CELEBRATE!!! I'm at 10,000 words!! HAHA!

Update (10:43 PM): Phew. I just wrote the final chapter. And I am legitimately sad. I'm not sure if it's because they're the coolest friends I've had, or because of all they've been through (that I haven't written yet), or because I'm listening to Beth Waters. But I feel both very sad and very loved, which is sad, considering these people aren't real. Even my awesome novel boy.

Update (11:07 PM): I'm tired. I think that last chapter drained it all out of me. I'm off for the night with 10,200 words. I've never written this much before, so I'm pretty psyched. :) I've got 21 hours left from now, so it'll either be rushed or whatever. But I'm already kind of proud of myself with what I've got. The rest is just a plus. :)

Everything We Have Is All We Need

So, I've gotten a late start, mostly because I'm putting off all the big writing I have for today. I've got sex, drama, and I haven't decided if I'm going to kill off one of the characters - it would work, and I guess it should happen, but I really like this character. It's like on "Stranger Than Fiction."

Good thing I've got another 12-13 hours before I fall asleep again.

Update (1:08 PM): Whew, sex scene done. I need a ciggie. It's a short one, not much detail, and I haven't decided if I'll keep it yet or not. But yay! I wrote my first sex scene evar!

Update (2:44 PM): So I did a bad thing. I changed the direction of my story again. Which sucks, because I spent the last almost-two hours rewriting what I had to make it fit. But, I think it'll be a lot better now. That's it - no more changes.

Update (2:56 PM): Oh. Shit. I've been sidelined due to a wasp/hornet/insect of death that apparently has a hard on for the new table I bought for my balcony. I grabbed the only thing I had, Windex, and sprayed it, but I think it just pissed it off and now it's hovering around my door. Jesus. Christ.

Update (5:31 PM): So, I'm taking a bit of a break. I feel like I'm about to fall asleep for some reason, and I'm afraid I've written myself into a corner. Hopefully I can wake up and write out of it!

Update (6:53 PM): Just spoke with the parents and the sister, who are having awesome time at the beach, those fuckers. And I told them that I was writing a murder-ish story, and they told me to write something else. Um. No. I'm okay. I don't think I've ever written this much before, so even if it sucks, I've done something I haven't before. So shit on your face!

Update (6:55 PM): My mother just called back and said not to let them discourage me. She's sweet.

Update (8:15 PM): I'm writing the climax of my story now. Because it's exciting to me. And I'm tired of the little parts. But I'm conflicted. Because it's a scene where somebody has to save somebody (yeah yeah, cliche, etc. I don't give a shit it's my book and I love love love those stories). Okay, so, the conflict is that I can't decide if the boy should save the girl. Because that's my favorite. Ever. But boys always save girls. And will I be betraying my feminist mother if I don't have a girl save a boy?

Sigh. I WANT DIP.

Update (9:25 PM): I'm in love with my boy character. Not only because of what he's done in the novel, but also because of what I know he would do in real life. He'd be totally awesome. I wish he were real. God. I posted a lot today.

I'm Getting Old And I Need Something To Rely On

Things are...happening, at least, in my story. I'm currently sitting outside on my balcony where there's a massive thunderstorm - it's fantastic, aside from the little sprays that occasionally make their way onto my screen.

I haven't made too much progress. I've only written 10 pages so far today, but I feel like I now have a much better grasp on where my story is going and where it's been (ha). Now I just need to get it down on paper. :)

Back to it...

Update (9:50 PM): So I slowed down, as well. The problem is that I'm significantly behind. I've gotten some good stuff, I think. I started in the middle, really, so I've got to expand it to encompass everything. Even if I don't finish, and even if the rest of it is crap, I'm pretty pleased with what I've got so far.

I am, however, getting a little freaked out. There's violence in my story, and I'm getting really into it, so this weekend of seclusion is looking a little scary now.

Hooya!

Update (10:18 PM): Okay, so I got totally distracted by a phone call from the parents. I skipped out on a beach weekend for this, and they hadn't heard from me all day (which is weird) and they were calling to make sure I hadn't "written myself into my grave." They're so cute.

I've got five major major scenes to work on before I start filling in the gaps, etc. My goal is to FINISH at least one tonight.

And thank you god for that storm - it's all nice and cool out now.

Okay back to work.

Update (11:40 PM): I've decided to included a sex scene. I figure, I like sex, and I like stories with sex in them, so I should write a story with sex in it. No?

That is all.

Update (12:48 PM): Done for the night! I got a measly 7,000-ish words today, which doesn't compare with some over-achievers here (COUGH). But I've got a real direction now, too. So not all is lost!

I'll see you on the flip side...

Send Me The Miles - I'll be Happy To

No one has heard from my friend yet. It's worrying me, but this writing thing is serving as a good distraction. I've got 264 words so far, and I think it all sucks, but I'm sticking with it. This is about finishing - the holes can be filled in later.

This is totally going to be harder than I thought.

Update (10:01): Oh. My. God. This is really frustrating. Only at 1042 words.

Update (1053): Okay. I'm going to stop for the night. Getting a migraine (FUCK YOU MIGRAINE) and I'm kind of wiped out from stuff today. But I'm going to start fresh early tomorrow. :) Good luck to participants - I'm very much anticipating the end of this!

My friend from work is missing. Apparently I was the last one to see her last night. Sigh. I hope she's just playing hooky.

That's A Very Inefficient Way To Kill Somebody

My thanks to Barefoot - the advice and listening ear were much, much appreciated. I have a lot to think about, now.

But I had my bowling night tonight. I didn't bowl very well, but managed to be consistent. There's an attorney who bowls and who I work with at least once a week. He's a great guy, one of the nice ones, which is hard to find, and very not unattractive. I found myself almost flirting, and I almost got the same vibe from him. Though, I don't know if he's just being nice and friendly or not. Oh, and he's married. I always seem to be attracted to those.

The thing that I like about him is that he's himself, he's nice, and he's not afraid to be either one. He wore this hat tonight, and looked goofy, in a cute way. I want a guy like that, who does things on his own but who would enjoy doing things with me too, and who can just be himself and a great person at the same time. Maybe someday.

Is there any hope of pleasing him? Nope. Fuck that. Weeks later and he still brings it up. Fuck this shit. I'm tired of regretting living.

That's what we need going into the millennium. We need some positive, happy stuff.

Whew! I cut my mile down by 1.5 minutes! Yay sweat. :) I think the treadmill's more fun after a drink. I'm sure neighbors below hate me.

In other news, today was the most productive day I've had this month. I think it might be because neither C nor L were there, but maybe it was also because of my quarterly review. The CFO said I wasn't assertive enough, and that I didn't seem eager to learn (even though an attorney said I was eager to learn).

