Tommorow Is a Long Time

Anybody interested in a World of Warcraft account reply in a comment ASAP. I have one I won't use, and I can save somebody about $50-60 bucks for activation and the Expansion Pack.

I'm never sure how to begin these things anymore. I often feel as though I have little to say, or little cause to write about here. In fact, I even feel tad guilty here and there about this journal. I've used it mostly to whine and moan, and it is something of a poor record of my life. Even the username is a holdover from earlier days, and a dreamy attitude that I've mostly lost with age and experience. I look at the entries here, stretching back two years, and I almost don't recognize the original Endymi0n7. I find the entry when I started bothering with proper punctuation and reasonable sentence structure, the entries where I began to take things more seriously, where I stopped (and soon re-started) comment whoring. And that's only the LiveJournal. Ye old Xanga and Blurty are even worse, but at least they still have records going back. I duck, and am a bit embarrassed by them, but I realized today how comforting it is that I left little pieces of me here and there.

It makes me miss letters, in a way. My grandmother still has dozens of letters that she received from family members, and from Papa. Handwritten, they are a very personal message that only fade as fast as the acid within their paper does. It's not forever, but it lasts them long enough to keep. But letters such as these are something that I have never really known. To my knowledge, neither of my parents kept a journal, and they lived in the age when phones just recently usurped letters as the primary long-distance communication. At least with blogs, the server will save them as long as your account is barely active.

That said, I am considering retiring this account. Something about my Livejournal seems a bit stale. I rarely find the motivation for this journal, and Kyle recently suggested that I could have a blog at either his diminuendo.net or his burnyourwings.net. Maintaining something like that might be the push I'd like to continually update, and it would be an interesting change of style, not to mention a chance to learn some HTML. I am living in a new state, (mostly) on my own, and perhaps so dramatic a change might warrant a new place to pen my thoughts. I may yet take him up on his offer.

And so many of my friends are off to Washington, DC. The senior trip was one of the best times in my life. For a magical week I could let go of all the resentment and fear that piled up after six years at Tempe Prep, and appreciated for the last, and perhaps also the first time how good some individuals in my class actually were. I was free, exploring a wonderous place for only the second time, and the first after my own  looming independence really hit me. The city holds a special place in me, and I hope it will for all of you.

So too, does Dallas, I realized last night while cuddling on a boy's bed. I show my moments of annoyance and frustration about the city, but in all honesty very little surprises me here. Everything that bothers me about this place, the money over sense, the superiority, the latent racism, or the general shallowness were all very much in evidence to me when I made my decision, even if I preferred to not always see them. What drew me here was more basic, something deeper. I might say that some of the places that I have visited have never left me; the Florida Keys, Emerald Bay, Havasupai, Chevelon Canyon, and Camp Raymond all are significant to me in different intensities and for different reasons, most having to do with personal growth. What I admitted about Dallas was that it is primarily important to me because of the place it holds in my family. My father and his brother and sister were born here. My grandparents first began their lives together here, and just over one year ago Papa died here. Perhaps this subtle but deep connection to my family made it the only place I could live so far from home and so young. Dallas is a part of me, and I am making it profoundly more so.

I wonder what it was like for Papa coming to Arizona at my age. At the time there were no C-----s in Arizona, and he was going to a place that was still very much the frontier. It must have taken a lot of courage, or perhaps it was merely a move of survival on account of his asthma. I wonder, here and there, what it would be like to be completely on my own, and in a city that would on paper be more conducive to my life and attitudes. And then I realize what should have been obvious: a place only has its significance because of its people. Even if SMU has a great many people who I do not get along with, it is only a few people who ever matter to me, and I like to think that I have found individuals here worthy of that respect. I am building my own place, as I would anywhere I happened to go, as best I can.

I've calmed down since yesterday. It seems even a little pointless to be so worried, but that was still one of the most terrifying things I've ever done. I can still make out where I was pricked, and the bruise is still there.

