I even looked at schools for their lack of greek life...then I joined a frat and still think it's the best decision I ever made. Just goes to show you. Try something new.
2. Eventually, somewhere along the way, you will destroy someone's soul. It's an unfortunate fact of life, because humans have a tendency to fuck up. Accept it. Maybe if you realize it instead of trying to tell yourself that you didn't do anything wrong, then you're going to make at least a half-hearted recovery. Or maybe you just had a lot of fun doing it, and you don't feel like apologizing. Either way, don't lie to yourself when you make mistakes.
3. And this is important: Always have projects. Always have something that, in the end, you can call yours and be proud of. Having projects in life is a way to have something to give you guidance when all of those stressful and not-fun things like class and work weigh down on you. And you'll meet weird and wonderful people who are just as obsessed with 1960s shortframe Vespa Scooters as you are.
4. To tie it all off: Get the fuck out there. Never turn down a chance to go out and just be, whether with one other person or one dozen. You won't know you unless you can go be yourself around other people. People are what make you a person yourself.
That was random. I guess I thought those people out there who actually read this should have something at least semi-worth reading. And for those of you who actually thought this was a gaming blog, settle down. I'll be playing again in August or September, so you have a whole summer of non-gaming crap to read through. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Things are looking up

So, I'm waiting to receive proof of insurance for the Celica in the mail, so we can then traipse down to the RMV to get the plates and get it reregistered. Then, I can get the clutch and timing belt done, and have my car for the summer. I'm going to call this guy for an estimate on the work sometime...but I don't feel like doing it now.
I'm going in tomorrow to see about this whole job thing...I'll fill in the registration form today, as soon as I can get it printed off. Found out I can type at 60 words per minute, which is pretty damn cool.
Actually have stuff to do the rest of the week, which is nice. Job thing tomorrow, Concert thing with Zach on Thursday, then potential party thing Friday night. And if I actually start working next week, it'll be perfect.
Guess I'm around this weekend, if anyone's interested. Give me a call. A call, not a text, because a text I'll probably ignore, unless I'm not doing anything at the exact instant I receive it.

Not that anyone cares, but...

I saw two huge wild turkeys in my backyard today.
I'll post pictures when I get a chance.
Tomorrow I hopefully get a job, as well as an estimate for the Celica. Wish me luck.

So yeah...

Today was CMU graduation. I think it was Orie's away message that reminded me of this.
Congratulations, guys. All of those seniors I actually managed to know within the past year. Good luck on the whole life thing, or the whole grad school thing, the whole job thing...
I do hope you come back and visit sometime.

One must not forget, however...

As much as I ruminate on these things and moan incessantly about being crazy, I do know where I'm going. Things lead to things, and life arises out of these stacks of things, these events, these heaps of happenstance.
When certain moments occur, the things prior and those in future become that much less important. It can be a song, a conversation, a drive, a kiss, hell, even a good book.
Those are what make life as such. And there really isn't much more.
And that is probably one of the most comforting things I know.

Okay, so I'm either...

1. insane. Cabin fever has gotten the best of me, and this has come across my mind because I am apeshit bonkers now.
2. finally bowed to another of my many subconscious nags. That maybe this has been on my mind for some time (a year, even?) and finally my mind is like "fuck it, you'll consciously know it now, I'm tired".

Either way, I'm clearly a masochist that can't let a good thing be. If all was right with my head, I'd spend the summer being very engrossed in work, car, music, friends. Done. Not an issue. Yeah, but that would require things going in reality like they do in your head. Which never happens. Ever.
At least it's not the "let's unearth old demons and make lots of shit really awkward". Now it's more like "let's pretend you didn't know what all of the previous shit was about and pretend it's just occurred to you".
Neither of those phrases really described anything that's actually going on. That was a large crock of shit there. Give me a minute.
OK. I'll leave it at this. My willingness to accept it means that a few previous behavior patterns made a lot of sense, without giving them really cheesy explanations.
This may sound random, but I'm still kind of curious as to whether or not there are any current CC seniors who plan on attending CMU next year. I guess seeing people in Macbeth tonight reminded me of that. Good show though.

Well, I got some random memory triggers of my own, then...

For some reason, Salzburg was brought back into my head...the cheap umbrella I bought is still in my closet.
Sitting in Patrick's room, talking about God knows what...I still have the postcard he drew, somewhere among this mess.
Sitting outside with Katy, having the most unnecessary debate (that was completely hilarious in retrospect). My life in a nutshell, at that point...
I had an odd dream last night, that was like a slew of travel...hotels, and airports, and malls, and I don't even remember what the dream was about...it sort of brought in a few old dreams to bear with it too...
I remember, from just having been watching TV there about ten minutes ago, being caught in the basement...Heh. Another thing that will only ever be funny in retrospect.
The one thing flashing across my mind is how quick it all started. My most recent turn, it was the slow way...the turning and the tension of everything leading up to that one moment...and then, it happens and I go home for the summer, uncertain if anything will come of it. But I know it's the same torrent of emotion, the same intensities dragged out over longer periods of time. It'll be put away someplace for the summer, among all the other CMU worries I'm going to put away. But like everything else, it doesn't really go away. The anxiety doesn't build, there's nothing to worsen it (unless you enjoy paranoia), but it sits there...putting things on hold never really helps anything. And this brings everything full circle. Things that can be controlled, things which can not. The realization that something has been gnawing at you, getting worse. So you stop it. You cut it out, remove it, in the hopes that the loss itself, though more intense, is more temporary. And it is. And then other things happen, and you remember what all this fuss was about. And life goes on.
So what does it mean? It means everything builds. I come back around, making the same decisions, hopefully making them better. I can easily spout off extemporaneously about my continual rotations and relearning, but it's never that simple. You don't do this alone...and other people are there, people carrying differing opinions from you on your own decisions. I haven't seen many situations where a breakup was reached by consensus (have seen it happen, if you'll believe that), so inevitably, yeah. I won't dwell. I'm in a whole other set of chaos, with a whole different cast of characters.
Heh. This has taken an odd and long turn. I guess when I think through memory, I hardly get something random. I remember three distinct moments, in very different contexts, each bringing with it the same upswelling of positive emotion and energy. One was on the Hill, at night, one was in my room, in the morning, and the third was in a hotel corridor, when I was still too jet lagged to tell you exactly what time it was.
Guess these things do have a way of somehow continuing. Even though during each one, you could never possibly imagine one with anyone else.
They're all like dreams...some are condensed into one brief moment, or a few short interludes...others you feel like you've lived months in maybe 2 or 3 hours. Some you remember everything, some you only hope you could forget. Some are the strangest things you've ever seen, but some make absolute perfect sense.