In other news, I tried to make cornish hens last night. Yeah, didn't work out. I managed to get all the giblets out, but I stuck them on the grill at too high a heat and nuked them. Oh well. Luckily I had some chicken on standby.

And this weekend is the writing weekend! I'm psyched. I've been keeping this little notepad with all my ideas on it - it's gotten huge. They don't all go together, so I'll have to be super awesome and figure them out. But I'm very excited that I get to write for an entire weekend.

Now I'm off to make little baby pasta. Small things amuse me (but of course there are exceptions).

And I'd Rather Die Than Live That Way

I'll get straight to it and say I'm in the middle of a could-be crisis. Surprise! It seems like everything seems like a crisis these days. But really, can I live like this? Not forever. I think we're both settling at this point.

I consistently feel that J is getting tired of me, as I am him. We exchange these little snide comments, and I increasingly am feeling that he's arrogant. I'm probably the stupidest girlfriend he's had, and I don't know if that's good (because he's no longer with him) or bad (because he's settling).

When I mentioned that I want to live in my dream city, that there are actual jobs there that relate to my dream job, he gives off a list of reasons why the city sucks, why people are stupid to want to work there and live there.

I'm one of those people who needs criticism and who needs people to say I can't do something for motivation. So I'll apply to these jobs. What will happen if I get them? I don't know. But I know that if things aren't meant to be between us, that it'll be hard for me to break it off. I don't know if I can break it off, to be honest, because of the love thing and no one wants to hurt someone they love. But I'm also one of those people who takes the easy way out - just being honest - and having a job in a place where he despises seems like a good way for things to end - no hard feelings.

Yep, this is my life. But good news - I got more rum. :)

I Know It's Easy To Say But Harder To Feel This Way

I haven't spoken to J all day. That's become pretty much the standard. If I'm not at his place, or he's not at mine, for the night, I'll send a text telling him goodnight, he'll respond with a "Sleep well," and that's it. It's weird. Because I'm equally happy and unhappy about it. I'm happy because I don't have to worry about some things that would upset either one of us, and I'm unhappy because I do love him, and for some reason something hurts.

But a friend of mine found this song that I've pretty much fallen in love with. Oh, and we're both really diehard "Grey's Anatomy" fans (don't hold it against me), so I'll leave with this video:

It's terrible to find out that monsters are real.

In other news, my first bowling night was tonight. I finished second on my team, and my team kicked the other team's ass - 3 times. So I'm pretty happy.

That is, really, all that's up. Maybe I'll write more tomorrow.

Fucking Calm Down Man, It's Soccer - It's Soccer

Yay for a 60-minute power walk! Only about 3mph, but it's the fastest I've been able to do it so far, and the longest. I love endorphins - this thing is slowly becoming addicting.

Two days from now and I'll be having my first day of Bowling League competition! I don't think I've been this excited since graduation. I even have cute little shoes.

In other news, I've got about 15 different possible routes my story can take. I'm sure I'll forget some before Labor Day weekend, but it's good to be thinking about it at least. I'm super psyched about it.

And that's all I've got - "Superbad" is on and it's one of my favorite movies to watch over and over (along with "Finding Nemo").

To Be Left Out In The Dark

J and I had this really pointless and random argument last night - short story, sometimes he says things that make me feel stupid. J's one of the smartest people I've ever met. He knows the answer to almost everything. But every once in a while he'll say something that just, it isn't constructive, borderline disrespectful, and I finally called him out on it last night. Now we're over it. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed.

Anyways. I found several job postings for jobs I want to do in the city I want to live in. I've been thinking about applying, but I don't know. I had this dream last night that I had a baby and it was so awesome; I woke up really happy. If I moved away, I don't know if things would with out with J. Good or bad? I don't know. I'm not settling, I don't think. I don't know if he is or not. But I want so many different things right now. It's so confusing.

In other news, I'm apparently a good dancer. If only I could remember how I danced... :)

Is this really the beginning of the end? It's painful either way.

Why can't I learn to keep my mouth shut?

Holla We Want Prenup

Well, last night was awesome. The pictures, not so much.

I spoke with J this morning, who told me he was upset with me because he couldn't get in touch with me and had to wait until 4 in the morning to go to sleep (because he wanted to make sure I got home okay). I told him I was dancing and having fun, and wasn't really looking at my phone all the time, and that he didn't have to wait up for me. And he never heard what I said about the guy following us, thank god, because I was in a parking deck and kept going out. Eh. Whatever.

The best part of the night was when my friend, T, told off C and told him to leave her apartment. It was fantastic! He was calling her a bitch and saying she deserved to get hit because she and her boyfriend both cheated on each other (to be fair, he was really emotionally abusive and the relationship was pretty much over a good six months before it happened). So while crying, she told him to get the fuck out of her apartment, he yelled back, she yelled back, and it went like that for a few until C looked like he was going to hit her, at which point a friend stepped in and pretty much ushered him out of the place. I felt like a bitch for busting out laughing when the door closed behind him, while T was crying and everyone else was feeling awkward and weird. But I thought it was hilarious.

I did manage to get three or four guys to buy me drinks (lost count). One guy, an insurance broker named Peter, bought me one after seeing my awesome dance moves, and then asked to go into the "back room" with him. Duh, of course not. So I said "Let me go ask my boss" (C and L were both there) and just danced with other people the rest of the night. Fun fun. I do feel a bit like a bitch for leading the guys on just to get a drink, but...okay I'm just a bitch.

One guy was hitting on T hard and followed us to her apartment after the bar closed. So I told him to leave. Little weird, and I'm scared because he knows where she lives now, but she said she can take care of herself.

But yes, good night overall. I'm now up north at my sister's place with her and my parents, where we went to one of her work's family get together things. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. And we're leaving to see "Tropic Thunder" in a few. Score.

I haven't talked to J since this morning when he said he was still a little pissed at me. I don't really intend to talk to him until I see him tomorrow night, if I even go over there. I'm tired of not having a life, so I don't feel bad about it. Maybe I should. But if he wants to be less worried, he can come next time. Le sigh.

Check out MIA's song "Paper Planes." I love.

So what happened tonight?

Even I don't know, though I do remember select moments:

* Drinking
* Dancing
* Getting three (maybe four) guys to buy me drinks (placing me in second)
* Manning up and telling one guy to leave my friend's apartment
* Witnessing an amazingly awkward (and verbal) conflict between a good friend and C
* Feeling like I've pissed J off.

