Date:	2006-03-21 21:48
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	happy
Music:	suicide machines

So, I'm in Scotland. And I haven't updated LJ in a...long time. Go me, for being a totally useless, unmotivated human being. I think I'll go download some Battlestar now.

Emilly arrives tomorrow. *bliss*

Date:	2005-05-28 02:50
Subject:	LJ blows
Security:	Public
Mood:	blank
Music:	Sondre Lerche

Yeah, I'm not even going to take the time to cut-and-paste my entry from Xanga. Livejournal continues its Dimaggio-like streak of not impressing me in the slightest. Insomnia is wearing me thin right now, and those two pots of coffee aren't doing a damn thing.

Ben, you should call me next week. (701) 202-0652. I haven't bugged the shit out of Kristin in awhile. That goes for anyone else I've neglected to contact since I got home. I'm just a lazy asshole, and you all know it.

Date:	2005-04-03 13:19
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	apathetic
Music:	Black Heart Procession

It's embarassing how little I post on LJ anymore. Not that it matters much, as no one reads this shitty blog anyway.

I just filled out the final paperwork for my job on the Kaimin. Doesn't seem worth it for a whopping six weeks of work. Six weeks means six stories. And I'm already behind for my second week. Perhaps I'd be a better reporter if my editor would be a better editor. Stupid, lazy seniors.

I won't bother filling up the white space on this page with any psycho-babble on my angsty inner-torments. That's what I have a Xanga account for. Schools going okay. I just hope I can do well on this next batch of exams. After this week, I'll have a five week breather before finals. Plenty of time to hike, camp, and climb my ass off. My semester ends on the 13th of May. Whether or not my mom and I will open up my grandma's place on our way back to Bizzle has yet to be decided. I really don't care one way or the other. This summer will be what it will be. I'm sick of trying to make things memorable, glorious, life-changing. No one else puts forth any effort, so why the fuck should I?

I don't update LJ as often as I should. Guess that should've been one of my New Years resolutions.

My Xanga is misleadingly-depressing. Sure, I'm still having a shitload of problems in life, but nothing too serious. I just wish I could think straight for five minutes, without this "cloud" hovering around in my head.

I got struck by lightening last night.



How many of you believed me? I didn't think so. You aren't as gullible as I thought. Good for you. Now have a nice day.

Date:	2005-01-14 00:39
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	gloomy
Music:	"New Slang" - the Shins

I can feel my resolve slipping. The control I thought I had was nothing more than an illusion. A vow made long ago has faded into deepest memory, along with the pain once suffered. Is this a conscious decision? Or is there no such thing as control in this not-so-rarest of cases?

I've done it again. The unthinkable. The unforgiveable. And apparently, the unforgettable.

Date:	2005-01-10 01:28
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	pessimistic
Music:	Orange Sky

Has my life really been as meaningless as it feels at this moment in time? I can't think of one worth-while thing I've done in the last 18 years. It's unbearable, the idea that I've not yet managed to do something worthy of mention. What's the point of all this? If life is so difficult, and the experiences that define life are so bittersweet, why do we put up with it? Sometimes I just wish that I knew where all of this was going. All I need is a little reassurance that something will eventually pan out in my favor. Living life is like driving without a map; it's interesting, and occassionally fun, but you don't know any of the landmarks. It's easy to get lost when you have no idea what your destination is. The thought of destiny scares me. But the thought of life without a destination scares me more.

Somehow it doesn't feel right, me being this fucked up. So many people are worse off than me. Yet all I can do is dwell on my petty problems or, when I have no problems to dwell on, create my own problems. This is all in my head. Unfortunately, I put it there.

Normally I'm not bugged by the lack of a significant other in my life. But lately I've been longing for the intimacy that comes with a relationship. I want to be able to wrap my arms around someone's shoulders while watching a movie, or kiss the back of her neck. The anti-love, anti-relationship, anti-girl side of my psyche is still dominant. But he's losing ground.

Too bad I'm really picky when it comes to girls. If I wasn't, it would make getting laid so much easier.