This is the kind of thing where any idiot could tell me I've gone on way too long about feathery bullshit. Well, that's me, sober, on a Friday night. Still miss you, Carnegie Mellon.

It's just the mood I'm in

Sufjan Stevens - Chicago

I fell in love again
all things go, all things go
drove to Chicago
all things know, all things know
we sold our clothes to the state
I don't mind, I don't mind
I made a lot of mistakes
in my mind, in my mind

you came to take us
all things go, all things go
to recreate us
all things grow, all things grow
we had our mindset
all things know, all things know
you had to find it
all things go, all things go

I drove to New York
in the van, with my friend
we slept in parking lots
I don't mind, I don't mind
I was in love with the place
in my mind, in my mind
I made a lot of mistakes
in my mind, in my mind

you came to take us
all things go, all things go
to recreate us
all things grow, all things grow
we had our mindset
all things know, all things know
you had to find it
all things go, all things go

if I was crying
in the van, with my friend
it was for freedom
from myself and from the land
I made a lot of mistakes
I made a lot of mistakes
I made a lot of mistakes
I made a lot of mistakes

you came to take us
all things go, all things go
to recreate us
all things grow, all things grow
we had our mindset
all things know, all things know
you had to find it
all things go, all things go

you came to take us
all things go, all things go
to recreate us
all things grow, all things grow
we had our mindset
(I made a lot of mistakes)
all things know, all things know
(I made a lot of mistakes)
you had to find it
(I made a lot of mistakes)
all things go, all things go
(I made a lot of mistakes)

I hate the stupid motherfucking SIO.

I've gotten two grades posted....the two I already knew. ARRGH. Well, at least I can pretend my GPA is 3.6 while I'm waiting for the other two.
This week has been...filled with crap. Weather sucked, illness sucked, being home in general kind of sucked.
Oh well. I'm in a better mood. Listening to the album Amenaza Al Mundo by Fantomas, which is the WEIRDEST SHIT I HAVE EVER HEARD. But, I'm still listening to it, which says something.

I have been given a few reasons to dance my irony dance. There's no one here to enjoy my irony dance, especially since my ironic happenings tend to be focused back in the Burgh, though they're spread all over the eastern seaboard and beyond.
I downloaded Illinois by Sufjan Stevens. Despite my current metal leanings, it's really good, and I like it a lot. I can dance my irony dance to Chicago. (good song. apparently the city's nice too, but I've never been.)

This song has had a profound effect on me recently, I'm unsure why

The Decemberists - The Engine Driver

I'm an engine driver
On a long run, on a long run
Would I work beside her
She's a long one, such a long one

And if you don't love me let me go
And if you don't love me let me go

I'm a country lineman
On a high line, on a high line
So will be my grandson
There are powerlines in our bloodlines

And if you don't love me let me go
And if you don't love me let me go

And I am a writer, writer of fictions
I am the heart that you call home
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones
My bones
My bones

I'm a money lender
I have fortunes upon fortunes
Take my hand for tender
I am tortured, ever tortured

And if you don't love me let me go
And if you don't love me let me go

And I am a writer, writer of fictions
I am the heart that you call home
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones
I am a writer, I am all that you have home
Home
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones
My bones
My bones

(And if you don't love me let me go)
And if you don't love me let me go
(And if you don't love me let me go)
And if you don't love me let me go

Duhn Duhn Duhn...

Well, I have a resume now...
I'm on my way to actually getting stuff done. Yeah. This afternoon, I may actually have a referral to a mechanic, and a way to get the car back on the road. In the meanwhile, I'll figure this job thing out a little more satisfactorily. Yar...
Well, at least I'm not sneezing out the contents of my lungs anymore. That kind of sucked.

Well...

In my doing of nothing, I've gotten Thunderbird working to my satisfaction, except it won't let me subscribe to Posse...I've gotten onto Roar, but not Posse...*sigh*. Oh well. The RSS stuff is cool too, and I now have an assload of subscriptions, as well as DHTML back, so my mail is no longer crappy. Yay!
Maybe I'll do something useful tomorrow.

Recall my last post...

Yeah, I'm still sick, it still sucks, and is seriously impeding on my ability to get the summer started. If I'm not well by the weekend, it'll be distressing, but really my only choice will be to just push through and get everything lined up when I can, rather than worrying about it when I can't fully function.
So I learned CMU is discontinuing support for Mulberry, which means I'll have to get a new mail client...I'm going to use this as an excuse to try Thunderbird, because Outlook sucks. Oh well. That's something I can do tonight, even in my only semi-there state.

Recovering from the illness I call New England

In all reality, I am a bit sick, combining sinuses being stupid with a cough and a mild headache. I'm pushing through these symptoms to get to the point where all of my summer plans can swing into gear.
Current priorities:
1. Stop being sick.
2. Get job straightened out.
3. Get car on road again.
After that, it's clear sailing. Heh. Right.