Granted, I am still drunk while writing this (thank God for spellcheck) but the thing with J is that he's studying for a test he may not take (long story) and I'm out until 4 am without contacting him, and he's worried because I drunkenly tell him there's a guy following us.

Maybe tomorrow I'll make more sense of this.

Hello, Goodbye

This is my 50th post. :) Random.

So tonight I am going out with friends. Yes, OUT. I haven't been out since...forever. And I bought a new little black dress and I've got the makeup on and the hair done and I'm psyched. Dinner, dancing and drinking. J wont' be there, he's studying, so this other girl and I have this bet going about who can the most guys to buy drinks for her. Poor guys...

YAY!

I'm laying in bed as my boyfriend's roommate is strumming his new guitar in his room. He's trying to drown out his guitar sound with "Family Guy" on the big screen upstairs, but I can still hear it, and I love it. It's hard not to think of Sova.

I apologize for the depressing and serious posts lately. I've been thinking of a therapist, but realized I don't want to pay, and that getting drunk and spilling my insecurities and depressions to my boyfriend works just as well (maybe).

On to happier things.

Tonight was the first night of my work bowling league, and I was the second best on the team with 108. Yeah, we're not that great, but it's all about having fun. :) I'm very glad to be doing something with people, instead of sitting around and watching them on my television. It's good for me. :)

Oh, but to sidetrack the happier things (already), I got a phone call from a coworker tonight at around 10 pm. I'll nickname him Rock Star, though I've spoken of him before. He was drunk, which I figured, so I didn't answer. He left me a message with sexual undertones, and demanded I apologize to him for not walking downstairs to speak to him on a regular basis. J thinks I should tell HR about it, more for documentation purposes than to get him in trouble. I don't know if I should or not.

He's the type of guy who, if he were to come in to work with a shotgun shooting at people, I wouldn't be surprised. Figures. I always seem to know the psychotic ones. But hopefully, he won't remember he made the call, and nothing will come of it.

I am truly excited about bowling. :) I feel happier than I've felt in a while. And tomorrow, I get to go dancing and drinking with friends. I'm uber excited. :)

And, like my friend Karp, I've had an epiphany: a story idea, that I am most looking forward to writing.

You Said All Your Papers Got Destroyed?

Read an interesting article that made me laugh:

SAN JOSE, California (AP) -- A grotesque comparison of a steamy love affair to a New York City street has won a Washington man this year's grand prize in an annual contest of bad writing.

Garrison Spik, a 41-year-old communications director and writer, took top honors in San Jose State University's 26th annual Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest with this opening sentence to a nonexistent novel:

"Theirs was a New York love, a checkered taxi ride burning rubber, and like the city their passion was open 24/7, steam rising from their bodies like slick streets exhaling warm, moist, white breath through manhole covers stamped 'Forged by DeLaney Bros., Piscataway, N.J."'

The first noteworthy submission listed in the article is my favorite.

It's phenomenal--like looking at someone with a mirror behind him

Sensitive post.

Maybe it's my buzz, or maybe it's because I don't know when I'll be able to have a night alone again, but thinking of Sova yesterday has only led me to think of F today. Again a reflection meant for myself, but it's my blog, and if I can't write and reflect here, where can I?

I do feel better already, though.

***

F wasn't a good friend of mine. By the normal definition, we weren't friends at all, but we had our way of doing things.

I met him during my freshman year in college. He lived on my floor, in the suite with all the guys who rigged their doors never to lock and who invited everyone over to watch "Family Guy" every weeknight. He wasn't the friendly type, keeping to himself and not uttering more than one word at a time, most times not uttering any word at all, just nodding quickly as he passed by.

My friendship with him really began when, during my second semester, my parents turned off my cell phone in response to my amazing rebellion, in which I boarded a plane and flew 3,000 miles to spend a weekend with my long-distance boyfriend. That alone would have been enough, but my lying to them made it worse; the truth was only revealed when my mother insisted on driving up to see me the same weekend, and I had to break it to her that her youngest daughter was actually in a city far, far away, living it up with a guy she didn't know.

In order to prove my self-sufficiency, I applied for several jobs in the area, convinced I could support myself and eventually move to Portland, where I would live with the boyfriend and vigorously enjoy myself. I was called in for an interview for a waitress position at an area country club, and an hour before it was scheduled to begin, I remembered I had no car. I phoned several local cab companies, only to find they didn't accept credit cards for fares less than $25. My fare would only be about $13, if that.

I quickly stilettoed my way down the hall, asking some guys if they could give me a ride. The ones who weren't in class said they either didn't have a car or were about to go to class, and I was about to lose my first battle with independence, when F said he could take me. I was ecstatic - now my independence could begin.

I walked downstairs with him, and walked another 50 yards or so (in stilettos) to his parking space in the off-campus lot, only to find his car wasn't there.

"Shit," I heard him mumble. "Where did I park?"

I stifled a laugh. We began walking back towards the dorm parking lot, with him mumbling to himself the whole time, retracing his steps from the weekend when Campus Police didn't write tickets. He remembered he parked by the baseball field, and hoped he didn't get a damn ticket.

We finally found his car - ticket-free - and began our journey. I told him where to turn, and he drove up a long semi-circle driveway and dropped me off at the entrance to the ritzy club. I thanked him, he said no thanks necessary, and drove off. I walked inside, had my interview (in which I admitted to having no waitressing experience, and all but laughed when the manager asked if I could balance dishes and glasses on a massive serving tray - with one hand), and left the building, feeling my first defeat.

It was then I realized I didn't have a way home. I ended up walking around, stopping at a pay phone at a gas station across from the artsy movie theater and called a cab, withdrawing enough cash from a nearby ATM to cover the fare.

At the time, F's presence wasn't too significant - he was there, and then he wasn't there, and that was that. But after a while I realized that I shared my first "real world" experience with him: rejection. If he wasn't there, I wouldn't have gotten the reality check that propelled me across the border into the brutal world, and I wouldn't have that experience to help me navigate through the rest of it.

Two semesters later, I had a class with him: History of the English Language. I sat behind F, and watched as he doodled characters in his notebook. He didn't take hand-written notes. Instead, he opted to whip out his digital camera and snap a copy of the notes the professor would project onto the white board. These notes would help me pass the course. He helped me, as well. I would come in to the classroom and see students hovering over their notes and the textbooks, fingers to their temples and their eyes darting across the pages. This signified a quiz or a test, the only notification I would receive, as I lost my syllabus the second week of the semester.

I'd sit down and sigh, and F would turn around, knowing I was lost again. He would show me the photos of the notes, and would explain the concepts so I could understand them. I felt bad, but justified my laziness by telling myself he was solidifying his knowledge of the subject by explaining it to me. He was the only reason I passed the course, I have no doubt about that. He was one of the most intelligent people I've met, even to this day.

