everything is fine

Well, it's been a long year. But I survived. And, I think, things went well. I made some new friends, kept the old, and reconnected with the even older. And I'm finally feeling okay with everything. Everything is sort of, well, how it ought to be. And, now, here we are. At the veritable end of the year. The end of the decade. The decade. The period of ten years. It's over. Ten years are about to have officially passed. Ten years of which I was alive for ten. It just blows my mind. I was reading a list of the top songs of the decade the other day. There were songs on it that I was listening to when I was, like, in fucking 6th grade. I feel so damn old. I've put a little bit of thought into my resolutions this year. I couldn't remember mine from last year, so I hope there aren't any repeats. Although I suppose if I can't remember then it makes little difference. Be more outwardly confident. Also be more aggressive with the things I want. Get seri...

I saw Sherlock Holmes last night and I was pleasantly not surprised. I knew it was going to be awesome going into it because, simply, anything Robert Downey Jr. does is excellent. They should just make a movie about him. If E! decided to make a reality show that followed Robert Downey Jr. around while he did his Robert Downey Jr. thing then I would absolutely be an avid follower of the show. But aside from the experience being an excellent time with excellent friends and an odd but endearing musical score, it made me want to read a lot. And so I spent the day reading, for the most part. There was an excellent walk through the cold and rain in the middle somewhere, but there was also a lot of reading. Which made me want to do something I haven't done in a while. Write. And so Greg and I proposed another pact: we have to write five solid pages of story by the new year. Which gives us, oh, about three days to write five pages. No big deal. It's going to be a very short...

Well, it looks like I've bottomed out on my weight loss, which is a good thing. Ten pounds? I can get that back easily. Especially considering my normal weight is only plus five. Which is kind of pathetic. Most of the mass I lost was in my arms. What the fuck? It couldn't have been my legs or something? Now I've got these bony arms again. I look like a damn middle school student. But, I mean, what can you do. I've been practicing a lot of music these last few days. Practicing and listening. I really want to play clarinet again. And saxophone. My old teacher thinks after I can play again it's going to be amazing. I'm looking forward to it. One of my old friends wants me to play clarinet in his band over the summer. I guess that'll give me a couple months to get back up to speed. I can practice fingerings until then, I suppose. I hate being at home all day. I've been walking around outside more. Pushing further. I want to leave, though. ...

I've never really connected with my cousins. We're just different folks, I guess. My cousins have a Christmas tradition of opening their presents and rewrapping them before Christmas. I'm told that they have forgone the unnecessary steps and simply open their presents as quickly as they can with no regard for Christmas morning traditions. I can't imagine being so obsessed with things. I guess I don't feel entitlement as passionately as they do. But it is Christmas, so I won't complain about anything. I've spent a lot of today listening to a lot of Dave Matthews. I also spent a lot of time playing music. And now, I'm feeling musically energized. Maybe it's because I can't sing that I want to play so badly. What is it with wanting things more when you can't have them? My fingers have gotten soft, though, and they can't keep up with my ideas. It's kind of sad, but what can you do? Practice, practice, practice. Maybe in a we...

I am, by many means, a man of much impatience. I simply do not want to deal with anything, ever. And this gets me into trouble. It's what makes me do things like, oh, swallow mouthfuls of unchewed food until I get sick and then, when I'm better, doing it all over again. I just want to be better, and, for whatever reason, I'm of the mind that you can simply will things to be true. I am better. I will eat this food. I will brush my teeth with toothpaste. I'm starting to dream about the foods I can't eat. Foods that I always sort of took for granted and didn't eat before this. I have an unholy craving for chicken. Roasted chicken, fried chicken, chicken strips, chicken sandwiches--I want it all. I want to taste the chicken and mash it up in my mouth. And you'd think I'd be tired of eating chicken because I ate it almost every day during the semester. But no. It's like I'm having chicken withdrawals. I want quiche, and turkey, and ham, ...

It is hard to believe a number of things. I can barely believe I had surgery a week ago. My perception of time since then is a bit skewed. It's either been much longer or much, much shorter. Also, I can barely believe Christmas is only two days away. It certainly doesn't feel like it. But all of the screaming and fighting downstairs definitely gets me into the seasonal spirit. Some families don't consider it the holidays until certain traditions are upheld. Like hearing Feliz Navidad on the radio without actively looking for it, or seeing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer on television. No, nothing quite says it's Christmas like your parents fighting over the same thing they do every single holiday. But, I mean, you know. Haters gonna hate. Ashley came over today. The first person I've really seen since this whole thing went over. It was nice. Easily the best thing that's happened in the past week. Also nice just to have something different happen aroun...