I'm baaack!

And exhausted.
Today, I'll decompress, and probably make some long distance calls to Pittsburgh. Tomorrow, summer starts.
Bleh.

No, seriously guys...

Effective immediately, I will not be online until I return to Massachusetts, around 3pm tomorrow. If you need to get in touch with me, I suggest you call. CMU people, I encourage you to call me if I won't see you today...I do want some way to say goodbye to people.
In case you need it:
978-852-3331.
That's all folks.

Today was...

...interesting.
I went shoe shopping with a bunch of guys...
"Well, we have a gay guy, a total metro, and a scene kid...sorry Aaron, you're just the odd one out."
So true. Did get some nice kicks, though, and they were ON SALE! OMG!
OK. I'm done being scary now.
Packing kinda sucks...and I'm in Pittsburgh for less than 36 hours now. That's depressing.

Afterglow

I don't really have anything else to say on that.
I think, in retrospect, the fact that everything kind of gelled despite me being a flake and everything else, leaves a good portent.
I think that's a good thing. No, having gotten this far, I know it's a good thing.
Here's to next year. One more weekend, then back to Mass. I'll be back Monday, if anyone cares.
I don't. You can't even understand how much I'd rather stay here.

Finals kinda suck.

After last night, I have to determine:
Am I a genius?
Or am I an idiot?

That will remain to be seen. But I'm looking forward to the moment I get out of that exam room...I just realized I don't know where my exam is being held in 3 hours. Better find that out.

The only reason I'm making this post is because I'm studying for calc, and I needed a distraction.
But now, I'll find out what room that exam will be in. That could be convenient.

No, I didn't write this in one sitting

This will be a bit long.
Lars Blackpool is my favorite fictional character ever. He is an assassin, mildly psychotic, but yet maintains an air of professionality even he admittedly doesn't understand. He exists in multiple timelines, being both my invention for my works of fiction, and a main antagonist in two of my Cyberpunk 2020 campaigns. I can't use him in roleplaying games anymore, because I simply will not allow him to die. This story, about to be shared, is Lars as a person, how I envision him.
Lars in Cyberpunk was slightly younger, though due to the breadth of his experience, this was an inconsistency due to the game system.
This is the beginning of a master work, a bit autobiographical, a bit odd, and one of the only stories I've written that I was able to return to, and like enough to continue writing.
Now here's the disclaimer. This was actually three different vignettes about Lars, connected. Only about half a page of this is new material, the rest being written between February and August of 2005. I connected the three, and am considering continuing with the plotline to whatever conclusion it may be. As an additional disclaimer, Cruz Rollert is based entirely off of myself, and several other characters are very unflattering caricatures of people I knew in high school. Lars is, though with a few bits of autobiography, unique. He is my action hero, like Ian Fleming had James Bond, like Tom Clancy had Jack Ryan.
I'm posting this for two reasons: one, I enjoy sharing my work, and two, I want some technical feedback before I continue. A select few people have seen this before, including a high school English teacher. My desire to continue this stems out of her comments about character development...I have what I want here to develop Lars into my vision, into what he felt like to me when I turned into him while running Cyberpunk. I want that vision realized. But, for one thing, the vignettes, at least the third one, were designed to be separate pieces. So, requests:
1. The first break is obvious, it's the switch from the coffee shop to the bar. If you can tell where the second one is, tell me so I can make it flow better.
2. Tell me what you think of Lars. Tell me so I can help figure him out. This is a mellower character than the one in Cyberpunk, so if you were one of my victims...err...players, keep that in mind.
3. If you can figure out who the other supporting characters are, tell me. I may want to tone down the obviousness.
OK, that's it. Enjoy.

He walked up to the counter, and looked straight in the eyes of the smallish woman who was pouring out a large beverage from a metal cup.

“Give me a double shot of espresso, black. I need to be on the top of my game.” He smiled, and the woman reluctantly called to the other barista for a black double shot. The man took off his sunglasses, produced a small chamois cloth from his pocket, and began to wipe down the glasses as he looked around the room idly. It was some commercial coffeehouse somewhere, with the usual dark lighting, walls covered with chintzy art nouveau. The woman handed him his coffee, and he paid and sat down. There weren’t too many people in the little shop, but the few office workers and stay-at-home moms in line for coffee were still enough to put him on edge. He groped his side for his wallet, and felt the comforting weight of his Glock right above his hip. He knew he was the only one in the room armed, but more importantly, he was also the only one in the place who knew he was armed. He smiled in relief, and returned to his coffee. The paper that morning was depressing, with headlines about car bombs overseas and normal bombs overseas, and murders overseas, as well as murders here. Apparently three men running a prostitution ring out of a local high school were arrested, and three Columbian immigrants were deported after being charged with drug smuggling. Even in his line of work, this was a particularly dreary way to start the day. The coffee was still for the most part in the cup when his client walked in. He commanded a high fee, so this type of person wouldn’t be someone he’d expect, save for the phone call the night before. A portly kid, probably 18 or 19, he thought. Greasy hair, leather jacket, and a dark countenance to match his dark clothing. Definitely not one of the popular kids. He saw the man sitting at the table, looked around anxiously, and then sat down. He took out a manila envelope, and slid it over to the man.

“Here’s the portfolio you wanted. And the first thousand is in there too,” the boy said nervously. The man opened the envelope carefully, and took out the top document, a photograph. The kid in the photo was also around 18, skinny, smiling, ebullient, almost. This was a senior photo, and the man didn’t really want to know why the boy had it. He looked over the other documents, a few carbon copies and some license information. He raised his eyebrow, and then looked back at the boy sitting across from him.