I moved into an on-campus apartment my junior year. I would still see F occasionally, mostly nodding as we passed by on the way to and from classes. He hardly ever spoke, but over time he began to smile in passing.

I became good friends with his roommate, though I didn't know they were roommates at the time. Drew was a friend of several friends, but most notably a friend of my boyfriend, and we would sneak cigarettes together on my boyfriend's porch during the senior drink nights, as we were too young to participate.

In February, I got a text message from my boyfriend, saying he would be late. Drew's roommate was missing, and he left a suicide note. I texted back, asking what kind of car to look out for. Then I hit the road, chainsmoking and listening the radio with the windows down, looking for a green Honda in places I'd frequently gone to escape to. It was exciting to me because I spent many days procrastinating by following up on new missing persons cases, formulating my own theories, telling myself that I could be a detective one day.

About an hour into my search, my boyfriend called.

"I just got a chance to step away, Drew's family and his roommate's families are here," he said. He explained the roommate had been missing for several hours, and a note he left pointed to suicide. One of his guns was missing. I told him I was out looking, and asked the name of Drew's roommate. "F."

"You're lying," I said, almost flashing back to two years earlier, when someone else told me bad news about a friend. I told him about F, and he said he actually went to high school with him. He said he had to go, he had just wanted to check in.

I turned off the radio, but continued chainsmoking. I remembered a blog entry F had written before, one I had found while Internet stalking random people on my AIM buddy list. He said he wanted to go to the beach, that he had never seen it before. My grandparents had a house at the beach, and I figured I would just head that way, just so I could do something, really.

I texted my boyfriend and told him my plan. He texted back, "Don't bother. They found his body at Carolina Beach."

I don't remember driving home, and I don't remember walking into my apartment, ignoring my roommates when they said their greetings and making my way to my room. To be honest, I don't remember much else of that night.

The next day I spoke with my boyfriend, who had spent the night with Drew, making sure he was okay. He said F drove to the beach and shot himself in the head. A random person called the cops after seeing his body in the car.

Mutual friends and I believed it had everything to do with his family. His parents were hard on him, demanding perfection. We figured he had been pushed to the edge.

At his funeral, a preacher stood up and denounced his actions, saying there was a place waiting for him in hell. Thank God his sister stood up and tearfully told the preacher to shove it, despite her parents' disapproval; if she hadn't, others would have.

I don't think I'll soon, if ever, forget the look on F's mother's face as she watched two men lower his casket and body into the ground. She was holding on to her husband for support, nearly unable to stand on her own, with tears streaming down her face as her wide, scared eyes stared at the part of the casket where F's head was laying. When the casket had sunk several feet, she broke her grip on her husband's hands and slowly sank to her knees, reaching out and gently tracing the wood holding her son. Her right hand swept the top of the wood, back and forth several times, while her shaky left hand covered her mouth, but not enough to stifle her cries.

Her husband reached down, almost impatiently, and lifted her up, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her away, as the two men finished lowering his body.

I stood with Drew through the ordeal, my head leaning on his left shoulder, my arm around his back, both of our tears leaving wet drops on his collared shirt.

One year later I finally got the nerve to go see F's grave, but there was no place for me to leave my flower; he had no gravestone. Instead I placed it at the bottom of a nearby tree, figuring he'd know it was for him wherever I put it. Occasionally I drive by the graveyard, but I haven't been back since that day. There are some things I can only deal with one step at a time. But for now, I have to stop thinking "what if." It's what I always think when I think of him. What if I had been a better person, or if I could have made him laugh instead of nod? I have to keep telling myself that I can't think like that, because if I spend forever thinking of what I could have done to
save him, I might be failing someone else right in front of me.

Do you know what it's like to remember everything?

As you can see, I'm now watching "The Time Machine." It's pretty much over. I do love this movie, for several reasons. One, because my daddy likes it too; two, because it has a kickass soundtrack; and three, because it's relevant.

"You think I don't know you, Alexander? I can look inside your memories, your nightmares, your dreams. You're a man haunted by those two most terrible words: What If?" Beautiful. It's too easy to play the "What If" game.

Maybe I'll be in a writing mood again later tonight. J is studying again. He's got three big tests, the first of which is tomorrow, so I'm glad he's studying. Even though that means I don't get to see him, it means I can do what I can't when he's around, like write. Someday maybe I'll feel comfortable writing around him. Karp seems to have a problem with that, as well. I don't think he would get it. He's all logic - applied mathematics and computer codes, they all make sense to him.

Maybe someday. :) For now, I'm going to go try and make a cinnamon raisin bread loaf in the shape of a heart. HA!

I wish you well and hope you find whatever you're looking for

So I lied.

I miss my writing moods, so I'm trying to hold on to it for as long as I can. I was rereading my old blog, one I started the day I graduated high school.

August has been a big deal for me for the past few years. It's the start of everything new - a new semester, a new apartment, a new chance to do things I've been putting off for years. This is the first time in 16 years I won't be starting a new school year in August. While reading my posts from when I first began college, it was such an amazing experience. I was lonely a lot at the beginning, and then got over it and went out to meet people.

The first few people I met turned out to be assholes. The biggest asshole, though, introduced me to one of the few people I'll always think back to when I think of my freshman year, of college as a whole. Sova. What a beautiful person.

Maybe I think that because I didn't get the chance to really know him. But I find it hard to believe that a bad person would have so many good people in his life, people who are still dealing with his loss.

Below is my post from August 21, 2004. It's long, and I've changed things, small things like grammar, because I did write it at a time when I wasn't exactly stable. As I said before, writing is my therapy. If I didn't have my writing, I don't know where I'd be today. A little more than three years after Sova's death, I'd be writing a similar piece in response to a friend's suicide. That one I'm not ready to reread yet. But, here is Sova's:

My freshman in year in college, I was a “dorm junkie” before the first week was even over. I like meeting new people and getting to know what they’re like and just hanging out. The only people I feel most comfortable with are boys.

I met Ian and John while paying ping pong in the basement of the student center. Ian let me win and John, being the serious guy that he is, kicked my ass – easily. It was fun because I laughed with them and I could honestly be myself – no inhibitions or hesitations, because I didn’t have a reason to feel inferior.

They stayed in Thompson Hall, a dorm with one long hallway with rooms on both sides and bathrooms on both ends of the hall. There was no air conditioning, and I loved watching the guys walk around with their shirts off like it was nothing.

I met most people on the first floor: Danny was a hippie who used to have a lot of fun with illegality but swore everything off his junior year; Jeff was an engaged 20-year-old who was never serious about anything and had a big ego; Kris was Ian’s roommate who I never really understood; Alex was the nice kid that I knew from high school; and Sova was the one I knew I would fall in love with.