I may or may not be doing something with Mr. S4 tomorrow night. We'll just have to see where that goes...

We discussed spiritual experiences in Wellness today. Funny how of all my classmates, most of whom are either Christian or of another straitforward religion, I was the only one there besides the professor who actually had a spiritual experience--something that seemed incredibly real that one can't explain. Then again, if it hadn't happened to me, I would think mine was a bunch of hooey. Now I know better, and despite all my science background, all my cynicism and reason, I acknowledge that there are things and forces out there that I will never be able to explain.

In case you all were interested, never ask me how to build a speaker. Mine was... horrible. My Civil Engineering side kicked in and I built the thing almost the exact opposite from how it should. The TA told me that he was surprised mine worked (does buzzing count as "working"?) given how poorly it was constructed. Ouch. But then again, I'm not really there to build the speaker. I'm there to help write the program to test whatever they build.

This weekend I will get to meet my friend's sixty-seven year old pen pal and "benefactor"... oh god. That's about what's going on with my life.

Last night (the fourteenth) marked my first journey to Station 4 of Dallas, Texas. In other words, my first time at a gay club.

The original plan had been to go with Elliot, my usual hangout buddy here. He was having a very "queen" moment. I'd mentioned wanting to go to the club on Valentine's and he'd liked the idea for the past couple of days. And then, about 9h30 (nobody hits the clubs before 10 or 11), I call to confirm the plan, and he says that he felt ugly, his hair sucked, a contact lens was bothering him... getting the picture? He even had the gall to say that we could go if I really wanted to. That pretty much answered my question. I moped for about 15 minutes, getting really frustrated with myself and the world, and then I realized that I could go if I wanted, and since I was the one who really wanted to go, I should.
 
In the hierarchy of ways of getting to clubs, taking a bus ranks pretty much last. Not that I personally mind the bus (I think it is one of the best ways to see Dallas), but it's not quite the right mood-setter for the evening. Especially if one misses their stop, thank you inconsistent street naming. So I'm nearly in downtown Dallas when I realize that I won't be catching the transfer I had planned on. From there, the gayborhood was about a mile walk through somewhat deserted streets. The streets weren't too bad, but going past Turtle Creek Park was a bit frightening. And... just as I approach my destination, the bus I meant to catch drove past.

By that time, I was a little nerved from the walk and the constant internal dialog about whether this was a good idea. I mean, what was I really in for? Did I want to find a trick? Find a date? Flirt? Judge? Be judged? Want men? Make men want me? Just prove to myself that I could do whatever I desired or wanted? I wasn't sure, so I hesitated. Spent at least 10 minutes walking past the now-deserted shops and trying to tune myself to the audible bass lines before I finally worked up my nerve.

My heart raced as I showed my ID, payed my cover, and was stamped with an "X" on each hand to mark that I was so recently jailbait. I started at the frosted glass doors, wondering whether I was wasting my time, hope, and cash on an empty club. I could feel it banging against my ribs as I opened the magic door. I panicked. Shit. I'd wasted another $10 cover for... I took a deep breath. There was a smaller bar-in-a-bar upstairs called The Rose Room, and most people would likely be there.

I was a bit disappointed in the size of the crowd. I would have thought more single gay men in Dallas would be out looking on a night like the one devoted to Saint Valentine, but my guess is that they all got wasted at home where the drinks were cheaper. Still, a decent crowd, and a few chances to chit-chat, if I could just get over myself long enough. There was a drag show that night, I suppose as a way to bring people into the club on weeknights. So exaggerated. Such acting... almost as if they lost themselves in their act, I wondered, when lo and behold a man I will for this journal call "33" causally bumps into me.

