The day where I did nothing.

I went to bad last night no later than 11:30. It was a really bad day for me, and I'd go as far as saying that every day this week has been a bad one. Today wasn't much different. I couldn't sleep at all when I went to bed, and so I logged on to Meebo at midnight and tried talking with people. Nothing of substance was said, but it only took an hour for my eyes to get droopy. Turns out, of course, that droopy isn't enough, and I stayed in an uncomfortable coma from 1:00 to 6:30. Unable to take any more pretend-sleep, I logged on to Meebo again and caught the only person who's mattered this week as he was heading out to work. Once he had left, I tried the whole sleep thing again, then abandoned my attempts at 7:00 and got ready for the day.

By the time I made it downstairs, I was tired enough again to fall asleep, so I lay down on the couch and pulled out my iPod, to type on its notepad all of the things I wanted to say to the only person who's mattered this week. When that was done, I rolled onto my side and slept until my stomach demanded attention. I gave it the usual breakfast: cinnamon life (all we have in the way of cereal) with some mixed-in bran (all we have in the way of keeping my bowels just shy of total misery). When that was out of the way, I got on my computer, and logged on to retype everything to the only person who's mattered this week from my iPod and into Adium. Afterward, I composed Green, a playlist intended to only have songs inspiring fresh starts and new outlooks, sans any hint of love (something I currently see as cruelly ironic). Either my heart wasn't in it enough, or I'm a helpless romantic with too many songs centered around that theme, because when I was finished making the playlist, I only had 51 songs. I didn't feel like listening to it once I'd finished, and opted for my normal playlist of some 390 songs. When shuffled, it usually has a good sense of fitting the mood I'm in at a given time. Today wasn't different: the songs were all downbeat. During the ten songs I listened to, I got back onto Adium and typed a few more things to the only person who's mattered this week, and once I'd said everything that was on my mind, I retired once again to the couch downstairs. It was 2:00. I woke up when my dad got home, just before 4:00. Now I'm writing this blog.

I nearly started crying when I was in the middle of the first few sentences of this. I just started crying again now, thinking about how my father, who has never been one of many words, noticed how depressed I was on Tuesday and talked to me about it. I'm fairly sure he's still concerned, because my mood hasn't drastically changed between now and then. I mean, I just told you I'm crying right now.

I know that this shouldn't have been such a bad week. I got a new cell phone, I have my first job, and I'll be doing orientation for it on Saturday, two days before my family leaves for Virginia Beach. But what does that mean for me, really? A shiny new toy, and the finest symbol of power any red-blooded American can think of. Toys don't intrinsically contain anything of value to the human soul, and power is nothing without a means or a reason to share it. What good will my paychecks do if all I ever spend them on are toys that remain static on my shelves all my life? What good is saving that money for something grand if the only person who will witness its marvel is me? There's no sense to it, and so all of these things I have or will have... they're as empty as I am right now.

I don't know how much more often my heart can go through this pain. Love leaves deeper scars than anything else I know.

The Dance

The night is coming,
My one big chance
Your eyes not taking
A second glance.
That pressing question
My lips won't grant,
"May I take you
Out to the dance?"

The time is rushing,
A steady advance,
While I'm still dreaming
In my mind's romance.
My fear expressing
Through trembling hands,
"May I take you
Out to the dance?"

My stomach is plunging
But my feet hold fast.
On your door I'm knocking;
Corsage with a clasp
But within I hear laughing.
I let a lie pass,
"I hope that he treats you
Well at the dance."

How far I've come

There are defining moments that we each hit over the years. Events that, however big or small, somehow stick within us as more prominent than the rest of our story. I remember my first day of school as being fairly rainy on the drive down to the strange H-shaped buildings that formed the complex that my first elementary school was. I remember that my bullies' names through the years were Rachel, Justin, Kelley, Molly, Spencer, Spencer, Spencer, and Spencer. I remember that The Lion King had a scene with just a ton of orange on the movie screen.

And as easy as it is to call up some memories, there are other events in my life that I can't remember so well.

Before my junior year of high school, The Matrix Reloaded came out in theaters. And I'd watch that movie so often I could recite something like the first ten or fifteen minutes of it. Remembering that made me think that my junior year was my absolute nerdiest year.

But thinking back on that year, I realized that I actually couldn't remember... nearly any of it. And that freaked me out a bit. Not because I blanked out on an entire year, but because what I do remember of it tells me that it was a pretty good year. I was Le Fou in Beauty and the Beast, I went to state in forensics that year, I... heh, I think that was the year that my friend James managed to get the entire cafeteria to applaud me (though I'm sure a good number of them didn't know that they were applauding me).

And yet, the only reason I remember that last bit is because my friend James reminded me of the event in the first few days of him being here at college. And as for what being in Beauty and the Beast was like... I really can't explain it to you. My forensics stint? I only really remember practicing in front of the class and then not making it to finals at State.