The first time I met Sova was in the basement of Thompson where Ian and I were watching “Bruce Almighty”. He talked a little bit about everything he’d done – drugs, drinking, smoking. He said he quit drugs because, “That was the most fun of my life, nothing will ever beat that.” He also said he quit smoking.

The next time I saw him, he was in his room playing guitar. He said he always played guitar. He’d been playing about a year and was writing his own stuff to go along with the hundreds he already knew.

He sat down and played songs in the hallway for me and Ian, and it was obvious that he loved it. The look on his face when he played told me he was most comfortable and happy playing anything that was worth playing. His playing helped me deal with a bout of homesickness.

The next day I was roaming the first floor again and stopped in his room. I knocked on his door.

He was sitting in his computer chair shirtless with his guitar, his computer playing “Layla” by Eric Clapton and he was strumming his guitar, keeping up with the cords.

He turned around. “Hey E.” I walked in and he played a little longer. I’ve met a lot of people who can play an instrument, but he was the only one I thought I could listen to forever.

After a while he stood up and walked to put his guitar on the stand. “You want a drink or anything?” he asked.

“No I’m fine, thanks,” I said. I sat down at his computer chair and scrolled through his list of songs. I found “Mr. Jones” by The Counting Crows and turned it on.

He started singing, I started laughing, and I stood up and grabbed the inflatable beach ball the guys were throwing around the hall the night before.

We started hitting it at each other and playing mock volleyball with it. At one point he bent down and set the ball and I set it back.

“I’m trying to set you!” he said, laughing. I laughed too, and when he set me again I hit it and it flew into his face.

I loved being there with him. He was one of those people who made you feel like you were the only one in the world when he talked to you. He was the only one in the dorm who could have a one-on-one conversation with me without it being awkward.

Alex and I walked outside to smoke. I picked up smoking a few years ago, it’s not something that I’m proud of, but it is something that I do.

“Do you want a cigarette?” Alex asked Sova.

“Yeah,” he said. “I was just about to ask.”

“I thought you quit,” I said, as he lit up.

“I did, for two days. I was sitting in class this morning and I knew I wasn’t going to make it, all I could do was taste that cigarette,” he said.

The other guys came out to play hacky sack.

“I love your dorm,” I told them. “Everyone here’s really nice.”

“What they aren’t nice to you in your dorm?” Sova asked.

“Nah, they won’t really talk to me much. I don’t get along with girls that well.”

“Why? What do they call you?” he asked, laughing.

“Well my mom calls me a bitch,” I said, laughing.

He looked over surprised. “Why? Did she catch you smoking or something?”

“No, we just argue a lot, we can’t really agree on anything.”

“Oh okay. That’s like my mom and my sister,” he said, hackying the sack. “Now they get along though, because she’s moved out and the less they’re with each other they more they get along. That’ll probably happen with you, too,” he said.

“I hope so,” I said. After a while I went downstairs to play ping pong with John, Ian, and Alex.

The next day I came by again. He was playing guitar again and I sat for a few minutes and listened to him play. He offered me a drink again, I declined again. I sat in his computer again, picking random songs to listen to on his computer, like “No Sex in the Champagne Room” by Chris Rock and “Glycerine” by Bush.

“You like Bush?” he asked me.

“Oh yeah,” I said.

“I’m just asking because you went right to it, like you know it,” he said, smiling. He began singing the lyrics and making faces. He walked over to his fridge and got a drink out.

“You want a cigarette?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

He handed me one as we walked outside to where the other guys were playing hacky sack.

They all talked to me and made me feel like I was really starting to belong with them, like they were really my friends, and I love that feeling. Sova would talk to me and look over and smile, he had such a beautiful smile.

A friend of Sova’s walked by.

“Hey are you coming to the keg tonight?” he asked Sova.

“Yeah,” he said.

“All right, cool,” the guy said. “I’ll give you a ride.”

“All right, I’ll be here,” Sova said. I smiled up at him, hoping he would get the message that I wanted to join. What I would do at a kegger, I don't know. I just wanted to be around him, to feel and see the glow that seemed to pulse from him.

The next morning the phone rang around 9:30. I didn’t want to get up to get it, so I let the voicemail get it. It rang again. I told myself that if it rang once more I’d answer it. It did.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Ian said.

“Hey.”

“Something bad happened.” Oh shit, I thought, figuring some of the guys got caught drinking underage or some bullshit like that.

“What?”

“You know Sova?”

“Sova?” Of course I knew him. He's the best one - he's the reason I hang out with you, to be honest (though I didn't say this).

“He got in a car accident last night.”

“What?” The only word I could think of at the time.

“He got in a car accident.”

“Well where is he?” The only person I've ever known who was in a car accident serious enough to be classified as "something bad" was my father, who survived an SUV rollover. Naturally, I assumed there was some hospitalization - probably a broken leg, maybe arm, nothing serious.

Ian hesitated. “He…he um, he passed away.” It wasn't that I couldn't breathe; it was more than that. What he was telling me was so incomprehensible that it was as if the moment was just frozen, a moment in one of the stories I wrote that never had a chance of coming true.

“Are you serious?” was all I could muster.

“Yeah.”

Denial kicks in quickly, at least for me - obviously, he’s lying. It's one of his stupid ploys to get me to come over so he can try to hold my hand, or put his arm around my shoulders.

“You’re lying to me.”

“Why would I lie about something like that?”

I hung up. I cried. I don’t let people see me cry. I’m not supposed to cry. My hands started shaking. I needed a cigarette.

The phone rang again 5 minutes later.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I said.

“Do you want to come over?”

“Yeah,” I said.

I walked over and bought some cigarettes along the way. I sat outside. Ian came out and sat down next to me while I chainsmoked. I would go through two-and-a-half packs that day.

“He’s the only one that’s died. The other two in the car are in the trauma center,” he said.

At times like these, I hated God. Sova had so much, he was so much, he was everything that anyone should be. He had mistakes, it's what made him human, it's what made him lovable and real, genuine.

It didn't occur to me until later that, had I been more assertive, if I had spent the time with him that I wanted to, that I could have been in the same position that he had been in. It didn't make the pain any less severe and it didn't make me wish I wasn't with him.

It's easy to question what could have been. It's just hard to know that what could have been, could have been so much better than what was. It would have been.

Where else are you going to put a house-sized inflatable dog turd?