I wish I could say that I was expecting to get hit on, but I'd hate to lie to all of my dear friends. It would certainly make more sense for a night at a club. 33 and I trade a few tense words, and he leaves to get a drink. Meanwhile his friend starts feeding me a couple of rather odd lines about his friend when 33 returns and asks what he's been telling me, then to disregard it all. We strike up a bit of a conversation, and then the hints flow... he thinks I'm cute, and he's only visiting Dallas, leaving the next day. And then it comes out... I'm not in fact 21 like he supposed (I look like I'm 21??? I doubt it.) and aplogizes... he's 33, and immediately attributes my nervousness to being fresh out of the closet ("It's alright, I understand..."). I say that it was nice meeting him, and walk somewhere else in the bar, but I still hear 33 saying no to the suggestions of the friend that 33 should just go for it, since its not like I didn't think he was cute. A gay man I didn't even know who defended my honor... damn. Almost made me want to go back and flirt some more, but he left.

Which brings me to another interesting comment about gay bars. I'm unclear as to whether it is the same for straits, but alcohol seems to make gay men vocally honest... it at least was obvious who found or did not find me attractive. They also have much less sense of personal space. Bumping into people was tantamount to either hello, or they just liked bumping into men they considered cute. A drag queen named Ivana Tramp told me that I was gorgeous, and some fellow under-drinking-age fellow grabbed my head saying "I love your hair! It's so long!" before trying to get someone to buy him a drink. I chatted with a few more guys, and even gave one my number (what was I thinking?), and of course, his name is the only one that I have forgotten. That's the life.

This morning, phone boy texts me, "Hey boi, what r u doing?". I don't suppose there is a polite way to say "I thought you were cute, but I forgot your name..."

Despite all of this, I think I may have to go back. Still can't go on Fridays or Saturdays, but there are plenty of times that guys party. The music was excellent, and by the time I left, the dance floor was finally, if still a bit sparsely, populated. I needn't be so nervous next time. Hell, it should be pretty fun, especially once I'm 21...

I failed the math test. I think I started an entry like that not too long ago. That will knock down my GPA back into the mortal realm. Oh well. It was good while it lasted... and not all is lost. I just need to study a BIT harder at the stuff. Today was pretty boring. I went to my only class, Wellness, and have had the whole afternoon somewhat free. Worked on Statics and Calculus for a while in Java City. Tonight is another meeting of the minds between Hot Ascii Software  (my computer science group name) and the EE's and ME's over the speaker. I'm not sure mine will actually play music very well... or at all, but such is the dilemma of a very conceptual engineer being suddenly forced the real thing. Which brings me to a rather interesting tangent. I can often tell, when given an engineer, which field he or she is in before being told. Computer Science Majors are mildly manipulative, and very controlling. They are all hackers at heart--and after a while, manipulating datastreams and networks becomes an exercise in human logic. Mechanical engineers are smart-as-hell versions of the sort of people you find always building things, or working on cars, and therefore have a bit of the "working class" vibe to them, and are quite social/party type. Electrical Engineers seem to know everything, and they make it their buisness to know what few people ever bother to think about (try thinking of your computer/ stereo/ect at it's lowest data levels and construction!), but tend to think they are the smartest people ever to live, an ironic position given they have by far the worst social skills. Environmental Engineers are, true to their name, activists--proficient in their field and with an edge to change thins. Civil Engineers on the other hand, are the most conceptual. Designers have very little hands on experience with the sorts of things they must create, and may work on many things that never get built. Everything they build has to face government approval, tend to be a rather conservative with what they do. They have a lot of breadth of knowelege, perhaps moreso than other engineers, but rarely more than booksmarts.

I've missed you guys. A lot. And while I have a good life here in the state of 10 gallon hats and bleeding orange, I hate feeling so distant from y'all (see how much I'm adapting?), and the internet can help with that. Besides, it's good to keep some kind of journal here or there to keep one honest... and the exploits of the big city could be cool.

So... today.