“So, you meet some strange man in a coffee shop because you want something done.” The boy nodded. “I’m looking over this, and I see this kid you’re showing me as an honor student, a kid with a future…someone likable. You know, the kind of kid who holds the door for old ladies at Sears.” The boy looked puzzled. “Never mind. My point is, why? You’re putting 10% down on a huge investment to get someone capped. You could go and buy yourself a car…most kids like those. I mean, I’m confused.” The boy stammered nervously, and then went on.

“He screwed with me. You know what I mean? Betrayal, serious backstabbing shit. He completely exploited me, and left me to suffer for it. I want him gone.” The expression in the boy’s face was so serious the man had to keep himself from laughing.

“Easy, tiger,” the man chortled. “You do realize that I’m more accustomed to things that…well, things that matter. You know, key witnesses, ambassadors, important people. I am a professional. It isn’t exactly easy, and this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.” The boy looked at him with dangerous eyes.

“He ruined me. Emotionally, destroyed me. He took the one thing in my life that was important to me. You couldn’t possibly understand how he made me feel.” The man looked back at him, and raised his eyebrow again.

“What did he do, steal your girlfriend?” The man started to laugh, but saw from this kid that it was not particularly funny.

“You’re kidding me, right? That’s why you want me to cap him? Because of some stupid romantic bullshit? I mean, as you were talking, I at least thought he may have burned down your house. But this, this is utterly ridiculous.” The boy looked hurt, almost divinely insulted, if those were words to describe shamefaced anger. The man looked askance at the boy, and continued.

“You have to understand, some things are too serious to screw with ordinarily. You think that relationship means everything? Well, it doesn’t. I feel like you should have heard this from your parents or something…you friends maybe, I don’t know.” The man lowered his voice and ducked close to the boy.

“It may not have been your wisest decision to hear an assassin tell it to you.” He got back up, smiled politely, and sipped his coffee again.

“Keep your money. Do something to get your mind off of this whole thing. Maybe get some therapy, you know. Something productive. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” He paused. “Want a coffee?” The boy shook his head, sheepishly gathered up the manila envelope, and headed out the door. The man smiled to himself, and continued drinking his coffee.

He finished his coffee, and ordered another. By now, it was around 10 AM, and the usual crowd of early morning neurotics had cleared out. The sun had come up over the building across the street, and the darkly lit coffeehouse had actually taken on an air of near pleasantness. A small Toyota drove up and parallel parked outside of the establishment. Out walked a young man, long coat and baggy pants, with short and unkempt blonde hair. He walked into the shop, ordered cocoa, and sat down with the man after picking up his drink.

“I brought you some nice classifieds. You know, anarcho-syndicalist radicals, a couple of corporate jobs…cheeky stuff, but the pay’s good.”

“Excellent. I’ve got three status reports if you could shuttle them this afternoon.” The young man nodded. The other man sipped his coffee.

“You packing?” The young man reached for the Walther under his jacket.

“Good. Someone wants you out.”

“Really? Old client?” The man chuckled.

“You are something else. Can’t believe I’d find you so early.” The man smiled. “No, actually, some lovelorn sap came in and wanted me to waste you. Stealing girlfriends again?” The young man smiled.

“Yeah, you could call it that. But this is an emotional connection. You know, we click. That kind of thing.”

“Why was she with him? He seems like one of those school shooter types. You know, obsessive, dangerous…” The young man laughed.

“Funny we’re saying that.” Both men laughed. The man sipped his coffee; the young man sipped his cocoa.

“You should be careful about that shit. Dangerous stuff. Especially with someone who has such a fragile grip on reality.”

“I know. I mean, she said pity, I said, quite a pity, we laughed, and that was that.” The man raised his eyebrow.

“You high school types are really cruel kids. It makes me laugh, and I swear, sometimes I feel guilty for that. You need to stay away from that, man. You have a future. I’ve put you up a year of school, you got into some real high class joint, and both of us will go on living lives searching for whatever the hell it is we’re searching for.”

“Kind of ironic we got into the job of killing people.”

“You’re telling me. I’m just glad you’re only transporting. It’d be a shame to see someone else grow so numb to it. Damn scary, not only for yourself but also for everyone you know.” The young man nodded.

“I’m serious,” The man insisted. “Don’t waste your life for sex, especially at the hands of someone like that. He needs a headshrinker bad.” The young man chuckled, and finished off his cocoa.

“Class is back in about fifteen, so I’m heading off. I’ll shuttle after class gets out.”

“Great. Call if someone wants a referral. And kid?” The young man turned.

“Tell your ‘friend’ that Mr. Blackpool sends his regards and deepest sympathies.” The man grinned evilly, and the young man laughed as he walked out the door. The Toyota sped away, and Mr. Blackpool was the only man in the shop. He looked at his watch. It was about 11 AM. He ordered one more coffee and began to read the Wall Street Journal. He was expected in the office around one, so he had time. He started reading the stocks, and sighed. He was an investment banker, but having fought in the Gulf War, he found an interesting way to make some green on the side.
It worked out very well. He was meeting a high-profile CEO today, who was said to want a “second” referral. It was a nice arrangement. He put the paper down, and left the shop. The sun was high overhead, and the lunch crowd had just come out of hiding. He squinted at the bright sky, and then walked to his car. He and his protégé were doing well at an odd business. Maybe that’s why they realized more than others what actually made a difference in the world. He turned back and looked at the coffeehouse. It’s a really sick world that allows the murderers to understand what’s really important faster than others. He smirked. May as well take advantage of it. He got in his car and turned the key. A new day had begun.

Sam was seated at a booth in the corner of the dark pub. It was about six o’clock, and fortunately, the typical clientele of this type of establishment had not yet declared a mass intent to get drunk and rowdy. Sam looked at his watch, and sipped quietly on a Boston beer of his namesake. 6:10 rolled around, and Lars walked in, precisely ten minutes late.