My advice, I guess, to anyone that can't opt out of mouth related surgery is to never, ever feel nauseous. Ever. I learned the hard way that nausea is a slippery slope from which you are virtually guaranteed not to return. And it was undoubtedly the most unpleasant experience I've had in quite a while. I thought the roof of my mouth was going to split open. And so I'm off the pain medication. And all of it, basically. I still have to take the antibiotics, but I really don't want to. I'm just done with all of it. I'm ready to be normal again, I think. Like, can I just be put into a coma for the next few months? I suppose all of this will help me build character. And speaking of characters, I'm hoping that a change up in my medications will let me rise to my normal operative level so that I can get back to writing my story. Every time I sit down to work on it, all my energy and focus just seems to fade away and all I'm left with is a horrible hea...

"There will be a day," they said. "Where everything will catch up to you and hit you at once. And you are going to feel terrible." I thought I had already had that day, but it turns out that it was yesterday. What an exhausting, horrible day. It was like being hungover except multiplied by a billion. I feel a lot better today, so let's hope that was the hump day. Since I spent a lot of time in bed, I read through The Ultimates , which Edgar so graciously let me borrow. I'm not totally sure, but I think the series won a bunch of awards or some such. And I thought it was pretty good. It was a pretty good read. But I realized something. I really wasn't paying attention to the artwork. I had to force myself to go back and take in each panel. All the little details instead of just the main idea. I just wanted the words. I wanted the story and the dialogue. I guess what it really comes down to is that--as far as comics go--I'm really a story ...

I really feel like a Sim. Like, if you gave them a skinny body but then put all the fat in their face. That's exactly what I look like. It's pretty funny, I think. And also the fact that I increase my menu by one specific type of meal every day. First it was juice and protein drinks, then it was oatmeal, then Ramen noodles. And then, macaroni and cheese. And today, it will be a different kind of pasta. But whatever I eat, I need to start eating a lot of it. I weighed myself this morning and, for the first time in years, I've dropped below 145--and I am alarmed. But we knew this would happen. I'm starting to regain feeling in my face. I can feel more of my nose and cheeks. In fact, I think the swelling on my upper cheeks has gone back down to almost normal. I can sort of feel my neck again, and I'm starting to get more muscle control and feeling in my lips. I can actually maneuver my mouth around a spoon with food on it. I can feel how dry and chapped p...

So I found out, the hard way of course, that I cannot go the entire night without taking my pain medications. It surprised me how much of my face I could actually feel but wasn't. Surprised me in a bad way. I only have three days worth of that nectar left. After that, I'm on my own. So, you know, let's hope this stop hurting in three days. The swelling feels like it went back up, but I think that's partly because of last night. I didn't ice it for very long and I didn't really take any medicine on time. I won't be doing that today. Today, I think I'm going to rake some leaves or something. My stamina is, I admit, pretty embarrassing, so that may be all I do today besides walk around the house and play video games. I'm trying my best not to fall into what would absolutely be my usual routine of misery, self-pity, and trying to rapidly form self-destructive habits with all of the addictive medications I've been prescribed. But it's pr...

The swelling is starting to go down, but it's not quite at a manageable level. I'm doing my best not to be entirely useless and pathetic by staying as active and positive as possible. But, admittedly, I'm feeling pretty terrible. I did a lot of walking around outside today, and I swept the front walkway. And both of those activities left me winded. I feel sick and fatigued. Frail, even. I'm starting to lose weight--water weight--but it's alarming. It's just so hard to eat. Today is supposed to be the worst of it--it's all downhill from here. Well, as far as the swelling is concerned. In a few days I should be looking normal and eating a little easier. I'm just so exhausted and hungry. It's so much of a hassle to eat things, though. It takes forever and I can barely spoon things between my swollen lips. I think I'm ready for this to be over. On the bright side, grades are out just in time to ruin everybody's holidays.

As embarrassing as it is, I've decided that the only thing I can really do now is take pictures of myself every day as I heal. I had planned on doing that when I got home from the surgery, but, well, I woke up today. And I showered and took a picture. A lot of people tried to tell me it would probably be a lot like getting your wisdom teeth out. And I would smile and go along with it because I knew that it was probably absolutely nothing like getting your wisdom teeth out. And I was right. Looks like somebody just beat the shit out of me. Feels like it, too. My body feels fine, but my face feels like it just got rocked by a tank. I can't even breathe through my nose because it's clogged with blood, which is my primary memory from the hospital. The main thing I remember is blood everywhere. And I can't blow the blood out of my nose. So we'll see how well that nose vacuum of his really performs.

Well, it's been a long semester. But I survived. And, I think, things went well. I made some new friends, kept the old, and reconnected with the even older. And I'm finally feeling okay with everything. Everything is sort of, well, how it ought to be. And now it comes down to this. In a few hours I'll be on my way to Round Rock for surgery. I'm guessing it'll be a long and miserable next few months which is something I can absolutely deal with because misery is one of my favorites. I've been getting ready for it these last few days. The last dorm meal. The last breakfast meal. The last pizza. The last pie. The last this. The last that. The last nose blowing. The last tooth brushing. It's all been very dramatic, naturally. But for all the flair and show, I'm looking forward to it. It's been a long time coming. And I've spent a lot of time sitting and waiting for it. And, really, I'm ready to do all of this. Even if I can...