I feel like I should be disturbed. That was arguably the best year I'd ever had, and so much of it is lacking in clarity. And I feel like maybe the reason I can't remember any of it is because of things that came after it. So much happened, in my senior year of high school alone, to reshape what I was then into what I am today. And when I think back on my junior year, I feel like I was so carefree then, so much younger in the sense of my mentality, than now.

If I could physically go back, and see who I was then as I am now, what would I see?

Now they're going to bed, and my stomach is sick.

Weekends, it seems are stacked against me. Around 11:00 last night, I got back to my room to find that my carpet had peed on itself. Now, my first instinct was to say, "Sweet holy crap," or something to that effect. And then I of course went to tell my friends what had happened, but abruptly followed that up with finding an RA to inform. I mean, it's not every day your floor pees on itself. It's something that ought to be checked on to ensure that you only need to walk through it to get into (and out of [and into {and out of (and into)}]) and out of on one night's occasion. So with any luck, that floor will be potty-trained within the span of a few days now.

In the meantime, my colon is either very happy to be doing its job, or so vindictive that it's trying to kill any semblance of comfort that sitting used to afford. I suppose I should be happy if it's happy, but something tells me that that isn't the case.

I'm also in a bit of a pickle with regards to something I thought was a blessing up until last night. See, I was contacted through Facebook about a show that will be running in Lincoln starting January, that pays -- money -- and that is casting this weekend. I wasn't contacted by the director directly, but when I called her and told her who had referred me, she was abundantly excited to have me come and audition for the show. We agreed that I'd come at 3:00 today, and so I set about the process of being excited and hoping that I could find somebody to give me a ride there. And it was roughly an hour after I discovered that my floor can't hold its water that I remembered that I am scheduled to work in the library from 1:00 to 5:00 today. So now the problem extends past simply finding a ride there, but also to finding people to cover at least three hours of my shift. This one falls under "by the grace of Jesus" that it'll happen, if it happens.

But nothing compares to finding out that "Someone That You're With" by Nickelback perfectly summarizes that feeling in the pit of your stomach. And there's a part of me that's angry, and a part of me that's nervous, and another part of me that wants to explode into beautiful lyrics and poetry, like this:

My body is timid
And my fortune is trifling
And my home is tiny
And my accomplishments are temporary

But my mind is a tower
And my emotions are a torrent
And my life is a tapestry
And my heart is a tree

And you... are my most-sought treasure.

I thought of that today, and I don't pretend to be a poet. Or a lyricist. But they say that when you're overcome with a powerful emotion such as love, you find the strength to do extraordinary things, like lift a car off of your child, or overcome the flames in a burning building and rescue them before the place comes down on the both of you. I guess that since I don't have any real strength over anyone, other than the way I view the world (the only thing I truly consider special about myself), I end up being able to weave words together... for an audience that is unlikely to ever hear them.

How the hell did Shakespeare find a woman AND a man to love him?

Blogging from bed

I'm sitting in front of my computer, typing this out on my iPod, not because it's fun to do so (though it is pretty fun), but rather because my computer can't connect to the internet and my iPod can. Oh, there goes the internet on my computer.

Okay, now I'm on my bed. Typing this out on my iPod. And this thing is just amazing. It holds all of my music (that I listen to), most of my movies (which I can swap out when I feel so inclined), and more amazingly, I'm typing this blog out on it. I'm logged on to the Internet with my iPod (which knows what I meant to type when I accidentally hit a wrong button or two on its keyboard.

But that I'd only a pre-tangent to what I want to write about today. See, I was listening to my music after classes this morning, and I don't think it's uncommon to feel like your music know how you feel and finds the appropriate songs to bolster whatever feeling you're ... well, feeling.

My iPod takes it a step further, and seems to predict what I'm about to feel (just like it predicts what I'm about to type). Let me run down the situation: I frequently listen to this thing now that I have it, and lemme get this out of the way, I don't have that many love songs. At all. I'd say most of my music is general rock affair, with maybe an eighth of it being love songs. I also have roughly 500 songs on here. An eighth of 500 is 62, which I just figured out on this thing's calculator.

Of that, it seems that this thing knows when I'm ABOUT to run into somebody I like. Because it'll start playing an appropriate song before we even cross each other's paths.

And this is another one of those mysteries of life that I just have no clue as to what I'm supposed to make of this. Is this God? Is this Satan? Is this just my imagination or mind or heart or whatever department it is that handles this kind of thing in my body? Who is playing this joke on me, and for what audience?

And more importantly, what do I do? I've already made a move, way back ago, and it didn't end well. So my natural instinct is to just let this all slide and forget that it ever happened (happens). But what if that's the wrong move? Would I know what an idiot I was? Or would by hoping that things can move forward and making the same move twice would I be made all the bigger a fool for not realizing my folly the first time?

I say this now to represent my despair: Grah.