“If he’s always so precise in his tardiness,” Sam thought, “Why bother being late at all?” Lars noticed Sam, and walked over to the booth. Lars had worn his hat today, Sam noticed, because Lars was letting his hair grow out again. An elliptical swath of short hair stuck straight out from the center of his otherwise bald head. Back in his mercenary days, Sam recalled, Lars would wear a nine inch tall Mohawk. But, for a corporate manager, this was a bit unseemly.

“So, Stub, how’s life?” The nickname came from a long way back. It had something to do with the whole pop culture business of ‘Sam Spade, Private Eye’, but Sam himself was too young to remember it.

“You know,” Sam replied, “Getting paid to get even. Mostly irate divorcees these days. Really sick people that want lots of money that never belonged to them. This business was never like what they made it out to be.” Sam put his small .38 on the table.

“You know I still have never used this?” Lars nodded.

“Well, I had a bit of an interesting incident in a coffeeshop this morning, so that may change sooner than you’d like. I had Cruz run you a dossier this afternoon. Did you take a look at it?”

“Yeah. Seems like it’s about Cruz himself.”

“Indeed. The kid ran into some sort of trouble with some girl. Of course, my immediate reaction is that if you have a kid who has an ego issue and ten thousand dollars with which to hire an assassin, there’s trouble.” Sam nodded, and then quickly scanned the dark pub.

“Okay. Here’s what I found out for you. Do you know Regan Van Ross?”

“The congressman? Of course.”

“Well, Mr. Van Ross has a son, Michael. And Michael has the typical problem that manifests itself in politician’s sons, which is that they are used to getting everything. So he dates this girl, for some reason, beyond me, I really don’t care. Then comes along your protégé, Cruz Rollert. Cruz knows he’s a sensitive, attractive, and cunning young man. He’s also a bit headstrong and doesn’t tend to case people before stepping in their way. So, he does what he tends to do, as I’ve seen, very well, and this girl falls for him. Happily ever after, except for the kid who’s left wounded like never before, angry, and loaded with money and friends.

“And, to make it worse,” Lars butted in, “I blatantly shooed him away and called him a little boy. How old is he?”

“Like Cruz, he’s 19. A freshman at BU, though judging from this,” Sam handed Lars a threefold piece of paper, “that may not last.” The paper contained a grade report from the college, and though it was not very consistent, Sam could tell right away there were no vowels. No Bs, either. Sam looked back at Lars.

“I don’t know what to say about this kid, besides that he could be dangerous. Who knows…I have doubts as to how he viewed this relationship, but however it was, Cruz is probably not looked upon in the best light right now.” Lars winced.

“The kid brought it up over the talk this morning. He made a really big deal about it. I mean, like, high school suicidal angst big. As in, my life is over big.” Sam frowned.

“He’s one of those kids…damn. And who knows, with his track record, his daddy may have already tried to arrange something. God if I know what that is.”

“I’m not even sure how this whole thing happened…I mean, Cruz attends Brandeis, so clearly, there’s no way for the two to have ever met, and I don’t even know who this girl is.”

“Well, that’s a little interesting tidbit I wanted to share with you.” Sam cleared his throat slightly, and took another sip of his beer. “I looked up the name of the girl which, like you, I didn’t recognize. But someone did. Remember Arthur St. Cloud?”

“The other PI? Yeah…was he the one that I was hired to kill a while back?” Sam nodded.

“Anyway, he was hired to case the girl’s apartment, and I’m pretty sure that it wasn’t by either of us, or Cruz. And this could be bad, considering that the one real mark on St. Cloud’s record was when we had our falling out a few years back.” Lars nodded.

“Did you get an address?”

“Yeah. She lives in Cambridge. Near Harvard, but not in University property.”

“Well, that gives us something to do tonight. When do you think Arthur will case the joint?”

“Knowing him? Probably eleven. He likes his sleep.” Sam shook his head. “What kind of a name is St. Cloud anyway? I don’t particularly remember a saint named Cloud, at least not outside of a video game.” Lars chuckled.

“It isn’t a given name. I think his name is Irving or something. Whatever.” The two men laughed, and ordered another round of drinks. The conversation turned to more frivoulous matters, and by eight, they had left the bar.

Lars met up again with Sam walking outside of Harvard Square. At 11 pm, the square was still abuzz with activity, so the two men quietly moved off to find the address of this mystery woman, and hopefully, a hapless detective somewhere in the immediate vicinity. Sam turned onto a quiet Cambridge side street, and Lars followed lockstep behind him. The townhouses on the street were large and inviting, but the darkness made the entire scene seem a bit more dangerous than Sam would have liked. As the two men ensured that everything was quiet, they walked toward the house. Sam started to sneak down along the side of the building, but Lars froze as he saw two people walking down the street, straight for the house. Lars lunged for a pair of big bushes in front, but Sam pulled him back down the side of the house. They both laid down quietly, and watched the people approach. The taller one was recognizable as the male, and not surprisingly, Lars recognized him as Cruz. The girl was not someone either of the men had seen before, but she fit the description given, and assumedly, was the girl in question. The two stopped at the door and had a brief conversation, but then went inside. Lars looked up toward what was most likely a bedroom window, but saw something completely different. Hanging from the gutter was a man, bedecked in a trench coat. Lars and Sam looked at each other. It was definitely Arthur. Sam waited until he heard the creaking of an interior door, then, carefully timed with the slamming of the door, he kicked the vertical section of the gutter as hard as he could. The man lost his grip and fell right into a pair of metal trash cans, making a huge racket. Sam and Lars dove on the man to keep him from moving. Cruz looked out the bedroom window. Sam could hear a voice from inside.

“Cruz, what was it?”

