False Awakenings

Row, row, row your boat,

Gently down the stream.

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,

Life is but a dream.

Good afternoon. For the past four days I haven't got out of bed any earlier than noon. I love it. I had someone cover my shift at work today for no reason other than I didn't want to work. I didn't want to be out of this house by 8am. I've stopped keeping personal journals. I am seeking determination. I met a perfect stranger. I talked to a dreamer. I've managed to find and get into some new music. I am not going to forget that everyone goes back on their word, so I can't very well trust myself to stay well or make the right decisions, even if I say or think I will. The new year is just another day to get drunk and make yourself promises.

Toward the end of December I stopped keeping personal journals in an attempt to break one aspect of whatever cycle I'm in. I always find myself talking in circles or giving up half-thought ideas. I kept an almost daily record of my thoughts. That record just kept repeating itself. I'm beginning to think that the knowledge that today is no good and the reminder that yesterday was no better is probably keeping me locked in a bad way. And I should probably let what's inside my head out, make other people deal with it, not just me. So now this is the primary place I write about how I view things. I already had this outlet, but with two different journals I was stuck being an impartial observer and nothing more. I just thought it'd be a good idea to step outside of myself for a little while. I'll be right back to writing more whiny, more personal things than this in time. I've kept journals like that for the past three years. Dusty recommended less frequent entries, so I might do that. But for now, I'm avoiding myself in addition to all the people I regularly avoid.

I've been listening to Here, Hear. III, a new EP from La Dispute. I'm enjoying two out of the four songs a lot. It's like walking into a room where your friends are playing music. They recorded it themselves and included all sorts of fun shinfo with the download. You can get it at LaDisputemusic.com, it's a name your own price download. Other then that I've been listening to two bands that are similar to Radiohead in their own ways; Blonde Redhead and Muse. I've been listening to the Bronx's second studio album too, mostly because it says things like “here comes your shitty future” and “Motherfucker…I want your BLOOD!” I just saw a local group the other night, Orphan Parade, they were pretty awesome, sad and folksy stuff. But really I just wanted to use them to segue into why I was at that show.

The perfect stranger. So I've been desperately waiting for some new lady friend to blow my mind. It's not happening. But I still have huge reserves of childish sweetness to dole out. So in all my desperate childishness I behave more weird than normal, like sending inappropriately nice texts to a girl I don't really feel that much for, probably for the better it just weirds her out. I'm straying from my point—I'm weird, enough said. So in all of this I often smile at cute strangers on buses and think too much of them if they smile back. That being said, craigslist has a few different types of personal ads, missed connections being my favorite. Missed connections is filled with posts like “I saw you at the coffee shop, you looked like this, we talked about that, but I didn't get your number.” Shit like that. Pretty lame. Then one day there was a cute brunette girl on the bus and we had made two transfers in the same direction. I thought maybe she had been looking at me at the light rail station, but I have shitty vision and was also standing in the direction the train was coming from. I have no idea whether she actually was or not. But anyway I went ahead and posted a brief missed connection, (click quick! link to expire) not too weird considering the basis of posting a “missed connection” in the first place. I got one response to talk to socialgirl@gmail.com on AOL Instant Messenger, supposedly she was bored. Then another response that named the bus I rode and light rail station that brunette got off of. I guess someone else was stalking that girl. Jk. I asked this person to name the bus time and describe the girl. This person had a spot on description. It was actually the girl I saw on the bus. Turns out she has a boyfriend though. She mentioned how it was really awkward in emails, and again in person how it was weird meeting people from over the internet. I agree entirely, but I feel as if that goes without saying when somebody posts a missed connection and actually gets a legitimate response. This girl is a semi-snob and general media obsessive like myself, and is like-minded enough for us to talk on random shit we're into. She is the one who invited me out to the show her friends' band--Orphan Parade--played. So while my roommate and I got a little fucked up in this warehouse venue I got to hang out with this new friend of mine. I couldn't be more pleased with this lovely coincidence. Boyfriend or not, the girl seems cool and I'm glad she came along as she did.