Today I happen to be a bit swamped with work. I have to build a speaker and finish some Pseudocode for my computer science class, Jot some things down for English and Wellness,  and oh yeah, study for big huge tests of doom in Statics (Engineering Physics) and Calculus, on top of the three hour chunk of today that I spend working at the library. But such is the life of a college student.

However it was not this that bothered me so much today, as was the fact that I did not get to spend the night in my bed, but rather in a sleeping bag on the floor of a friend's room. THIS was because one of my suitemates got a little too drunk at a party hosted by the fraternity he is pledging, and threw up in his room... and letting the smell waft across the entire suite. Pleasant, eh? Well, today when I got back, I opened the windows in my room, and it smelled much better. But Max can still go fuck himself. I have no sympathy for him. He knows exactly what his limits are, and he blatantly goes past them. I don't care what he does to himself, but he should not make idiotic mistakes that affect the lives of the other three people in the suite.

On a more positive note, on Wednesday I shall be going to the most popular gay club in Dallas S4. And it being Valentine's day (and a weeknight, so an under 21 can enter), I can even be pretty much garanteed that I won't blow the $10 cover on a night when there aren't evenany people there. I even found a gorgeous and well-cut shirt to wear yesterday (<3  Seven Diamonds!). Now I'll even get to find out how attractive I can be by Dallas standards, and immerse myself headfirst into the ultrapretentious gay culture (makes a face trying to work up my courage).

It all seems to follow a predictable pattern, and yet it doesn't. I like to think that I'm nice, and endearing, and more than that ready. It's feels like a suprise to me when things don't go well, and yet it isn't. It shouldn't be. I've been through it again and again, and soon I might just be fucking numb. But I know myself well enough to say that I won't be numb, and that it doesn't make it any easier. It's not pain, or hate or rage this time. It's not worth that. It's just a bit sad. I just expected more this time. I really thought he was more this time. And with each demand, a caveat. Who am I to think I am deserving of anyone's time, or effort, or attention? Who am I yet to do more than want it?

I can handle it when I expect it. But this time I felt like things were going well. I felt differently about him than about the others. I wasn't obsessing, or forcing it. I just happened to have met a strongly-willed gentleman at the interest meeting for a progressive group on campus. I was attracted by his strength, his passion, and his ambition. I wasn't devoting most of my mental energy to him, I wasn't having delusions of grandeur; it was remarkable in that it was such a small feeling. It was a small feeling, but it was one that stuck. It was one that perked up a bit every time something he did showed that he was thinking about me.

It was a feeling that came to fullest fruition one Friday night over sushi in West Village. An amazing dinner, breathtaking atmosphere, but more than that, a person that I just felt comfortable with. We walk around to find that an indie movie theatre is showing the latest gay film, and we decide to see it, and afterwords he takes me back to see his apartement, and he opens a bottle of wine he'd been saving for a little while. Then, between kisses and cuddles, everything just feels right in a way it hadn't felt since I left Phoenix.

Over the next week, we make chances to see each other. We have mostly conflicting schedules (he's a junior and works), but we still manage to make time here and there. Another date that Friday, and things still seem all to be well.

And then silence. Nothing Saturday, Sunday, or Monday. I had done the usual customs of making contact, but ne'er recieving a reply. On Teusday, I run into him before a class, and he aplogises, says that he had been quite sick, gives me a hug, and leaves (he had only a few minites before it started), which was different in itself becasue he usually doesn't show a lot of affection or even emotion in public. I'm left puzzled, but am ready to believe him. I try calling him again, but still nothing. And as much as I really wanted to believe him, all I had was a whole lot of nothing from him.

And yet, I could think of dozens of good reasons for him not to like me anymore. He has had to be self-dependant in a way that I could never dream of, and next to that I must seem very immature and naieve. Mabye it's that I felt like things were going better than they apparently really were. I criticize in my mind, others who I see form attachments quickly or foolishly, but, if in fact I really am so quick to make and break attachments, that puts me directly into a category that I deplore for it. Maybe I was truly being a jerk to him, or stepping over his hospitality. I can think of many instances when I said or did something just a bit stupid or inconsiderate, but he would laugh them off at the time. Perhaps it all just added up. But he never said anything, and I can't change if I can't figure out that something is even wrong.