Curse my frail, perpetually tired body! Always fatigued and on the verge of failure. Well, no more! I have things to do. Things to study. Places to go. Things to think. And, so, bring on the NyQuil.

You know the feeling you get when everything you do seems to annoy somebody? Where you're just sort of doing your thing, maybe even trying to be lower key than usual, and they apparently just can't stand you being around? It's like you just can't do anything right. And they let you know it. It's just... I don't know. It's a great feeling.

Everybody who needs to be is home. Everybody who needs to be is far away. Everybody who needs to be is accounted for. Everybody who needs to be is, well, in my life. And I think that that's a pretty good thing. A lot of people can't say that, I think. So, I mean, I guess I'm doing alright. I'm almost not sick anymore. I've been downing Emergen-C and my beloved Tazo Calm Chamomile Tea with honey like there was no tomorrow. Although not in my beloved Jack Skellington mug because it's still in my dorm room and unfortunately filled with condoms. Or fortunately. I guess it really depends on how you look at it. I mean, I can't really drink tea out of it. But this Mucinex stuff is pretty good. I've only taken three and I'm feeling so much better that I can barely believe it. But, on a tangent, I realized that I'm going to miss something more than chewing. Because I won't be able to do it. I won't be able to blow my nose. I'...

"Oh my God," she shrieked. She extended her finger at me and made a couple of snapping motions as she struggled to think of the name she was looking for. I knew exactly what was coming. Because I hear it more than I like. "You look like John Cusack! An Asian John Cusack!" I smiled and nodded. Somebody asked who John Cusack was. It was me, for the duration of the party. And now I'm sick. I hate being sick. The congestion that makes me sound like an idiot when I talk and stops me from singing. The runny nose that's raw from all the nose blowing and making me sniffle like an ass all day. All the medications to take. I think I need to quit taking medicine for a while. I took it all out of my bags. It's too tempting and it's going to mess me up. It is messing me up. I mean how pathetic is it to have a thing for ibuprofen? I'm always telling myself how I'm too smart to end up like my grandmother while I down Advil like candy. I ha...

I just had a strange dream. John and Chang moved back into the dorms together and lived in Jester. Then Jester suffered through some sort of natural disaster, ruining many of the rooms. John and Chang's room had half the floor collapse at an angle and all the furniture drifted down against the wall, making the floor collapse at an even greater angle. Then part of the ceiling collapsed and you could see into the room above. And Ashley and I were trying to help them evacuate the room and pack up their belongings so that they could move into my room, which wasn't affected. UT couldn't move anybody into different rooms. Meanwhile, Kim was studying abroad in the Philippines, and we had her on Skype pretty much the whole time. Ashley was super upset because her phone got broken during the disaster and she was walking around crying all the time. And then something else happened that I can't remember that made her cry more. And I was trying to help John and Chang out and ...

Well, class is over. And I'll tell you: it certainly doesn't feel like it. Last lectures that felt like lightning strikes, a class final that felt like an ant bite, and snow somewhere in the middle of it. Well, not really snow. It was more like a light flurry of white things drifting lazily through the sky. I walked out of the test room forty minutes early and stood in the middle of the street for a moment, enjoying my solitude. The wind whipped my coat around my legs and the snow curled around me. For a brief second I wasn't trapped in the claustrophobic vastness of campus. I was, you know, somewhere a little more poetic. And then one of those golf cart things drove by.

Well, here it is. It feels like it's been such a long, trying semester. And also kind of brief. Did we start school last week or last decade kind of thing. But it all comes down to this. Tomorrow is the last day of school. Last day of earth materials. Last day of organic chemistry. Last day of sedimentary rocks. Last sedimentary rocks test. There's a lot of talk fluttering about concerning snow tomorrow. Some people were hoping that it would snow tomorrow and that classes would get canceled. I hope they don't get canceled. I have a fucking test to take. And I don't want to take that next week. Or blow it off. So come rain or shine, blizzard or flood, hell or super hell know this: I will want to go to class with every fiber of my being. It doesn't even feel like the end of the year. I'm done with all my appointments now. No more oral surgeon appointments, no more orthodontist appointments. "We'll see you next year!" The staff smiled...