Date:	2004-12-30 10:41
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	confused
Music:	Rooney- "Sorry, Sorry"

Shit have I been too lazy to update in a while. But don't worry, all you fans of this boring-ass soap opera that is my life. You're about to get a long entry.

With the obvious exception of getting my wisdom teeth out three days after I got back, my Christmas break has gone quite well so far. The plane ride home was shitty, but the TGI Fridays in the Minneapolis airport makes on hell of a burger. First meal I'd had in three days. When I landed in Bismarck, I recieved the predictable hugs and kisses from my uber-excited family. Jon Baumstark had been bumped onto my flight from the late one, so I was able to talk to him for the first time since...

On my way to the car with my carry-ons (heavy-ass backpack and mandolin), who approachs me from the dark of night? Neal and Dan. I can honestly say that I've never been more surprised or more happy to see the two of them. My mom shocked me by asking if I wanted to get a ride home from them, instead of riding home with my family. After loading my bags into my folks' car, I ran after Neal and Dan. The three of us piled into Dan's Civic and took a little joyride, for old-time's sake. That was the first restful night's sleep I've gotten in months.

Next night, I went up to Devon's for SNG. I was pretty excited to see the crew again, but when I walked into the basement there was another surprise for me: Neal. For a couple seconds, I just kind of asked myself "What's Neal doing here? Does he even know Devon, or any of these guys?" But it turned out he'd come with Dan and Con. Since Mike and Paul weren't there, I spent most of the night talking to Neal, Dan, and Quisty. On Sunday night, I went to Ocean's Twelve with Neal, Scott, and some girl I didn't know.

On Monday morning, Neal and I went over to BHS to visit Baumann. He was a little warmer with another person there, and I managed to have a nice but brief conversation with him. Apparently he's getting married in Cancun in January. Lucky bastard. It was kind of weird to walk around the bandroom again, and to nap on Baumann's office couch. Nostalgia-enima. When our presence was less than welcome, we left. I told Neal to call me in a week, if I didn't call him first. My wisdom teeth came out half-an-hour later. The IV stuff they use to put you out is great. I remember sitting in this uncomfortable, fucked up little leather dentist's chair, staring out the window at the sky. Then BLAM, I was in my bed at home. The next three days consisted of milkshakes and ice cream. Didn't expect to lose weight on that diet, but I lost five pounds. Now my mom's freaked out, saying I'm underweight cause I've lost so much weight in Missoula. Fuck that.

Only three nights are really worthy of mentioning since Monday, as Christmas went as expected. Last Thursday, I got a call from Rebecca asking if she could come over for a visit. About two hours later, she was kicking my ass at chess and wondering what I'd told my parents after she "stopped coming over all the time" last year. I'm so fucking weak when it comes to confrontation that I just kinda shrugged. Not sure, but I think I said something stupid like "It's the past. Doesn't matter." She left after another hour or so, probably because I started to get a little uber-cynical. When Ian and I went to Big Boy for lunch a few days ago, he laughed at the whole story. I didn't really care. I'm over it.

On Sunday, I went up to Devon's at Mike's beckoning. Missed the bottle-rocket war, but I got to talk to Mike about his underground sword fighting club in Minneapolis. He'd made a shitload of training swords and brought them with, so we had a little fun hitting each other. At least, until Eric hit the basement light fixture and broke the plastic sheeting. I got to thank Paul for the dagger and stuff he gave me for Christmas. Devon had a gift for me too: a bag of Indian tobacco for my pipe. When I'm actually able to smoke again, I'm sure I'll enjoy it.

It was great to ski out a Huff again yesterday, even though I was on Ski Patrol duty. Got to try out my new shit-skis, and there weren't any accidents. Last night was spectacular. I went over to Dan and Con's to watch Cool Hand Luke. After the movie, Neal wanted to go out to the rifle range and "dispose" of his Wellness textbook from fall semester. Dan, Con, Balzer, Quisty, Neal, and I drove out and proceeded to play with firecrackers for a half-an-hour. We put bottle rockets and other shit in the book and lit them while Dan stood on the book to keep it closed. That method of destroying it took too long, so Con stuffed about twenty bottlerockets into his launcher, jammed a sparkler into the mass of fuses, and aimed at the book. It ended with Con holding the sparklers over the book while Dan rained lighter fluid on the book. Normally, I'd be horrified watching people do that to a book, but the book was useless anyway. Besides, the sight of it and the grin on everyone's faces were worth the sacrifice.