I can't make my life like "The Sims". Relationships, people, and my own life will never be reducable to formulas. Do-over's and extra lives aren't on the table. I wish I hadn't made the mistakes about him, but I can at least grow from them now, and look forward, because I've still got pleanty of time and fuckups on the horizon.

Oh, things are not as bad as the title might seem. I mostly did not want it to be too sugarly optimistic. Things remain in a bit of a roller coaster, but I am on an uphill swing at the moment.

Which is about fair. It figures I got rather sick the first full week of classes. Not sick enough to miss any of them (I'm not sucicidal mind you), but sick enough to be living off of an ibuprofen every 5 hours. I hate my throat. Not that I can say that I'd live without it, but I am still very angry none the less. And despite some of the earlier conflicts with my roomate over the contents of our fride (pork tamales vs. teh Jewish vegetarian), he was incredibly helpful and caring when I felt crummy. I really should do something nice to suprise him as a thanks. And a not so bad way to start would be to call his sister for some suggestion. Or the rest of you, but y'all don't know him yet, and belive me, you'd know if you did. Ah, the socialites of Dallas. I must investigate further and incorperate some of their lives into a story or a novel or something.

There was a toga party last night, as evidenced by the visible manflesh sloppily wrapped in bedsheets wandering across campus. Heh. SMU is so frat sometimes. Hah. Please shoot me if I ever want to join one, thank you. I spent a lot of the night wandering, or on the phone with people. Not a wasted night.

Last night was additionally the first meeting of Students for a Better Society, a progressive organization on campus. They are very activist about things like the Iraq war, genocide, human rights, and the environment. Last night we learned about the School of the Americas, where your wonderful tax dollars go towards training the future Latin American military leaders, by which I clearly mean dictators. Don't you love our military? As long as they're not communists, they're ok! I must say, they had me pretty sold on the protest until they mention how many people tend to get arrested at protests against said school... I certainly support the cause, but eep, I'm not to keen on jail. It's more a matter of picking my battles. Being arrested at that protest honestly wouldn't serve a tremendous purpose other than to make the arestee not loved by Uncle Sam. I am for most of their causes, but I am hesitant at some of their methods. Just stirring up shit doesn't do much on it's own. You have to make sure that what you do really could make a difference. But hey, they got SMU to start buying 3% renewable energy, which for its size is not insigificant, and a real improvement over zero (thanks, Texas oil!). 

So I only have two more classes today (one if I get lucky and cauc really is cancelled!), and then the second play weekend, which will have good play, but also quite a bit of studying to make up for the college is harder adjustment and the sickness. But hey, as long as I am in a good mood, I'll survive. I still miss all of you, but I am honestly happier here than I have been in a long time. Y'all who aren't already in college are in for quite a treat.

And yes, I am picking up the drawl. No, I don't sound like a hick. I live in Dallas, not Fort Worth. :-p

Sorry I haven't been more able to contact/write/IM/email/post to all of you, but things have rather been surreal since I arrived. Whilst moving things from my aunt's home into her truck, I was shown a little too much love by my aunt's very large black poodle, and I dropped my laptop. The monitor is ruined, but the rest of it is OK. I finally got to check it this morning. Now there's the matter of getting it fixed.

And now, for a few snippets on college life, so far...

I was having a conversation with Meghan, my roommate's sister, the other night. She basically said that the largest adjustment to college life was the complete lack of privacy. She couldn't be more right. Between a dorm room, more often than not with roommate, classes, and wandering all over campus, you are almost never alone. Even now, I am having to type this at the webcafé in the student center. To somebody like me, it has quite a shock. Sharing a room with someone you are radically different from is quite the exercise in patience and compromise. No more complete autonomy over my domain. However, not all is bad. I have been meeting piles of extremely cool people (even if I can't remember all of their names) and I am making many friends. I have been given a blank slate and the chance to define myself however I want. It is exhilarating, but also dangerous.