I do not aspire to be professional. To me being professional only means keeping your cards held close, not letting anyone know anything beyond superficial aspects of yourself. I'm a master of not letting people know how I feel—it's bittersweet—but I can use it to my advantage.

More often then not I don't miss people, even the people I love. I forget I love them until I'm given ten minutes with them and realize that same old adoration. There are about three females that come to mind that have this affect on me. What's beautiful about the male friends I love is that missing one another isn't such a big deal and remembering that I love them when we meet again doesn't make it anymore heart wrenching once we part, just seems obvious: that's the way things go. Rarely if ever have I felt that nesting instinct with male friends. The same should go for females. I don't hate the distinction between each kind of love, I just wish I could more often understand the way of things when females leave me. Point being, some people have stolen bits and pieces of my heart and I now ask that they please return it to me. Or not, I'll take it like a man.

I love sleep. So I talked to a dreamer some day last month. His motivational speech was bothering me at first. Telling me who I am and trying to make me realize that there is no real obstacle in between my dreams and I, no obstacle but myself, my own mental block. I don't agree entirely. I don't know what my big dreams and goals are. I do have some direction, but no set destination really. He told me to fear the sheep, everyone I see out there. If dying inside makes one a sheep, I've been there, I am a sheep. I identify with listless sheep. But he was right in some places: I am a dreamer. (Note: I know it's cowardly giving my most thorough response after the fact.) It was once this person started becoming a friend, I am not sure at what point in our discussion I considered him so, but after I found some more human qualities in his words I began to be moved by his enthusiasm. This person knows he's a charismatic person. This friend made me want to spark up some determinism in myself. He at minimum suggested if I'm paying so much money for college I should at least have a direction—sound advice. Good guy, enjoyed that heart to heart, it was our first to my memory. I do like that he agreed we didn't really have anything but a superficial relationship to begin with. For me, being a dreamer, I do believe at some point people lose it, lose the freedom to move, stop becoming. I don't want to shit myself into thinking I've found progress when I haven't. I've been making no declarations in life because talk is cheap. Having your goals known is beneficial. If I talk too much I'm bound contradict myself, yet another fallacy of talk.

It's resolution time! Last year I opted for no resolve. Resolutions are silly. But I need some determinism to control and destroy. By that I mean I want to mostly quit some bad habits. Cutting down on cigarettes is priority one. Being in shape is up there. It was implied at my job that I was going to get switched into a server position, I was denied this switch. I was told that I would be trained as a server though I'm still working the exact same schedule as before. To me this is a joke as well as a minor betrayal. I've come to terms with it a lot more than a moment ago. I'm no longer set on quitting. But I'm still saving up my money in preparation, because I'm sure a day's gonna to come. I need more practice quitting. I'm a pretty good quitter but I haven't perfected the art. I figure right now I'm playing the game and so long as I know the score I'll be alright.

I was wondering at about what point people stop becoming. I now think it's a matter of mentality. I think far too many things are subjective and relative. Everything isn't how I think it is. Perception is not actuality. I don't want to lie to myself. I don't want to think I'm seeing the world in a whole new light only to see it fade to black. At some point whether they know it or not people have lost the spongy quality of youth, they stop becoming, they lose it. I just want to know if I'm there yet. Then again, I could say, “Look at how I've changed, I'm always growing.” Whether it be the kind of person I wanted to become or not doesn't matter, constant evolution, nothing dies, only changes. Eventually I'll be dead in the dirt. Still growing? The circle of life? Not really. I like to look at myself as forever a work in progress, but that's not the truth. I see people and I think, “No, that's who they are, they're stuck.” How can I see myself in any other way? I'm younger but I'm still the same person through and through. I think I've illustrated this paradox enough. I want to know what I've become and what will continue to become of me; I often forget and have no sense of future. I keep forgetting myself and losing my heart on the way to wherever. My whole life is not ahead of me and if this life is but a dream I'd like to wake up.

“...But it doesn't bother me at all.”-ten, La Dispute