“Probably just some stray dogs, maybe a raccoon. I wouldn’t worry about it.” Cruz withdrew his head, and Arthur started thrashing and struggling. Both Lars and Sam drew their guns and pointed them at Arthur’s head. Arthur quieted down considerably.

“Okay,” Sam hissed, “What’s going on here?”

“It was…it was…it’s just a job,” Arthur panted. “I was just asked to…to…to case the house, and trail the guy. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“The ‘guy’ you were hired to trail is my wheelman, and let’s just say that no trailing will be done.”

“You don’t get it,” Arthur continued. “Regan Van Ross put me up to this, and he is big here. Real big.”

“Regan Van Ross?” Sam piped up. “Just what we wanted to know.” Arthur was dumbstruck. Just then, sirens were heard. Apparently a worried neighbor had seen something.

“Be sure to mention Van Ross to the police when they arrest you for trespassing,” Lars snickered. He and Sam hauled themselves up, and jumped over a chain link fence at the back of the yard. Arthur was left supine among the knocked-down trash cans, waiting ashamedly as the squad car pulled up.

Lars had gotten back to his place later than he would have liked that night, especially since his referral from midday had come through, and he had a mark somewhere in the back bay the next day. Sleep was overrated, he usually thought, and a solid 6 hours could be easily fortified with another doubleshot before taking his vantage. For his age and everything else, he was quite accustomed to early rises, early shots, both coffee and hollowpoint. It was peculiar that way, but even for later, when he decided to get out, he had a protégé, and a hobby if he wanted to be a liability to himself. The thoughts were still swimming when he finally collapsed onto the mattress on the floor. More than anything else, the thought of Cruz dating stuck there. The only thing left in his head as he faded was remembering just how long it had been.

The morning was clear and cold, and Lars stood in a crowd, holding a Wall Street Journal and a small tube filled with explosives. It would fire one large round and then disintegrate, leaving no evidence. He already had put thought into preserving the paper, as bulletholes are suspicious, and the Journal had become somewhat of a calling card for him, something any agent like himself would not want.

He had it planned out, and if this worked as advertised, he’d pull it Jack Ruby style, and then bolt quickly before being ID’ed. A bit headstrong to assume this would work, but he had done it before, with fair results. The mark was in a fairly conspicuous position, being a senator and all. He reflected with some humor the irony in the close call with Van Ross he had had yesterday, but it hardly mattered. This guy was wanted because of corruption charges. He had been acquitted, and to the chagrin of everyone, refused to resign even after a PR nightmare. So, Lars resigns him. Permanently.

He lined up the shot relatively easily, and waited until there were people clouding the path of fire, just to give him an extra ten seconds or so. The park was crowded, but he was good at making this easy. He followed the crowd as the de facto conference moved towards the edge of the Common, so he had street access. In one brief flash of exposure, he pegged the catch, and a muffled pop emitted from the Journal. Seeing the man fall, he quickly made his way to the nearest gate, holding the paper casually under his elbow. It did not take him very long to realize that two cops were trailing him very poorly as he departed. Well, shit. The fire escape across the way seemed suitably dramatic, and he fell into an apartment building’s third floor corridor as the cops started screaming. By the time they managed to clamber through the window, he had made it to the emergency stairway, exiting on the other side of the block. This little fuckup was a lot more exciting than he had anticipated it to be.

He jumped down the stairs, and broke back into a run at the foot of the stairs. Getting way too old for this, he thought. The footsteps behind him grew louder, and he bounded down the crowded sidewalk. Pushing through a crowd of unsuspecting bystanders, he looked back and saw the two cops gaining on him. Not only was he doing the crowd work for them, but it appeared that the two fresh-faced kids in blue had a good ten years on him a piece. Finally, he gave up, and fired his weapon, downing one of the punk cops. The other one broke stride, and, surprisingly, the crowd had thinned out significantly. He continued running, pleasantly surprised at his maintained endurance. He saw the remaining cop catch up on him a bit more, and turned coat into an alleyway. The surprise was tinged with annoyance as he heard a bullet discharge. The ricochet on the brick wall three centimeters from his face turned the annoyance into panic. He popped a poorly aimed shot off in the cop’s general direction, and to his chagrin, hit nothing. The alleyway was a bit longer than expected, so instead of hoping to outrun the cop, which he couldn’t, he dove into a pile of garbage bags. It always seemed that one of these was conveniently available in back alleyways. The cop looked around, and finally got a hold of Lars’ smiling face, and the slightly less pleasant grin of a 9mm Heckler and Koch. Lars had a horrendous record with point-blank shots, but the garbage bags muffled the recoil as well as they muffled the sound of the body hitting the pavement. He stuffed the H&K back into his jacket pocket, and sauntered down the alleyway, removing a coffee filter from his lapel.

He walked his normal mix of side streets and “interior passageways” until he was around 3 miles away from the location of the murders. His handlers would make the evidence “disappear” within the week, and with a few nice little bribes, he wouldn’t even face trial. He wasn’t even sure who his handlers were any more with the mélange of assignments. He had learned to trust his gun a while back, but no one else. At 37, he was well within retiring age for his career. Despite his advancing age, his record was among the best, and the impressive fee that feat commanded was secreted away in a Swiss bank account hundreds of times over. So, as he considered ruefully, he had millions to his name, but still lived in a one-room apartment where his most valuable possessions were a new mattress and several illegal firearms. Most of his time was spent outside of his apartment, so he didn’t even see it fit to be equipped with a TV. Not that it mattered, most of the stuff on was shit except for the news, and he carried a Wall Street Journal with him everywhere anyway. Inconspicuous, could conceal a small handgun, and he loved reading the Personal Journal. More interesting than the stock quotes, to say the least.