But of course, with any new experience, there will be mistakes. For too long I have been confusing self-control with a lack of opportunity, and it has already come to haunt me. It is surprising now naive one becomes once placed in a new environment. But even so, mistakes are only to be a bit expected, and one simply must learn to accept that they are finished and unchangeable, and are learning experiences, not to be repeated. While many more people than I hoped know about this mistake (again, the privacy issue), the people here are not judgmental, and are willing to ignore or forgive, or better yet to not have excessively cared in the first place.

And then there are classes. My civil engineering class is incredible. I am so excited I can barely describe how it feels to begin studying exactly what I want to do with my life. It almost doesn't feel like a class--a class takes on the tone of an obligation, but at least for now it is a labor of love. My programming class I am nearly as passionate about. Not only is it an incredibly useful skill to have for an engineer, but I've always wanted to be able to really know computers, rather than just how to use them. English I should do just fine it--it is mostly like starting over humane letters again, but with people somewhat unused to the concept. Calculus, well, I'll have to wait to meet the actual professor for. And as for chemistry, being from TPA, my 100 person class feels dauntingly large, but that's what study groups are for. I plan to succeed, and I will do all in my power to make it happen. When I visited my great uncle in DC, he and I had a chat about me starting college. His advice was to shoot for A's, and that you knew if you did really well the first semester, that you were completely capable of doing as well for the rest of your college career. I realized I never pushed myself for grades like that before--I never had cared enough but now nothing prevents me from doing that. I have only myself, and I must be a resource, not a burden. 

I am aiming for the top. Dallas won't quite know what hit it.

Off to Dallas for orientation. We'll see if I can update from theres (Most freaking likely--but do I ever update?)

We live, I regret to say, in an age of surfaces

-Oscar Wilde

Imagine, if you will. A gentleman cooks a romantic dinner, sets out candles, picks a movie, and has everything ready. The boyfriend calls and says that he can no longer make it--several people quit at work and that he has to cover their shifts. The boyfriend says that it is not his fault. The gentleman is understandably hurt. He says that the boyfriend could have demanded the time, and if they were really that short of people, the boyfriend would be in a good position to argue. It doesn't matter, the gentleman continues, because the whole thing is a sign of how important the relationship is to the boyfriend. The gentleman dumps the boyfriend, and goes off, and is sad, but simply talks about the break-up with someone he doesn't know and that he's only chatted with twice over an instant messenger. Why was this gentleman enamored in the first place? Because the man was cute, and sweet, and could melt him with his eyes.

The situation could be deconstructed a great number of different ways. Perhaps the dinner was a set-up, a purposeful attempt at creating an issue. Perhaps it was a desperate plea. Perhaps it grew in importance in the retelling. And this boyfriend? There was a lot he could have done to make the situation better. For one, he could have apologized. Taken responsibility. Done something, or anything to show that he cared. Maybe he simply didn't, or maybe his boss was just being a tremendous pompous ass. In any case, the weren't communicating. They didn't know each other near as well as they might have wanted to. Maybe it simply didn't occur to them. Maybe they expect that it's the appearance, and the act, that makes the relationship. But I am speculating too much. The gentleman is intelligent, and also considerate, at least on the surface. Yet he is outgoing enough that he always feels uncomfortable when nothing is being said. He talks, but somehow misses the communication. And in any case, he talks so simply and plainly out of something that was supposedly meant a great deal to him. He uses the same tone of voice that I use when I describe a mediocre to stressful day at school or work. Perhaps even more dispassionate. Something just doesn't add up.