I must've slept off the sickness during the ten hours I spent comatose last night. Because I feel better. And I'm not super worried about everything, because It's all manageable. And tomorrow I get to dress up all fancy like. Which is always exciting. I mean, how could I not enjoy dressing up and donning my fedora? And it might even snow on Friday. Might. I've totally not been pulling my weight on these comics these last few days. I drew this in a rush. I could say it's because of my busy, busy schedule but that is just the excuse I use to mask the fact that I have terrible time management skills. And also terrible temporal perception. But, I mean, you know. Yeah. Classes are almost over. Just two more days, two more tests, and then I get a weekend and a full week to study for my last two finals. It's so close that I would be able to taste it if this semester hadn't completely dulled all of my senses and broken me from the free-spirited misanthro...

I'm worried about everything again. It's not just the one thing. It's this and that on top of this compounded with that and encompassed by all of it. I can't sleep but I'm exhausted and I can't eat but I'm hungry and everything gets all twisted up and confused and I'm just spinning in circles. And it all bleeds over into everything else until I can't do anything. I can't focus on any one thing. I can't just calm down and breathe. It's all panic, all the time. Fuuuck. December was supposed to start off great, but I'm wringing the water out of my shoes and trying to warm up and study and relax and not stress out about everything. It's just not fair. None of it. I just need something to hate about myself, I guess. It's the masochist coming out. But then she's on the peripherals catching the collateral flak and it's just not great. And I have a test tomorrow and the day after and the day after and then finals ...

I can barely withhold my immense Christmas spirit! Christmas is everywhere. I went driving through the mall thing near my house and it's all decorated for Christmas. Lights strung up between the lamp posts and across the streets. Trees adorned with ornaments and lights and candy canes everywhere. And Santa sitting on a big chair, and a big line of kids waiting to tell him what they want. Or to cry. Or pee in his lap. Whatever it is that kids do while on Santa's lap. "It ruins it for me." She said about the omnipresent holiday. The Christmas inundation we already have. It's not even December yet and Christmas is kicking everybody in the balls. She doesn't want to hear about Christmas on the radio or on television yet because it's too early. Well it's too bad, I think, because I am already in the mood for holidays. Fuck finals! I've already finished most of my Christmas shopping. Which I think is kind of wrong. But oh well. It's alm...

People are stupid. And so are children. Especially the children of stupid people. I decided to do some shopping today. I got some jeans and a nice button up shirt. The sleeves are a little shorter than I'd like, but the overall fit is so wicked that I couldn't say no. And, I mean, come on: it's black. So later in the day when I had gotten my clothes and my books, I went over to the nearby sporting goods store. You know, to look around. A horde of children had taken it upon themselves to take down all of the scooters and tricycles and made the store into a giant circuit race. I passed an employee and cocked an eyebrow. "I guess we get double duty as baby sitters." He said. The children weaved in and out of the sections and aisles, forcing aside soccer moms and football dads and almost-sorority girls. But not me. I stood my ground in the middle of the aisle as I compared the sizes of gloves. And I'm always in a bad mood. "Um, excuse me." ...

I thought, for a while, about why my pumpkin pie didn't turn out the way I wanted it to. Why it didn't turn out tasty as hell , I should say. It was mediocre at best. I could blame it on the poor quality of this season's pumpkin harvest. I could blame it on not having all the proper ingredients. I could blame it on being tired. But I think it was nerves. Making pumpkin pie is one of the few traditions that my family actually observes religiously. The guys get together and make the pie. And it always turns out excellently. When I was younger, my dad made it on his own. Then, when I was of cooking age, I helped him. And now, in his absence, I found myself making it alone. To some people, it's just making a pie. But it's more like a torch being passed on. And flickering, slightly. I was nervous, and I had something to prove. And I messed it up. But it was my first time to do it on my own. There's a trial period. It's just one of those reminders ...

The plate of turkey was offered to me as I rounded the table. They had taken the liberty of cutting it before I'd gotten there. I looked down at the platter. What had once been a nice looking bird was now a gruesome, mangled mess of meat piled on top of itself. No grace. No dignity. No refinement. Just raw savagery. I smiled and took my seat. The rest of the meal went as expected. People yelling to be heard over the yelling of other people struggling to be heard. Food being spilled all over the table and all over everything else. Boisterous laughter and virtually every single irritating mannerism I could have imagined. And when I couldn't take anymore, I fled to the relative safety of my room and closed the door and locked it. Locked out the infinite terrible that is my family. And then, after what was too short of a night to myself, I awoke to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade being blasted through the house. And then, I had Thanksgiving with Ashley's fami...

I'm tired. And I don't do too terribly well when I'm tired. I get impatient. Cranky. I have mood swings and all kinds of bullshit. So I did what I do whenever anything happens--I ran. It's pathetic to be so self-aware and so not in control of yourself. I don't know. I am exhausted. What a long weekend. I just can't wait to go home for Thanksgiving. Have a few days off. Do some writing. See my doggie dog. Sleep. I feel like I slept a lot this weekend, but I don't think I really did. Why else would I be in such a bad mood now?