Despite all of this fun, I'm still having problems. Of course, there's that battle being waged inside me, between the cynic and the romantic. Part of me wants to adopt the mindset of the pessimist, the romance-less asshole; like Bogart's character in The Maltese Falcon. The other part of me wants a steady girlfriend more than anything else; that romantic guy who longs for intimacy. I'm constantly overwhelmed with the feeling that She's just around the next corner. Yet here I am, more lonely than I care to discuss. Then there's the part of me that wants to go back to Missoula. I keep wondering what Peter and Jack are up to, in their own little corners of the country. It's weird not having clubs, shows, and bars to go to at night. And smoking with Toso, Dan, Quisty, and others isn't quite the same as climbing up some fireescape with Peter and Jack for a nice, star-filled puff. There's no climbing wall here. There's no footbridge to stand on and stare at a Montana river. There're no canyons and railroads to wander down at night. Just lots of memories. Driving around town is painful at times. Passing my grandma's old apartment; my beloved old high school; the flowers on the interstate coming back from Mandan where Weston was killed. It's all so bittersweet. Seeing old faces, reminiscing about old times. I love it, but I miss Missoula. I miss college. It feels like I've been yanked backwards after only one semester. I've been teased with a brief taste of my new life. I can't wait to graduate and get out of this hell-hole of a country. Who the fuck cares if I throw my life away? All I've heard from family member's is "Isn't the Middle-East dangerous?" or "Don't you think the life of a war coorespondent is filled with peril?" I just want to scream "I don't give a flying fuck," but I can't. The truth is, I don't fear death. No one believes me when I tell them that I'd gladly sacrifice my insignificant life for a chance to let people know what's going on in the world they live in. They think I'm just some idealic kid with dilusions of granduer. Fuck them. No one can stop me, physically or mentally. It's my life. If I choose to throw it away in pursuit of the truth, that's my decision. Unfortunately, that means living life utterly alone.

Fuck everyone.

That's the best way to express how I feel right now. So many things are pissing me off, I don't know where to begin. Every person I talk to asks me the same question: how's your love life? It makes me want to vomit. I probably wouldn't want a girlfriend, even if I could get one. They just fuck things up in life, and tie you down. Part of me is still holding out for love, but that tiny piece shrinks more every day. I know that if I don't find "her" soon, it'll be too late. I don't want that to happen. There's nothing I can do to stop it.

I've completely adjusted to life here. Peter and Jack are all I really need. Since sophomore year, my social identity has centered around trios. Three is the ideal number. However, I still seek the Merry to my Pippin. That, too, is a dying quest.

I guess that brings me to the last serious complaint I have about life right now. It's been haunting me for close to a year, drifting over my head like a storm cloud. I am who I am right now because of my anger at it, and my fear of it. I paint my nails in fear of it. I've begun to darken my eyes to recognize its influence on every aspect of life. Isolation has become one of my few coping mechanisms. It is the sole reason for my pronounced atheism. All belief in a supreme being died long ago, when Death pulled off his hood and showed me his face.

It started when Weston Towne was killed. I began to question everything, namely the Divine. How could a superior being allow such a young, innocent kid to die? This puzzled me. Then, last May, my grandma died. The last straw.

I still play the moment over and over in my head, trying to decide if it actually happened. There I was, typing a blog column for Bridges, when my dad walked into the basement den. He was all silent, morose, with his head bent over into his chest. Before the words left his lips, I knew what had happened. The tears pouring from my eyes as I write this are nothing compared to what I sufferred that night. Vomit worked its way up my throat, but I swallowed it back down with my heart. World spinning, I stumbled up to my room, collapsed into bed, and stared out my window for I don't know how long. No one came to me. I didn't even cry. I couldn't. But looking into the starry sky, I pondered the Divine once more. My grandmother, a woman without a mean-spirited bone in her body, had been taken from me. "Taken from me?" What the fuck does that mean? Right then, I turned my back on God, the Divine, and the whole idea of a superior being. I vowed that, if God did indeed exist, I would end him. No one can sway me from this course, so don't even try.