I'm in a writing mood, hence my third post tonight. I'm also off my buzz, and am sitting on my balcony, where I just saw my first meteor. There's supposed to be a massive shower tomorrow morning at like 5 am, but I'm pretty sure I saw my first one. Unless it was a super fast plane, in which case, I'd like to ride in it.

So while looking up at the sky and trying to distinguish between airplanes, flying saucers and meteors, I thought of some story stuff. I'm not sure why. And I'm also not sure why I can only really get creative when I get this one feeling, and I've said it a bajillion times, but the only way I know to describe it is by saying it's the kind of feeling you get while in an antique store and you see those old pictures of people, the ones where they're not smiling, just kind of looking, and there's that smell to it. When I feel that, I can generally sit down and write.

So, I'll freewrite for a bit. Nothing here is actual nonfiction. It's the fiction that's based off of nonfiction. I don't really know another way to write, for me. It's like those "based on a true story" movies, where maybe it could have been true, but most of it was just bullshit.

Okay, well, a friend called so I'm just going to put in little snippets so I don't forget.

********

"Well, he's dull."

"Dull?" she laughed. "So why are you dating him?"

"Because," she said, taking a drag. "He's smart, very smart, and very rich. And he's got this awesome jawbone," she said smiling, blowing the smoke out in puffs.

"The jawbone? That's what's you're looking for?"

"Well, you know what they say about jawbones," she said.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "What the hell do they say about jawbones?"

She shrugged and took another drag.

********

"I love your skin," he said, caressing her back underneath her shirt. They were laying on a blanket on his floor, her breasts pushing against the middle of his chest, their feet intertwined with pelvis' dangerously close.

"Why?" she asked, moving her fingers over his chest muscles, sliding them down to his belly button and moving them back up to the space below his neck.

"Because it's soft, and it's a part of you," he said. He could have stopped there and had her. "It's a part of you that you can't hide."

She nuzzled her head under his chest, but didn't look into his eyes. She never did, just as she never kissed him on the lips. But she loved for him to touch her, for his fingertips to graze the untouched parts of her, and she loved watching goosebumps form on his lower stomach as she slid her fingers down past his waistband.

********

"You're supposed to be so full of life that it is almost unbearable."

********

I do think that's all I have for now, though, actually. I wanted to do more, but I've gotten distracted.

Au revoir.

So, Like, It's Inter-Dependent

Okay.

I will admit that I've had two rum and diet cokes. Now, having said that: I'm watching my High School Musical reality show, and this guy says that these two people have to work together so that "the whole is greater than the sum of its parts."

I don't get it. The whole...and the sum. I, personally, would figure they're the same thing. Maybe this is why I almost failed math (I really did fail, the teacher just passed me so I could graduate).

The whole. And the sum. The sum makes up the whole. Right? Hm.

I'll keep thinking.

What's The First Thing That I Say?

I managed to go 2 miles today on my treadmill at a near-jog, so things are going well. Work is fine, too.

I really wanted to post something good today. The whole drive home yesterday I created this whole story line, complete with cute dialogue and stuff. I guess I can write it...but it always sounds so lame without all the story elements. Maybe I'll get to it later.

Though, I did find a great quote in my journal, meant to be from a lover to a lover. I'm almost afraid to write it here, because it means a lot to me - it's like my baby, the epitome of everything I want. And it's just one quote. Maybe I'll post it later. Maybe not. But it's gotten me going again.

Sigh. This was a tease post. My bad.

Sometimes I Can Be Beautiful

My favorite thing about myself is my eyes. They're big and dark brown, but when the light hits them right, they take on a lighter brown glow, and contrast with my skin. I wouldn't trade them for anything in the world. They've seen so many things - life and death, happiness and sadness, tragedy and comedy, helplessness and hopefulness. If eyes are the windows to the soul, consider mine to be wide open, experienced to a degree. To feel beautiful I put on dark eyeliner to make them stand out even more, accentuated even further with mascara that pulls my lashes as far as they can stretch.

My hair is my second favorite thing about myself. It'll look different depending on which day you see me. On good days I'll wear it down, with strands flowing in any direction they want to, each as independent as I wish I could be. On other days I'll pull it back, either at the nape of my neck or at the top of my head. But both up-dos always leave some stubborn pieces either falling down or frizzing out; I am as stubborn as these strands. I betrayed my hair several months ago, cutting eighteen inches off, instantly regretting leaving one of the best aspects of myself. My hair hasn't let me forget this, often times proving itself to be a pain, almost as if it's rebelling because of my past decisions.

I have many, many insecurities. Many. Many that, sometimes, overshadow the beauty that I can find. But those are for another day, because right now is just about the good things, the beautiful things.

I've come to consider my feet to be almost beautiful. There are some scars from past surgeries, but - I'll stop there, that's an insecurity. I love how they look in my three-inch, four-inch strappy shoes, the ones that let my toes peek through. My parents' puppy likes those too, and we have a game where she chases me so she can lick my toes, though I can only take so much before I die laughing - I'm very ticklish.

My mother says I've always had a great smile. I wouldn't know, I can't see it. I've become used to taking bad pictures - another insecurity, I'll stop there.

Another thing my mother says is that I've inherited her legs, which is a welcome compliment. My mother has some of the most beautiful legs, and pictures from her teen and older years prove this. I have a spot on my left knee, a freckle on the outside of it, that I absolutely love. And I do like the shape of my calves, especially in heels and short skirts. My thighs, could use work - another insecurity.

Sometimes it's easy to forget that sometimes I can be beautiful. But it's good to remind myself.

I had a really vivid dream last night. I used to have them all the time, but I haven't had one in a while. And this is really just for my records, as I used to have a dream journal and it's fun to look back on them. Not that this is a dream journal, but, whatever.

I was visiting my father at his office, which was a skyscraper with 31-plus floors in a big city. He was helping me learn what it is that he does, just because I wanted to know, introducing me to a lot of people. As he's showing me, over the course of an hour or two, we keep feeling the building shake. The first time I ask him what it is, he says it's construction on the building next door. But as it continues, it feels more like the construction is happening to his building, and I keep asking him if he's sure, because it's a really strong shaking. He keeps shrugging it off, saying he's sure.

Then the lights go out, and as people are trying to figure out what's going on, the building shakes violently and we can hear what sounds like parts of the building crashing down. So we start making our way to the stairs. It's hard for me to see and I couldn't hear my dad, so I start taking pictures with my digital camera, using the flash to find my way around. As I near the stairs, I turn around and take a picture in hopes of seeing my dad coming the same way. But as the flash goes off I see my dad on the ground, dead, with a pair of scissors in him and blood all around. I can still see the image, even though the flash has gone away.