Lars walked up the steps of the brownstone that served as the safehouse, all coffee grinds smoothed off his lapel. The guard at the door recognized him, and ushered him into the dark hallway. Walking up the three staircases, the Heckler and Koch was pushed slightly forward in his jacket pocket. Lars always took this precaution, even though it was largely unnecessary. A second guard was standing outside of the oak door, and opened for him with a menacing smile. Mr. Denton was sitting at the desk. As far as Lars knew, Mr. Denton was the only one in the organization older than he, and with his conservative hairline, he looked it. Admittedly, Lars had a barer scalp than Mr. Denton, but his remaining stubby hair ran parallel to the bridge of his nose, Mohawk style. Mr. Denton spoke up.

“Lars, you’ve been here quite a while, but you’re past retirement age. We saw you this morning, and though you took your mark admirably, your escape from the police had us worried. Unfortunately, you’re becoming a liability.” Lars grinned.

“No problem there,” he smiled. “I’ve got enough cash secreted away to go retire. I’ll just go walk down to the bank, if you don’t mind.” Mr. Denton put up a hand. Lars was surprised, and slid the pistol into his Wall Street Journal.

“If you hang around here, we can help you collect your life insurance as well.” Lars fired the pistol before Mr. Denton finished, and wheeled around to see the door guard right behind him. He had been very quiet, and Lars was almost caught off guard. The large man wrenched the pistol out of Lars’ hand, and Lars responded with a quick punch to the face. The man staggered, blood streaming from his nose. Instead of staying around for the second round, Lars snatched the MAC10 that Mr. Denton had drawn in his lap, and jumped out the window and onto the fire escape. My, what a day for fire escapes. The two guards followed him up, and he attempted to discourage them with a spray of bullets. He clambered up onto the roof, and dashed across to the other side. Instead of risking it at street level, he bounded across the alley below, and rolled with the impact as he hit the other roof. He turned back and unleashed another volley of fire. One guard was down, but the other wasn’t slowing down. He saw an apartment complex down at the end of the row of brownstones, and started sprinting. His second leap ended more smoothly than his first, and he barely broke stride around the various antennae and chimneys sprouting from the asphalt under foot. The guard was having a tougher time with the jumps, having shorter legs than Lars, and a little more “momentum” to deal with. Lars reached the end of the brownstones, and saw a single open window at his eye level. Anyone who took high school physics would have known this was a bad idea, but Lars had no real choice. He leaped, and regretted it as soon as he saw the open window pass above him.

He staggered painfully around on ground level, having hit the wall about 7 feet above ground level, and falling flat on his back. He gathered himself quickly, but still had little bearing on where he was, or that two large men with guns wanted him dead. A bullet shattered the concrete behind him, which sufficiently roused Lars from his stupor. He was looking around for options, and on this busy commercial street, saw very few. A red Toyota careened around the corner, and squealed to a stop in front of him. He jumped into the passenger door before even fully parsing that Cruz was driving the car. Without hesitation, the coupe sped away.

An assload of random

I found my pledge pin on my desk while cleaning. Some interesting memories there.
I found a condom on my desk while cleaning. Well, it expires in 2009, so it may get used...right. At the rate I'm going, I'm anything but fucked. Flirting sucks at life.

Someone from CMU has visited this blog 24 times in the past 1o days. Uh, I'm very curious as to who this is.

I'm going to go hit something with something else. I am very frustrated with myself still.

Apparently, my self-induced frustration has 100% brotherhood approval. Thanks guys.

Every once in a while, these crazy songs make a lot of sense

Dresden Dolls - Shores of California

He's been trying with limited success
To get this girl to let him get into her pants
But every time he thinks he's getting close
She threatens death before he gets a chance

And that's the way it is in minnesota
And that's the way it is in oklahoma
That's the way it's been since protozoa
First climbed onto the shores of california

And she's been trying with limited success
To get him to turn out the lights and dance
Cause like any girl all she really wants
That fickle little bitch romance
That fickle little bitch romance

And that is why a girl is called a tease
And that is why a guy is called a sleaze
And that's why god made escort agencies
One life to live and mace and GHB

And that's the way it is in minnesota
And that's the way it is in oklahoma
That's the way since the animals and noah
First climbed onto the shores of california

Must not be too kind
Stop thinking love is blind
Clench your fists yeah write
"she's just not my type..."

Why all these conflicting specifications
Maybe to prevent overpopulation
All I know is that all around the nation
The girls are crying and the boys are masturbating

And that's the way it is in minnesota
And that's the way it is in oklahoma
That's the way Aristophanes and homer
Wrote the iliad and lysistrata (not in that order...)

And that's the way it is in minnesota
And that's the way it is in oklahoma
That's the way it's been since protozoa
First climbed onto the shores of california

*(Insert a noise that would equate emotionally to hitting shit with an aluminum baseball bat)*

Oh my dear God.
I am so frustrated with my self right now.
I am running out of time.
Everyone and their mother sees it.
And I'm having so much fucking trouble doing something about it.
Fuck. This. Shit.



Dammit, it was so much easier when I had no chance. Then at least I could blame someone else for fucing it up.

Yearrgh!

Blogger can bite me. Stupid service outages.
Livejournal can bite me. Stupid schizoid deleted account settings and friends-only shit.
Physics can bite me. Because I just took my physics 2 final.

And I don't think I did too bad a job.

I'm actually in a fairly good mood, despite what may indicate otherwise. Halfway done with finals, and now I need to actually think about packing, and seeing people for at least one more time before going home. Not too bad, not too bad at all.

Forces of Nature

I now know for a fact that forces of nature (and maybe even forces of Dan) are conspiring to make my life wicked confusing.
I've lost sight of the basic things. I kind of had a premonition about the nature of the whole thing, so the shift, in retrospect, surprises me not.
But, even whilst in emotional knots, one has to appreciate the simplicity of being thrown of a wall by the demonstrated possibility of mutual attraction.