At some point (I don't know when), I wandered over to my desk. Uncapping a bottle of black model paint, I colored in every inch of my cuticles. Darkness enveloped me. My taste in music changed. My appearance changed. My views of life changed. I changed.

I put on a sarcastic, light-hearted, kind, and humorous facade now. In reality, I'm scared to death. I'm scared of death. Not that I'll die, but that those close to me will. I distance myself from people to reduce the potential for heartbreak. I refuse to have fun, because I don't believe it's my place to have fun. All I can do is muddle through life, live out this pathetic existence I treasure so dearly. Pescimism and cynicism threaten to overwhelm me, but I continue to wear a mask. If people really knew what I felt, they might try to help me. That's exactly what I don't want. This is a path I must tread alone, that much I know. So as I become darker, don't fear. Just enjoy our time together, and understand that I'm trying. That mask of slight-happiness or contentment fools even my family. In time, it may come off. But I hope not.

Listening to my "In Place of Words" CD makes me nostalgic. But it's a nice nostalgic, a happy sort of reverie. Mike Nelson is a truly talented musical artist. Now if he'd ever remember to return my $50 headphones...

I leave in a little over 24 hours. Wierd when you consider the fact that I'm finally adjusting to life here. Last night, after Tessa and I went to "Motorcycle Diaries," we met up with Peter and Jack. Sitting at the booth in Finnegan's, eating grilled cheese and polishing off five pots of coffee at eleven p.m., I just completely stopped freaking out about everything. I was having fun, and I realized it. My friends here are great people. In many ways, Peter and Jack remind me of Mike and Paul (only a little angrier). At other times, they remind me of Neal and Dan. Last night, I accepted that they weren't friends from back home. They're Peter and Jack.

Tessa's never posed that sort of problem. She's completely different from everyone I know back home. Independent, ideal-driven, hard-working. And she's giving up on drugs. I commend her for that. Every time the two of us chat, I can tell how difficult it is for her to quit. More than anything, that helps me remember why I've avoided drugs all my life, and continue to do so.

Four days should be just enough. Just enough time for me to see the important people, the people that have shown me true friendship. I've spent most of my life desperately searching for friends, and have subsequently passed out the title to some who aren't really deserving of it. But in high school, the number of true friends swelled drastically. To be honest, four days probably won't be enough. At this rate, I'll be glad just to see my family again.

I miss the good old days, when we all hung out at Denny's or Perkin's or in Dan's basement or Paul's basement. But college is fun, too. Zany times, unforgettable stories I can't wait to share with everyone back home. Christmas break will afford me more time to see all those old faces I love. And the three weeks before then will give me a chance to make more stories.

I go home in six days. Just the thought of it makes me cry with joy. So do the lovely letters from home. Oh how I love traditional post.

At last! The comic shop here in town carries "Bone," the graphic novel series I've been searching for forever (I know, I'm a geek). I've only seen them in Oxford, Boston, and Rapid City. Apparently Jeff Smith didn't stop the series where I thought he did. That should kill some time on the plane ride home.

Final note: I can't wait to see you all again, or most of you at least. If you remember, please give me a call next Wednesday. We'll go out and gaze at the stars or something.

Mount Sentinel is absolutely fantastic. The wooded backside, anyway. Thanks for the hike, Ann. And the subsequent chat. Next time you want to go on a little adventure like that, remember I'm only a campus away.

Less than two weeks until I get home for Thanksgiving. Of course, I have a midterm on Friday and a 1,500 word paper for Mass Media due before the 24th, so I'll be working my ass off until the moment I leave. Should help the time pass rapidly.

An idea sprang up last night. It involves a handful of people, a car, and a road trip to Alaska via the Canadian Rockies. If all goes well, next summer will rock the ass of the face of the earth.