Ina borderline state of shock, with the building still shaking, I walk down 31 flights of stairs and make it out onto the street, where emergency personnel and running around and people with blood on their bodies are being treated. After a sobbing fit I walk to my mom's office and tell her what happened.

She said she knows, and said that he knew what was going to happen. I asked her what he knew was going to happen and she said that he knew he was going to die today. I didn't believe that he would have just accepted it, but she insisted that he did.

I saw on the television that it was some invading force that was responsible. That they had taken several buildings by latching on to them and sending some weird waves through them in attempts to destroy them. Some attempts were more successful than others. And some people were deliberately targeted - so far, there were 27 people who were found murdered with sharp objects, like knives or scissors. I couldn't figure out why my dad was one of them.

Later on I end up joining this group that tries to fight off the invading people. And then it gets all science-fictiony. The invading people are like aliens or something, and right before they attack our group, one of the members freezes time so we can all see where the bad guys are. And then when she unfreezes time, I go all badass and kill some guys with a weird stick.

And then I wake up.

It's What The People Want

This weekend has been interesting. I managed to talk my parents into going bowling to practice with me, and they forced my sister to come. Made me realize how much I suck, haha. But that's what practice is for. And I'm pretty sure most people are joining the team to drink together.

My sister has lost weight, which I've mentioned before, but I just realized today how much she wants other people to mention it. She'll stop and look at herself in the mirror constantly, and then she'll just randomly sigh and say, "I feel fat. I need to lose 10 more pounds, even though I've already lost 24." And then everyone will talk about how beautiful she is and she'll get this little smile-pout thing and cross her arms.

Is there a difference between self-confidence and vanity?

In other news, my grandfather may have congestive heart failure. Bad news comes in threes, I guess. Out of everyone in my family (outside of my parents and sister [sometimes]), I'm closest to my grandfather and uncle. My uncle's doing well (going on a safari in September), and my grandfather was doing well, despite the many health problems he's lived through. We'll see.

Also, I'm meeting the guy from my history class for dinner tomorrow on the way back to my apartment. I think it'll be fun to do something different. We'll see.

Here's a picture of my parents' boxer, with a bandanna that a relative's girlfriend made:

So? It's Really Funny

Also, here are some (unsafely taken) pics from my drive home:

We've Now Arrived At The Modern

Right after my last post, I left work and drove home, where I'll be celebrating my grandmother's birthday with the family. I haven't seen my brother. My mom told me she drove him home to his house after he was released from the hospital, and was going to stop with him and get him some lunch, but he said she embarrasses him. It actually really hurt her, I can tell, so she dropped him off and came home, where she ate lunch with my dad. I feel bad for her.

On a happier note, I won an argument (kind of) with C today. Throughout the morning he and L (another coworker) had been making fun of me, taking little hits that didn't really bother me on their own, but together were starting to get to me. I was taking them like a man, mostly because I couldn't think of any responses.

Anyways, all three of us were at lunch with a friend of C's who just started working as a temp., and C and L slide into one side of a booth. So I slide in the other side, stepping on C's foot in the process.

Instead of being a normal human being, he says (loudly), "Why the fuck did you step on my shoes?"

He is immature, I know this, but I responded with immaturity: "Why the hell did you put your foot on my side?" We started going back and forth, with him eventually telling me never to fucking talk to him again.

After putting up with his shit all morning, and listening to him and his friend tell stories that just illustrate their insensitivity, immaturity and ignorance, I decided I was going to have the last word. Yep, no matter what, that last word is mine.

"Are you seriously pissed because I accidentally stepped on your shoe?"

"No I'm pissed because you blamed me for it!"

"Oh okay, that's not how I saw it."

"Don't fucking talk to me."

"Okay, I'll stop."

"Seriously."

"Okay!"

"Just shut the fuck up!"

"Okay, I'm going to stop talking right now."

"Good."

"Yeah."

"Stop it!"

"Okay!"

And then, silence. I. Did. It. This may not seem like a big deal, but it is. I have bitten my tongue and backtracked for the past 10 months around this guy because he has such an attitude that if you upset him, he'll run off to someone and bitch about how if you say one more thing to him he's going to "lose it" and he can't help it and he's going to have to leave early because he can't concentrate anymore and lots of that kind of shit.

And I finally got the last word. I almost couldn't help smiling my ass off. And I rewarded myself with pasta.

On another good note, I am on a bowling team with cool people! And there's going to be beer every night that we bowl. I don't think it could get any better. :)

I'm currently watching the Olympics ceremony with my parents. It's very, very beautiful. I feel bad for whichever country has the Olympics next, because it'll be hard to top this. Really makes me want to go to China. And I'm actually really looking forward to some events.

Oh, watch this video. It'll get you in the spirit. :) Adios, though I may be writing again later.

Click Click Cough

I think now would be a good time to get away from everything.

I'm Addicted To Getting Head - Just Call Me The Brainiac

I'm watching "The Boondocks". The first season was better.

I called my brother today. He's being released from the hospital tomorrow, so I'll see him then. I'm heading home anyway for my grandmother's birthday - I bought her this cute music box that plays, "What The World Needs Now Is Love." I hope she likes it.

Earlier I was watching "Waitress," and even though I haven't finished it yet, it's probably one of the best movies I've seen in a while - highly recommended. It really makes me want to take a look at my life and think what I can do to make it better.

While on vacation with my family at the beach, my mom asked if I was happy, because it didn't seem like I was, and she wanted to make sure I was (she even offered to pay for extra classes so I can get a different job, which is interesting, because she doesn't like spending money). I told her I was. Am I? Sometimes. Sometimes I stop what I'm doing (usually at work), and think that this is really, really, my life right now. The good thing is, it can still change.

J came after karate and gave me big long hug, and I found myself thinking that we should take a break, and almost said it to him, but I don't have a reason for it. I think I just need a life. Which is why I'm excited for (get ready for it)......bowling! I joined the company bowling team, and I'll admit I'm pretty excited. It starts a week from today, and I'm psyched. SOMETHING TO DO! YES!!!!!

What They Did, What They Created, Was Greater Than Art, Because You Life Your Life In It

My brother had a heart attack yesterday.

Well, I'm getting ahead of myself. First, I have a brother. He's adopted. He turned 26 in June and finally was hired as, basically, a truck driver. This is good for him, as in the past he has been turned down because he can't pass a drug test. He's the first in his family to graduate high school, and dropped out of college because he wanted to smoke pot and play video games all day.

A slight detail, that doesn't matter to me but matters to some, but he's black. C at work seems to make a big deal out of it whenever I mention him, or whenever a new employee starts and HR brings him/her around for introductions. After we exchange names and shake hands, he blurts, "She has a black brother." My mother got into the habit of referring to him as her son, and people get really confused when they find that my dad is also white.