Today, I went to the gym and found something new. I found a room with pads on the floor and walls. A room with a punching bag hanging from the ceiling. It was like walking into a dream come true. It was exactly what I had been looking for for months. For years , even. And I attacked that bag. I'll be spending a lot of time there, I think. I have been in such an inexplicably good mood these last few days. I don't know what the deal is. Maybe it's because I've been eating so many bananas. It's probably because things are going pretty well and I'm just feeling good. Doing nice things, feeling confident. Good things. And most importantly, I'm feeling less tired. Maybe it was a diet change. Maybe it's all the exercise. I will probably never know, but that doesn't bother me.

I got really sad when I saw that the last time I had edited the file called zombie story.docx was 7/23/2009. It doesn't seem like it's been all that long, but it does. Because it has. It's a little ridiculous. I always have a rough time coming back to the writing after a break. I think I would probably not have such a rough time if I, oh I don't know, didn't take breaks from writing it. Maybe it would actually get done. Although, every time I come back to it with a fresh mind I get to go through and touch up everything I've written so far. It's just one of those, you know, things. Thinking about my zombie story all the time again makes me want to make a zombie movie. I will never be productive again. I've got an organic chemistry test tomorrow evening and I just can't seem to take any of it seriously. The panic hasn't started because it hasn't sunk in just how unprepared I really am. I am enjoying the delusion of preparation right ...

So I thought it would be a really good time to lay out a blanket and do some stargazing. And watch the Leonids come cascading across the November sky. Well it turns out that I really don't know my constellations, so I have no idea where Leo is. And birds look a lot like meteors. I fucking hate birds. It's been an interesting sort of day. I'm mostly glad it's just sort of over. I've got some motivation coming to get back into writing my zombie story, which is great. I've long needed a good kick in the dick in the balls to get cracking on that. It's just sitting there and I'm doing nothing with it.

If I had to pick a sin to represent myself and was unable to pick wrath , I would probably have to pick pride. When it comes to things that I consider myself good at--passionate about, even--I have a tendency to, well, consider myself pretty good at them. Like filmmaking. I hate having to share my creative outlet with other people. I just can't deal with it. I can't share the writing. I can't share the direction. I can't share the editing. It's in my head! How can they possibly expect to make something that's in my head? How can they expect to improve on my ideas? And so things go. Despite the complications and the stress and the sleep deprivation, the movie got finished. It got finished and turned in and I'm not super proud of it, but it's done. And my day ended after 36 hours. I think I'm going to just make movies on my own. On my own time. If I ever do, again. My geology contest actually went surprisingly well. Especially for how...

I am lucky in that things always seem to work out for me. Maybe I'm forced to do something I really don't want to do. With minimal effort I'll come through with something completely amazing. Maybe I have to work on something I'm completely dispassionate about. All of the complications get figured out with ease and things turn out better than expected. It's the things that I want to work out that I struggle with. The little things. And that sucks. It's the little thing that you look forward to that you think is going to be worth dredging through all the shit for. And it never quite works out. It just sort of doesn't. And you come down to the end of everything and you end up not feeling anything at all. Self-sabotage. Self-inflicted wound. And I can't be mad because I have no more mad left in me. At this point, I have nothing left in me. I feel like an empty husk just sort of teetering around during its last few seconds before it gets blown ov...

Me and my big mouth. I need to go back to the stage in my life where I didn't open my mouth and talk all the time. It gets me into trouble. What happened to my filter? I must be broken. Oh well. Today I looked down and thought to myself, man. My jeans are kind of loose. I could probably stand to wear some that are fitted better. Something that would compliment my body shape. Then I realized that I had already gone through this thought process and that the jeans I was wearing were already skinny. Any skinnier and I would be wearing skin tight pants, which is not okay. For a second I thought I finally understood why so many dirty hipsters ended up wearing tight pants that looked terrible. But then I remember that it's because they can't form a fashion sense of their own. I decided to set an ultimate goal for working out. I want to look like Brad Pitt from Fight Club . That guy is a fucking monster. Just all raw muscle. He only weighed, like, 155 pounds in that...

The worst thing about good moods is that they are infectious. And today was such a nice day that people couldn't help but be in good moods which put me in a bad mood because I was in a good mood by proxy and couldn't help but be in a good mood. So I was in a good mood. And things are going well, I think. I mean, I could definitely find something to complain about, but I won't. I'm doing laundry now. I'm ready to play some music, again. Soon. It's been too long since that happened and I know this because I'm going through withdrawals . I also need to write. I've got some things bouncing around in my head. I just need that trigger of inspiration to come in. In a catalytic amount. So that these ideas can precipitate out. And it'll be glorious. I guess I just have to wait for winter break. We're doing the film contest thing this weekend and I'm having second thoughts partly because I'm flaky by nature and partly because, well, I...