But this trip could be so much more. I've decided to take my obsession with grilled cheese and hash browns to a new extreme. In the tradition established by the great Jack Kerouac, I will set out on a "Grilled Cheese and Hash Browns Tour across the Canadian Rockies." Just thinking of all that melted cheese, and all those piles of crispy brown potato strings, makes me drool all over the keyboard. This idea must take fruition, become a plan, and then happen. There are no choices anymore. Just melted cheese, toasted bread, fried potatoes, and the disgusted faces of friends across the booth.

So, last night was no where near as zany as the night before. I woke up sometime around twelve to a call from my aunt/cousin's husband, asking if I could babysit for a couple hours. At two-thirty, after watching TV for awhile, I biked over to their house. Right away the pace for the day was set: Ben running full-pelt across the entire house with me panting along behind. That kid can climb steps faster than most adults I know, so try chasing him up them. We went for two walks with the stroller in one hour, but it was a beautiful day. Homecooked beef stroganoff and twenty five bucks was worth an afternoon of having fun with the tyke.

Returning to campus, I went down to Peter and Jack's again. Grabbing "Eraserhead," we headed over to Knowles to pick up the girls. Myrika and Megan were going to a Halloween party. The rest of them had ordered pizza which hadn't come yet. Finally we all agreed to go for a walk. One hour and two bowls of pot later, none of them could decide whether or not they wanted to watch the movie. Peter, Jack, and I left "Eraserhead" with them. The three of us went back to their room and played Tekken Tag for two hours. Oh sweet nostalgia, how I love thee.

Not quite sure what's in the cards for tonight. Depending on what Tessa wants to do, I may go to "Garden State." She also wants to go to "The Beat Generation" in three weeks. The new Warren Miller ski film "Impact" is playing in two weeks, so I'm stoked for that. Haven't talked to Taylor about it yet. She hasn't been on campus much since her horse died last Friday. Peter, Jack, and I have been bouncing ideas for films back and forth fairly often lately, too. Should prove to be an interesting few weeks before Thanksgiving. Hopefully that'll distract me from the grief and homesickness.

Date:	2004-10-30 13:52
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	drained
Music:	You come in burned- The Dandy Warhols

Hospital waiting rooms don't make for comfortable sleeping. There's that creepy feeling of sickness and pain in the air that invades your dreams like a specter.

Last night started out well. Ate dinner with Peter and Jack, helped Sarah with her Halloween costume, went to Tipu's for chai with most of the crew. We were planning to watch "Eraserhead," so Peter, Jack, Murphy, and I stopped at the video store while the girls went back to the dorms. Turns out they'd gone back to drink a little before the Halloween dance. It was like middle school all over again, with Offspring and bad Hip-hop blaring. After forty minutes, I went downstairs to get away from the noise. Tessa came down a couple minutes later and asked if I'd seen Erica. I hadn't, and told her as much. Various groups formed to scour the campus for her when it was apparent she was in a bad state. The search ended at Jesse Hall. Peter, Jack, and I had gone to her dorm room to see if she was there. No answer to our knocks, but there was a disturbance two floors down. Two cop cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance were responding to some crisis. As we were walking away from the dorm, I got an uneasy feeling. Jack agreed that we should stay, in case we knew whoever was in trouble. Waiting outside by the doors, all three of us leapt up when they wheeled out the victim: Erica. She was semi-conscious, having mixed her daily riddilin dose with a large amount of whiskey. The EMTs were assholes, treating us like drunk college kids. Didn't occur to them that we hadn't been drinking.

Peter got pissed, and started yelling obsenities at the paramedics. When Jack and I tried to calm him down, he started pumping his right fist into a phonebooth as hard as he could. Jack talked to him for a second, and Peter sprinted for his bike. He made it to St. Pat's in minutes.

That left Jack and me to tell the other girls what had happened. At first they didn't believe us, but when reality hit them they got pretty scared. Murphy, Jack, and I got on our bikes and made our way across town to St. Pat's, so Peter wouldn't be alone. We got there around midnight.

Peter walked out of the Emergency room and into the waiting lounge, a bag of ice covering his bleeding knuckles. We took turns sitting by her, watching the nurse clean up a constant stream of vomit. Erica looked troubled, her stick-thin frame covered in a thin blanket. Light-hearted chatter and jesting helped raise spirits in the lounge, but we were all pretty worried. I slept for about half an hour, then called the girls back at campus. Erica was going to need clean clothes and a ride when it was time for her discharge.