Or consider a woman, upset at seeing her former boyfriend sitting at a table with his wife, across the food court from her. "Scooby-Doo", she growls at me. "She is just hideous. I can't understand why he sands her". Well, somehow he obviously stood her enough to marry her, even before this relationship with this woman. "I don't get what's wrong with him". Never once in this entire conversation did she say why she loved him, not that it was likely to be reciprocated at any rate. All she has is her anger at him. What else did she expect from him? Did she really expect him to choose her over his wife? Did she really expect him to settle with her? Well, that I can't answer. But she feeds on drama. She feeds on the game, like most people I see.

I crave sincerity, or at least I like to think I do. But surfaces often seem so much more simple. Well… that’s because they are. The problems are simple, and the solutions even more so. But would it ever be satisfying? I don’t know. I have never found a surface that I would not slip off of. Even now, I feel as though I can do little but watch the successes and failures of those I see around me, and hope that I can learn from them.

I realized today just how much happier I am now that I have graduated. I'm no longer with a large group of people (my class) that I mostly don't like, and I am in a place, at least for the summer, where the people are extremely friendly. I suppose some happens in every workplace, but I find that this Gloria Jean's is well, a very open place. When we arent busy (It comes and goes--It can be hectic for 10 minites and empty the next)we always talk, and never to my knowlege in a derogatory way. If you aren't interested, you just don't speak. But I don't think I've found a single coworker who is that shy or reserved. Maybe that's how Tammie hires, or maybe it's just something more akin to this "real world" that supposedly exists.

I've also started going by "Alton" there. It was a little suprising to have people refer to me by my middle name, and while it's an ajustment, I find that I prefer it more and more. I no longer feel like a child when I am introducing myself to people. Your name and how you wear it significantly affects how others percieve you. It is a whole new group of people; one that does not think of how long they knew me or how I was when I was young. They only see me as I am now, as I do of them. I am not held back by my many mistakes of the past, though I am mindful of repeating them. I like getting to know them. I'm not saying that everybody is best friends, but there is a great deal more mutual respect than I am used to. I am grateful that there is no more thinly-veiled contempt of me or the things that I stand for. In the moments I doubted that the outside would be better, I couldn't realize how much it weighed on me until I was free of it.

Things are hardly perfect, but I am content, which for me is a nearly priceless sentiment.

Graciella and I went to Sunsplash today! I had a wonderful time. Fun rides, some sun, good company... I haven't had a day like that in quite a while. I truly relaxed, and most of you should know how hard that can be for me. Oh! And I got a little color, so I won't have to be pasty white anymore. Whee! Additionally, I make very good BLT sandwiches. Ask her if you don't believe me.

I'm getting the hang of working at Gloria Jean's. It's actually not a terribly large number of things to remember--though it was certainly daunting the first couple of days, and oh yes, I get paid for it. Wheee! Espresso is quite fun to make, probably my favorite thing to fix. No crazy blender to worry me. I have also discovered that weird shit happens in the mall on a daily basis... not that surprising when you think about it, but it can add up. Wednesday afternoon they had some skater show outside that got rained out, flooding the inside of the mall with skater kids. None of whom bought coffee. Although one prick pretended he was diabetic to try and get a free muffin. I jump to my conclusion because he was not the best of actors, and well, no diabetic would dare let their sugar get as dangerously low as he claimed ("But I don't have any money!" "What about your friend there?" "Euh... Neither does she!"). He just wanted free crap. It really annoys me how some people just try to milk anything they can find.

Oh, and I might have found the reason why I've been having trouble sleeping. I've just not been eating as much since summer began. With all the heat and me not doing as much, I haven't had as much of an appetite. Now that work's started, it probably has to do with the evenings that I close. You see, dealing with a lot of coffee for several hours has a way of suppressing the appetite, and since I've been working strait through dinner most nights, I haven't noticed that I missed a meal and just want to crash upon my return. I discovered this last night at one when I couldn't sleep and I finally heard my stomach growl. Bingo. So I had to fix a dinner at that late hour, but at least I won't do that in the future.