Today was just one of those days. One of those days where you wake up and everything and everybody is against you. These days happen to me more often than I like, but that comes with being a relapsing surly, cynical bastard given to frequent and extreme mood swings. Everything just got under my skin today. Maybe it was waking up early before my alarm clock. Maybe it was the laugh they made when they messed up the first time. Maybe it was the look they gave when they thought they were being funny. Maybe it was the inflection they took when they got cranky. Maybe it was everything. But I think I did a pretty good job of playing it down. Of not taking it the wrong way. Of not letting it get to me. I mean, by now I'm pretty used to the routine. And I know it's not being fair to people. It's not them, it's me. I'm the one who's blowing up. So, you know. It's all over. For some reason I thought that the meteor shower was tonight. It was what I was l...

"I don't know why he's so upset. Like, I straight up told him, 'I don't know why you're so upset,' but he just, like, I don't know." She said to her friend perhaps a little too loudly. "Like, he thought we were exclusive but, I mean, I told him that we weren't, like, exclusive when we got together. So now he's all upset that I've been seeing other guys. I, like, totally don't understand him at all. He's just being ridiculous." I managed to overhear this conversation on my way to class this morning. While I could easily--and am certainly tempted to--write about this story is indicative about how terrible girls can be, I think it is more of an example of the constant failure of communication in relationships. It's something that everybody could stand to work on. Unfortunately, not enough people recognize this and that's why things fall apart and things get broken. Or flipped. And I don't think yell...

One of my worst qualities is that I tend to obsess about things. I have obsessive tendencies. Especially when it comes to bad things. Even more so when it comes to bad things about myself. Like something I screwed up or did poorly on. I, for whatever reason, carry that weight around my neck as quickly as possible and never really let it go. It burns holes in me. And I think about it all the time. Maybe that's some kind of self-destructive bullshit I've got going on. I've been thinking a lot about traveling. I want to go somewhere. Well, I want to go to a lot of somewheres. Just pack up and check out a whole bunch of places. And also film it. I've been thinking a lot about that, too. I want to make a travel show called Gabe Goes Places and it'll be about me going places and doing cool stuff. And every episode will start the same way: with me yelling into the camera, "My name is Gabe and I go places." And then, with my adventure bag, I'll...

It was late. I was tired and I wasn't really thinking straight. And so when I heard the man clear his throat in the office across the hallway, my heart fluttered. I stood up from my seat and took a step before I stopped myself. It wasn't my dad. He's not here. It was my uncle who is staying in his office. It was disappointing. I think I'm ready to get out of here. I tried getting along for a while and that's just not working out. I think it's time for me to completely get out. Get my own space and just start living. It's time for me to start my own life where people don't fight with you because you're studying and not cleaning. Where people don't get mad at you because you call someone else out for going through your stuff. I have never been one to tolerate favoritism, and in my absence I forgot that it runs rampant here. It's just time to cut my losses, I guess.

I hate using public restrooms. They are disgusting. It's worse for guys, I think. Girls tend to want things to stay clean and usable. Guys don't. There is always a puddle of urine directly underneath the urinal because the first guy apparently can't aim his stream, the second guy takes a step back so he isn't standing in piss and so on and so forth until you find yourself standing against the opposite wall trying to arc your urine into the porcelain but only adding to the urine pooling on the tile. It's, you know, pretty terrible. The thing that really sucks these days is that everything potentially cool happens on Thursdays. Maybe a professor will be giving a lecture on the scientific background of zombies. Which is something I could definitely get behind. Maybe it would give me the kick in the dick in the balls to get back to writing my story so that I could finish it before I die. Maybe Jester, in its infinite shittiness, will host a jam session and put ...

I am afraid of birds. Well, specifically, I'm afraid of birds pooping on me. I just really don't want to deal with bird poop. I don't even like stepping on bird poop on sidewalks. I'd rather walk in the street than walk across bird poop. It's just disgusting. Birds and the poops they poop are disgusting. Walking across sidewalks plastered in bird poop makes me cringe and want to die. I spent some time at the office today, which I think was a good idea. I will probably do that more often as long as I can spare the time. It's pretty fun to hang out and talk with friends like that. It's like the fast track to getting to know people. And I get to draw more, which is always a good thing. I had immediately forgotten his name, which made me feel bad. But in my defense, it was Halloween. "I've heard good things about you." He said. "Oh that's good," I replied. "Because I'm very self-conscious and struggle with my ...