She regained full consciousness around two thirty in the morning, and Peter, Jack, and I stood over her. We joked and reassured her, trying to make her feel a little better about things. The other girls showed up, and at three fifteen Erica was discharged. Murphy, Peter, Jack, and I biked back to campus quickly, and I went straight to sleep.

Now it all seems like a dream. A very bad dream. Incidents like that become so surreal in the memory. Perhaps now everyone here will understand a little better why I'm straight-edge. I don't mind sleeping in the waiting room, but I'll never be caught dead in a hospital gown.

Date:	2004-10-29 00:29
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	relieved
Music:	"Hallelujah" Jeff Buckley

I buckled down and talked to a counselor today. He affirmed what I'd feared, that I have unresolved grief over my grandma's death. Apparently I've been thrown into an understandably bad situation, having to deal with my grief away from the family that would normally support me and guide me through it. The guy was really nice, and explained that since I don't have an intimate relationships here, I don't have the support I need. So my isolation has become my coping mechanism. That's okay, as long as I balance the solitude with a bit of socialization and the necessary amount of work. Other than that, I'm just homesick. I just needed to talk to someone that I knew for sure was listening, someone who wasn't a peer. There couldn't have been a nicer guy. He smiled and told me I was one of the most mentally stable, moralistic kids he'd met. I walked out of the health center with the biggest smile that has graced my face in a long time.

Things seem to be getting better. I got my issues off my chest and recieved some good advice. I've made good friends here already, who I spend a lot of time with. The problems I've been facing are serious, but they're completely understandable. Perhaps the most impacting thing he said was: "I'm just sorry that you've been thrown into this tough situation. It isn't fair to anyone, especially someone as close as you were to your grandmother." I hope she's proud of me, whereever she is. My goal now is to live up to her expectations, her image of who I could grow up to be. Guess that entails dodging the "curve balls" life is throwing at me.

Now I need to learn to stop blaming myself for the problems my friends are having. Part of me feels guilty that I can't be there for them in their time of need, regardless of how little they've done for me in the past.

Last night was a mix of unparalleled greatness and supreme tragedy. I won't cover the tragedy. You'll have to talk to me one on one for that. But the greatness will be highly dwelt upon here.

After dinner, I went out on the town with Peter, Jack, and Taylor. We planned to go to a Swillbilly's show at the Old Post, but got there with over an hour and a half to spare. With nothing much to do, the four of us sat down by the railroad tracks and talked for awhile. Then we went to Liquid Planet for some coffee. By the time we had meandered back to the Post, the show was about to start. Taylor took off with a stomach ache, and my roommate appeared out of nowhere. Still four strong, we found a table up front by the band and ordered... Ginger Ale! I hate being a minor. You just can't feel cool ordering stupid drinks like that in a bar.

The band was great. But the greatness came next. As I sat there listening to the music, I noticed a girl across the room was staring at me. She was cute, so I locked eyes and flashed her a smile. I got a laugh, and we continued to do this back and forth for about half an hour. Finally, I gathered up my balls and did what I never thought I could do before. Taking a swig of... Ginger Ale!, I stood up and said, "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." I know, I'm an old man. Strolling across the room, I made my way towards her table. When I got there, I held out my hand and said..... "Hi, I'm Alex." Against all my predictions, she smiled and answered, "I'm Kim. Nice to meet you." We chatted for awhile, getting to know each other. I didn't feel like hiding the fact that I'm only 18, since I actually look a lot younger. She didn't seemed phased by it, so I thought she was about 19 or so. Then I asked her if she was in school here. She laughed harder than before and said, "No, I graduated." Turned out she was twenty five.