Jethro Tull - Wond'ring Aloud

Wond'ring aloud --
how we feel today.
Last night sipped the sunset --
my hands in her hair.
We are our own saviours
as we start both our hearts beating life
into each other.

Wond'ring aloud --
will the years treat us well.
As she floats in the kitchen,
I'm tasting the smell
of toast as the butter runs.
Then she comes, spilling crumbs on the bed
and I shake my head.
And it's only the giving
that makes you what you are.

Excuse me...

Excuse me for being so ranty. I don't know what happened to my mood last night. It was weird.
Considering everything that has happened over the past two nights, I've been doing really well. Things are going good right now, and it's easy to lose sight of that. Finals, despite whatever work I do for them, should be good. Hopefully, this last week can rock like this weekend has.

Unexpected curves

Several things happened tonight which I did not expect. Caffeine really fucked with my mood. I guess it didn't help that I wanted to take a baseball bat to someone's face beforehand.
But yet, after getting fucked over in ten fingers (three hands down, and Ben still had a finger on his first), I realized something that my behavior dictated. Something that I had actually been frustrated at myself for before, but now, when the situation presents it self as slapface obvious, makes a whole lot of sense.
If something feels completely awkward, and doesn't present itself as desirable, at least not desirable enough to initiate, you don't. And it's much safer that way.
As fucking pissed and crazy I've been, I have to realize something...I haven't been this comfortable around people....ever. I feel really good about where I am, and I think that's the issue. If I'm in such a good position for myself, why can't I get something started?
Maybe I already have. The more I worry about it, the less satisfied I'll be in the long run.
And hey, the answer may just be an act of violence or aggression. I haven't been able to get any of this shit out of my system in a long time.

It's been a long time since I've done one of these, but...

I had a very weird dream last night.
Well, it wasn't all weird, some made perfect sense. But...
For some reason or another, AEPi had relocated to my house (yes, my house in Massachusetts, I don't know why), and we were preparing to move stuff into storage. I had to drive across in the state in under 45 minutes to get the rest of my stuff, using either my mom's van, or an electric wheelchair. I actually chose the electirc wheelchair first, then kind of realized the mistake inherent in that.
There were other things too, that I either don't remember or won't get into here due to a very high degree of...relevance.
I'm not sure in what direction my mind is flipping out. It is flipping out, as usual, but after figuring out that, given a bit of a wig-out (don't we love those?), I'm still going in the same direction. It is a very likable direction, if I could keep my shit together. Speaking of keeping shit together...
Classes are over! It's pretty fucking cool. Now, if I could somehow find the meaning of true happiness in the next week, my school year will be complete.

In the Zone

*dances a little to the left*
*dances a little to the right*
Yeah.
Screw this self-doubt bullshit.
I'm in the zone!

Hot Shit!

I finished my paper. I think it came out ok. That's quite convenient, seeing as it's due tomorrow. I'm very glad that's out of the way.
I should start thinking about finals...that, and packing. Packing this room up will be an exercise in futility. But hey, it must be done.
That was random. But my paper being done made me happy.

KMFDM - Free Your Hate

So yeah, my music taste has expanded quite significantly, with the largest players being:

Prog (Still): Jethro Tull, Emerson, Lake, and Palmer, King Crimson, Camel, Atomic Rooster, Dream Theater, Liquid Tension Experiment
Industrial: Front Line Assembly, Front 242, Skinny Puppy, Ministry, Rammstein, KMFDM
Indie-ish: The Dresden Dolls, The Dandy Warhols, The Eels, Gogol Bordello, Dismemberment Plan
Dance-ish: The Faint, Electric Six, Radio 4
Punk: The Clash, The Dead Kennedys, Minor Threat, Flogging Molly, Fugazi
Reggae-ish: Matisyahu

OK. Done with that. Now onto the actual entry.
The one thing I hate about my behavior is my paranoia. The feeling that when you do not act, or when you act and do something you may not have wanted to do, everyone else automatically knows...and reacts in the worst possible way. How many times will I have to prove to myself that it's not as bad as I make it out to be...I really exaggerate everything in my head...and then get paranoid about it. It bothers me to no end. I worry, stew, and refuse to approach an issue, but when I finally do, nothing bad happened, I was just being paranoid. Grr.
It's like I said before...I'm unused to being successful at this whole social thing, so now I'm in a new position, and don't exactly know how to deal with it. Which, to say the least, is annoying and frustrating.
Things will make more sense next year. At least then, I'll be rolling with it the whole year instead of waiting til like fucking February or March. Ah, the joys of being single. Heh. Right.

Sanity Check

Well, I've written nearly half of my paper, and as a result, feel significantly better about a lot of shit. Academic shit, at least.
I'm on a bit of a break now...wait to hear from Andrew regarding physics, and then, if that's done before 11, maybe write a bit more paper. Otherwise, it can wait. At this rate, I'll have no problem being done by the due date.
Other problems, I suppose. I'm still easily intimidated about the whole thing, which makes it hard for me to just pick up the phone...I'll do it though. I'll hate myself if I don't.
On one hand, I'm kind of glad I haven't done anything horrifically serious, because then I'd really be screwing things up wth people. I just wish I could have made it easier on myself. I made a few poor choices, but I've just been way too indecisive about everything. I hope people can be sympathetic...or at least empathetic. Sympathetic was most likely the wrong word. Whatever (grammar weevil strikes again! don't know what the grammar weevil is? tough shit! chew it!).
In other news...I'm back in two weeks. That's weird. I'll worry about the weirdness later...in the meanwhile, I should get emotionally ready for finals, and find about 10-20 cubic feet of packing space. Boxes, anyone?