Patient presents with nausea, dizziness, light-headedness, fatigue, and general sickness. Only allergic to minocin, has seasonal allergies. Currently taking ibuprofen, fluticasone propionate (nasally). No pertinent history. Last intake was a multi-vitamin. When I woke up this morning I felt incredible. I slept and slept and slept and when I woke up it was still eight in the morning so I slept some more. And after I showered I felt great. I was well rested and ready to tackle Monday. And then I went outside and immediately felt terrible. I don't know what the deal is. Maybe I'm dying. Who knows. Today was an especially exciting day in organic chemistry. There was a couple behind me who kept talking about random shit during the lecture. It was at this point in time that Dr. Bocknack began to discuss the dihydroxylation of alkenes , and drew the intermediate: an osmate ester . The couple looked up at the figure in confusion, abruptly ending their conversation about c...

The music worked. We played for hours. It's good to finally meet someone who can match that enthusiasm. It was a good time. It was comfortable, which is hard to get with people. It was balanced. It was a conversation. I felt like I had found my musical niche. I wasn't struggling to keep up. I wasn't struggling to keep everything together. I wasn't stuck completing a formula. I just filled in when I felt like I could add something and laid low when I didn't. Nobody was there expecting me to do anything amazing--just to play. I had found my niche. And we jammed. And we'll be doing it again. Who knew a bass and a guitar would make such a good sound? I was really excited about getting to play soccer today, but according to the website we aren't scheduled to play tonight. So it's been, like, four weeks since I played soccer. I hate this. I guess I can just do laundry and watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles instead. I want to watch Nightmare...

I actually really wanted to go to the haunted house. Otherwise I wouldn't have tried to get everybody excited about it. "Let's just play it by ear," I said. "I bet we can get tickets there." And, of course, we couldn't. It was a clusterfuck. And then I was the bad guy. And it was getting late and it was cold and everyone was disappointed and we just went back home. Halloween! I played some music today because I had the free time and because I'm so excited about playing music this weekend. I didn't write anything new, but I got to play something for somebody. Which is always nice. I need to take advantage of that more often. I think I really struck a chord with her today, though. She told me she could feel the emotion in the song I was playing. And she opened up. It was excellent. I'll have to play clarinet for her soon. Jonathan and Rachel did a fucking amazing job with this. I keep staring at it thinking about how good it look...

Well, registration is in the morning. I need to take field methods to stay relatively on track with my geology degree. I say that I need to because: I don't want to procrastinate in college--I've got plans for my life--and I don't really want to get off track with the friends I'm making in my geology classes right now. I also need to take organic chemistry to stay relatively on track with pre-medicine requirements. I can't take both because they're double-booked. So, I guess it really comes down to this: which is more important to me? Geology or medicine? It's not an easy choice. Life's tough like that, sometimes. So, in these next few hours, I'll be doing some soul searching. Or maybe I'm just over-analyzing things. Either way, it doesn't really matter. This weekend is going to be great. I don't know what I'm going to be for Halloween, but I don't care. I'm going to play some music and it's going to be amazi...

I've been keeping my ears open--and my mind wandering. And I can feel that swell again. The fingers aching for the feel of metal and wood again. I think I'm going to be writing some stuff in these next few days. I don't know what it's going to be about, but it's going to be satisfying. And then I'll make a band. I've got a bass player. Or, you know what, I think that's all I need. I just need to get this going. Transcribe some stuff? It's hard to play with new people. Do you prepare stuff you already have or do you let new stuff come out. I don't know. But it doesn't matter as long as we get jamming. And we will. Copying someone else's drawing style is really hard. And really time consuming. I'm so glad I'm working on it on the computer so I can just magically do away with all my many mistakes. I would go insane if I did it by hand. I'm figuring out my schedule for next semester. I'm going to be a busy, bus...

It's hard to like his music because I don't like him on principle. And I think he has a bad singing voice. But we had to listen to the song so many times that I started to notice something about it. The music. There was something about it. The instruments, the way they fit together, and the way the song grew and built. It was music. It was like a tide--ebbing and flowing and I couldn't help but feel that when we were dancing. It was penetrating. Permeating. Inundating. Intoxicating. "Do you miss jazz band?" She asked. "Yes." I immediately answered. "I miss it a lot. And you don't get opportunities like that anymore." "Yeah." She said. I need my saxophone. I neeeeed it. I need someone to sit there for about twenty minutes playing blues while I empty my brain out. God, I need it. I need to play music with somebody. I feel like I'm dying. Like I'm suffocating. Like I'm fucking drowning . I won...

Well, that's it. I'm not a teenager anymore. I'm twenty years old. I don't feel older. Or more mature. Or anything really. I'm just a guy--a man, even--who spins around in circles too much. Maybe I'll have that life awakening experience next year. It was a pretty good day. I woke up to the words "Congratulations on successfully earning your national EMS certification." And everybody was really happy today. And I just felt good all day. And even the weather was really nice. The perfect mix of moody, cold, and depressing--my kind of day. I had my tarot cards read today. Which I was absolutely not expecting to have happen. I also read some astrology stuff about myself. It wasn't anything I didn't already know, naturally. I mean, how much can a book like that really tell you about yourself? For that matter, what can a deck of cards tell you? A surprising and sobering amount, actually. Which is good, I guess. I am bored. I have to ...