Here's the strange thing: all of this happened within the first five minutes. But the conversation didn't die. In fact, we had a very intellectual chat for over half an hour. She was obviously impressed when I began bragging about my journalistic career. Guess that won me brownie points. If it hadn't been for the asshole that budged into the conversation and squeezed me out, I honestly think we would have hit it off ("Graduate" style). I sat back down with the guys and listened to the music until they kicked us out. As I left, I stopped to say goodbye to Kim. "Yeah," she answered, "it was great talking to you. Maybe I'll see you around again sometime. I'd really like to." Greatness. Pure, unparalleled greatness. I am my own God.

After walking up and down alleys for twenty minutes, Peter, Jack, and I climbed onto the roof of a downtown building. I've never climbed upside-down up a telephone cable before, so it was quite an experience. Alex didn't follow us, and ended up going back to campus without us knowing. Peter, Jack, and I just sat on the roof for an hour, talking. Fun stuff.

We got back to campus around two. I got to bed around three. I woke up this morning feeling like crap. To be honest with all of you, I was so homesick I cried in the shower for about half an hour. As I was ironing clothes, Ann called. We decided to do something this afternoon, and I continued ironing clothes. Then I got a call from my cousin. She needed me to babysit her two year old son tonight for a couple hours. No problem, especially at seven bucks an hour. Ann and I ended up going to the mall. It wasn't as bad as it sounds. In fact, it was really fun. Once again, I was overcome with that rare, comforting feeling. It's good to be around people from the homestead. I'm beginning to question just how solitary I am. I like to think I'm comforted by loneliness, but now I'm not so sure. I miss everyone too much for that to be true.

Sometimes I really wish I'd been born a woman.

Don't bother to ask for a reason. I don't think I have one.

Wisdom teeth royally suck.

Date:	2004-10-11 12:26
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	depressed
Music:	watching MacGyver

Wow, I'm kinda getting lazy in the update department. I'll try to do better.

My folks left about two hours ago. I missed them before they even left. This has, by far, been the most relaxing and comfortable weekend in a month. Of course, having to face my step-aunt Helen/Gus was an experience I'd rather forget. She gave up trying to sway me towards broadcast journalism after half an hour, after I told her "I'm not in it for the publicity. I'm in it to tell a story, so others can read it." That shut her up. It's just so fun to have openly hostile relatives. Keeps you on your toes.

The quiet parts of the weekend were the best. Relaxing at dinner, napping in their hotel room, walking downtown at night. I kinda forgot that I've been away for a month.

Now I remember. I remember the horrible feeling of loneliness that has haunted me for what seems like ages. I had lunch with friends, which helped a bit. I'm going to climb tonight at nine, which should help even more. But until Thanksgiving, I don't think I'll be the same. I've already begun to write poetry in a little book. All of it is dark and depressing. That's how I feel.

But their visit brightened things up enough. If only these damn wisdom teeth would stop hurting. At this rate, I'll be having pudding for Thanksgiving diner.

Date:	2004-10-07 13:01
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	gloomy
Music:	Nitty Gritty Dirt Band- "Mr. Bojangles"

You livejournal people suck. I got one measly reply to my last post here. My xanga, on the other hand, got five. So you are all greatly dissappointing me.

I was on the phone for two hours last night. It was painful to hear the tears on the other end and know there was nothing I could do for her. This kind of thing has happened so many times, and they always find me. I don't mind it, but I wish there was something I could do to help. It's one thing to voice false assurances on the phone, it's a completely different thing to chat one on one and actually interact. What do you tell someone in that situation? Should you be honest, or should you tell them what they want to hear so they feel better?

He and I talked on MSN after I had talked to her. He's in a lot of pain over it, but it sounds like he made the right decision. He sounded more determined to muddle on and survive. I know life's been difficult for him away from home. Perhaps now he'll start eating and sleeping again. The painful part of talking to him is when he thanks me for being there. It's painful because I know I haven't, and I can't. Thanksgiving is still more than a month away. Until then, I have to cope with feeling useless, like I'm letting my friends down. I should be there for him, and for her. That's what real friends do.

After last night, I considered not going to classes. For the first time. But I have an obligation to my education. If I skip classes, it may become a habit. I'm losing so much already: desire for love, balanced relationships among friends, drive to eat and sleep. Looking back at all I've just typed, I've realized one thing: maybe he and I now have more in common than I ever thought.