So, now, my brother had a heart attack yesterday. They put a stent in one of his arteries, and he'll be in the hospital for a bit.

We have a weird relationship. The first day of high school I was being my dorky self in the hallway and some guy jumped out and scared the shit out of me, ruining my wonderful perfect moment, and I all but ran away crying. My brother beat them up after school the next day (normally, I'm not a big fan of this, but I was okay with it this time).

But I've almost resented him for a while, mostly because he doesn't seem to care enough to get his life on track, and spends most of his time calling my mother asking for money, which she gives him because he lives with his girlfriend and her small daughter (not his) in free housing in the bad parts of town.

To be completely honest, I want to say that I feel really bad for him, because he is my brother. I want to say that I'll drive home and bake him something and care if he dies before 30. But, again in all honesty, I find myself feeling more empathy for the woman who got fired today for making a legitimate mistake than I feel for him.

Though I do feel like a bitch for it.

Suddenly I See This Is What I Want To Be

So, learned a valuable lesson: don't go fast on a treadmill if you can't go fast on a treadmill.

Standing On Top Of The World Tonight, No One's Looking Back At You

I finished reading my memoir ("The Glass Castle") last night. Of course I cried and hid under the covers when J walked in, which pretty much made it obvious. He said that he likes that I care enough to cry. He also said that that's the point of memoirs - no one would want to read about a person who had a great, happy life...which got me thinking. I guess that means my shot at a best selling memoir is shot. I've had a few bumps, but I only have one regret, and it's not even a big deal, in the long run. So, oh well.

While rereading a piece I've been working on, I realized it was the biggest word-shit in the world, so I'm trying to rework it. I wish I was brilliant enough to just close my eyes and type, and have a good finished product. But that would take the fun out of it, right?! :)

Oh and news - I bought a treadmill. It's currently in J's car, because mine's too tiny, but he's bringing it over tonight. I'm psyched now, but I'm sure I'm going to hate the damn thing later.

A coworker sent me a link to "Church Signs That Won't Make You Go To Church". Check it out and see if you die like I did. Here's a sample:


Sigh. I guess it's back to work.

Spanish Music

So, long story, but the boyfriend installed an open source program on my old desktop that allows it to serve as an almost Tivo type thing, where I route my cable through the computer so I can record programs and skip commercials and everything for free. This also means that the sound is routed through my computer's speakers.

Now, when I first got this computer, back in 2004 (high school graduation present), I realized that it picks up on radio signals. I woke up one night to a fire-and-brimstone sermon about hell, and just about freaked out.

But here I've got different signals. I'm surrounded by Indians and other ethnicities (which is pretty much a given - I live in one of the most research-focused areas in the region), and I don't mind them, but I think they mind me. There's this one Indian family who, whenever I'm outside, like going to my car, they usher their adorable children inside and shut and lock the door. I don't know, maybe there's a weird guy around me that I can't see.

But anyways, I've been picking up on a lot of radio signals around here, and these are all like, talk shows in Spanish, or very Cuban sounding music. Right now it's some Latino sounding classical music, a song I can picture people dancing the tango with a rose in their teeth to. It's just weird to me. Right now it's kind of annoying because I'm trying to watch High School Musical: Get In The Picture (my new fav reality show), and I can't because of the music.

Still, it makes me smile. (Two today again - feel special.)

You're Invisible, And You'd Go To Space Camp?

I have to say, this has been the best weekend in a while. Even though I've spend 7 hours of it working, I've got an extra $100 from it, and it's helped me learn how to relax, surprisingly. In between potential client calls, I spent two hours reading "The Glass Castle" on the balcony, several hours paying Wii and a few more hours drinking/watching TV (including "Pretty Woman"...yes.). And I also killed a spider, which, honestly, was a big step for me.

It's refreshing, almost. Which is weird. But it doesn't have to make sense. Just like my fingernails. They're really long, I've been trying really hard not to bite them, and now I don't know what to do with them. And they make it kind of hard to type.

I'm watching "Stranger Than Fiction" now. It is, without a doubt, fantastic, I think. And I love Maggie Gyllenhaal. I think she's one of the beautiful ones, kind of like Zooey Deschanel (mentioned yesterday by Karp, though I think she looks way awesome with darker hair).

This is kind of a diary entry, rather than a blog entry. I've noticed I do that a lot. Oh well...at least I'm writing something.

It'll Be Like Old Times, Just With Different People

I do think I'm in love with John Cusack...


And yes, that's my post today (for now).

What's The Second Thing You Want To Do With That Cake?

There's this homeless man who stands at a stoplight at the end of an Interstate off-ramp. The stoplight is over a bridge, but there's a sidewalk to the left of the drivers. I used to see him while driving to the mall, and he would be standing with a cane, holding a sign asking for money and wearing a bright orange cover over his shirt (if he had one) so people would be able to see him.

He used to have two dogs on leashes tied to the bridge railing, a white one and a black one, that would sit on blankets, sometimes under a beaten up umbrella. One day I saw a sign that said, "a person in a white nissan car stole my dog. please help me." Both dogs were gone, but I heard from a friend later that the white one was stolen, that someone jumped out of the backseat and picked up the dog, and then ran back in, the driver running a red light to get away. The man was trying to go after the person, to prevent them from stealing the dog, when another car almost hit him and he fell.

I saw him today with a black lab puppy, probably no more than 3 months old, that was sitting under a beaten up umbrella. The man was wearing his same orange cover and limping. I saw a woman who was parked in the grass across the street walk over to the man and his dog with some towels, a battery-operated fan and a baggie with dog food, a bottle of water and a plastic bowl. She gave them to the man, who set up a nice place for the (really happy-looking) puppy - towels on the hot cement that the puppy could lay on under the umbrella, the fan pointed towards the puppy, with fresh water in the bowl and some pieces of food on one of the towels.

When I first heard the story about someone stealing his dog, I was glad - I had thought about it before, thinking that a homeless man can't take care of himself, how can he take care of a dog? But he does take care of it, at least from what I saw today, aside from keeping the puppy tethered to a bridge off a major highway.

I guess that the puppy and the dogs are his only companions, as everyone else rolls up their windows as they approach the light (myself included). The puppy looked happy enough, and not unhealthy.

My experiences have taught me that homeless people, especially men, are bad - they're either sex offenders, potential murderers or violent people, and they shouldn't be acknowledged or dealt with. To an extent, I still do believe this, but at the same time, I feel a bit guilty about it. Or maybe this is what he wants, for people to see him with a dog and either feel compassion for him or feel worried for the dog, giving him money as a result. Who knows...