I didn't expect today to go well after this morning. My laundry came out either warm and dry or still damp. But all of it was completely and utterly wrinkled. That was, for some reason, the most irritating thing that's happened to me in a while. I lost it. And then I heard that there was a hole that got punched in the cake. So I kind of gave up on stuff. But then I got told my writing was occasionally sexy. I've never gotten that compliment before. And it was really nice. I've gotten good , natural , and eloquent . But never sexy . That was when things turned around for the better. Then we went to see Where the Wild Things Are and that was a good time. It had a lot more to it than the book did, obviously. There was a lot of emotion. A lot of emotion I could relate to. The ending was sad and satisfying in an unsatisfying way. There was no heavy message getting spelled out for the audience, and I liked that. It wasn't too preachy. "Oh, I know yo...

I got to cook today. I've been looking forward to it all week. Chicken fettuccine alfredo with spinach. And I made my own sauce, too! I was excited to do it. I never really have a chance to experiment with my cooking since I have such limited opportunities to cook, period. It worked out surprisingly well, I think. And everyone smiled and was very polite when they told me it was good. Who knows. The only thing is that I'm starting to feel a little sick, so let's hope it's not from my own cooking. Because I cooked it with love. I have, perhaps, doomed us all. I cut my thumb when I was slicing a lemon in half. It was careless. And then it hurt. And it bled a little, but luckily I got it wrapped up with a paper towel and a rubber band. What kind of ghetto-medic shit is that? I'm really anxious about my test, actually. I took it this morning and it was pretty hard. So let's hope I didn't, you know, fucking fail it. I find out on Monday, I guess....

I can't believe it's already Thursday. I have to do so much studying tomorrow. I absolutely cannot afford to fail that EMT exam Saturday morning. I can't and I won't. It's my birthday present to myself. It'll make all the hard work justified and it'll make the weekend totally worth it. I hung out with some friends tonight. It was kinda weird because I really don't hang out with them all that much and I feel like I ought to. Partly because I work with them and partly because, well, hanging out with them is always so much fun. So hopefully that'll be happening a whole lot more often. I could use letting off steam. And that pie. I actually spent time drawing the background today. Well, not really. I drew the background and then turned the opacity down so it would look really fancy I guess. Spencer's coming in tomorrow for something. Hopefully we'll get to meet up. I want him to meet Ashley so I can get his opinion. I mean, you know...

For the past few weeks I have been observing the different ways people walk and I've discovered two different patterns. In men, I mean. Some guys take steps and immediately bounce back up onto the balls of their feet as they walk forward. They lean forward when they walk and it looks very awkward. They push themselves forward. These people are usually timid and quiet, always the sidekick friend seeking the approval of his peer group for his actions. He's always unsure of himself, which is why he leans forward to walk--he's always in a rush. The other pattern is taking steps and leaving the foot down until the last possible moment and then almost dragging it to the next step. These guys lean back when they walk. They usually move a little slower and basically pull themselves along. And they look confident. These are the loners and the leaders--never in a rush to get anywhere because the world revolves around them. Naturally, I fit into the latter group. I really ne...

So today I passed by a booth in the Jester foyer. It was about the student center for mental health on campus, and the various programs and whatnot it offers. I got a free stress ball. "It's really good," the girl at the booth told me. "The center, not the stress ball. Well, the stress ball too." "Great, thanks." I said. So I sat in my room and thought for a little bit. I looked at the website. They could talk to you about stress and anxiety. They could talk to you about depression. It seemed like they had a lot to offer and I thought that maybe it was something worth looking into. And so I made my way across campus to the student health center. But halfway there I chickened out and went to the Union to upgrade my ID card instead. And now my ID has proximity reader capability, which I think is pretty boss. I tried some of the self-help, hypnotherapy relaxation bullshit on their website and it didn't do anything but stress me out more bec...

So I thought it would be a good idea to go running today. I dressed out and took off running toward the Capital with my music getting me pumped up. As I made my round around the building, my ear buds fell out so I stopped to fix them. It hit me, then. The dizziness and the seeing spots and all that. I felt sick, and so I walked back home. I never really shook that malaise though. There just isn't enough time in the days to fit in all the studying I need to do. I can barely focus on anything because I'm trying to focus on everything at the same time. I love being stressed, but this is a little too much for me. There are too many important things that need to go well for me to keep track of. I'll go ahead and say it: I am unhappy with my situation. She brought up something that she was unhappy with. Which is good; that's what we want. It's always been much easier for her to do that. But it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair and I didn't have the ener...

I looked at my comic and realized that I forgot to draw The Administrator's beard. And then I looked at it again and realized that I had misspelled "thought." I am so embarrassed.