The result of my first day of hard labor: $2.10 in tips.

Well, I'm feeling much more human tonight. I'm thinking I'll sleep better tonight. The nag is mostly gone, but I'm sure if I let myself dwell on the topic, that it will come back. Funny transient nature of things. Funny how one song will stay in your head for hours, and yet it's all in your mind, you have control, and yet you're powerless to stop such a crazy simple thing as pressing pause on the little soundtrack in your mind. Do any of you try to listen to silence? Most of the time my mind can't bear true silence, and always tries to cover up the perception with someting else. Kind of an interesting metaphor for how people always percieve nothingness.

And I want to know who left the comment about jacking off.

I just spent the last hour tossing and turning in my bed trying to go to sleep. Once I started doing such to the point of it nearly being aerobic (and a bit ludicrous) I finally gave up and am sitting here thus at my computer. All the random things going through my mind... conversations I haven't had... tomb raider music... and images of me trying to survive a day at work.

Speaking... particularly odd was that I had an odd, cliché moment of envisioning a disaster whilst attempting something. While anticipating failure is certainly not new to me, I don't recall having so vivid (and, like I said, clichéd enough to have come out of some Disney channel show) an image of things going wrong. I somehow doubt that the little espresso machines at Gloria's have enough pressure to plaster the entire atrium of Fiesta Mall with milk, thank god, but this damn vision is certainly going to make me a tad more careful about it.

I wonder why I can't sleep. It's as if I just can't keep still long enough to really relax anymore. I'm quite tense. Similarly tense is my mind--I just can't quiet it. Why can't I just relax enough to sleep??

"Oh yes", Alton's mind pipes in, "You shouldn't use the computer or television right before bed. It is unconducive to sleep." Unconducive... I don't even think that's a word. I then tell my subconscious to go screw itself, to which it gives me... heh... a reply that I won't share. Usually having a dialogue like this might make me wonder if something was wrong with me, yet strangely tonight I'm just not quite up to fighting my mind.

Maybe I have zeihnzut. Actually, I'm relatively sure that I do. No, I still don't know how to spell the damn thing, but I remember quite vividly that first guest speaker at TPA. And oh yes, that feeling he described that I didn't even think was possible for me to ever have because I was too smart or content for that. Hah. It's a perpetual feeling of a desire. As the man described it, it was this recurring nag of simply,

I want... I want... I want...

And in part, lately I can't quite tell what I want. For a couple of weeks before the end of school I was looking forward to playing video games as soon as I got out of school. I'll finally have time , I thought. But, now that school is completely out and I have all the time I could possibly want, I lack the specific desire. After dropping Beth of at one of her friends' recitals, I stopped by a video rental place to see if I could find something. I look, and I see two games that a month ago I would have lept at the chance to rent. Yet somehow, I couldn't bring myself to get either one. Neither was sufficient to satisfy whatever video game craving had come over me, and I'm quite sure that no such game exists which would satisfy that craving.

So it would appear that this little episode was simply a manifestation of whatever lies inside me and is forcing me to do such un-Alton-like things. Funny. I've been waiting to start going by that and yet when I first called Mitch (I might explain later) last night, I froze... and simply said "Ricky". My excuse is that is what Quinn had told him my name was, but even so, it nags at me.

So many things seem to nag at me of late. The desire for a job, this perfect video game, or companionship. Everything seems to be going so as to fulfill this things, and yet nothing satisfies whatever desire I have. Now I just want to go to bed, but that bug won't seem to be able to let me. I feel tired. I feel that slightest ache on my limbs and my neck, of my body wanting to be horizontal, to be still, and yet here I am, sitting at my computer, typing some obscure entry that perhaps half a dozen people will ever read.

Well, I best make another attempt at sleep before I go really crazy. Good night.

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Can you tell?