ten shades of gray

today is intermediate. suspended in time, in space. it's got that gray feeling of not being a peak or a valley but somewhere lost on the slope. in between. i should be doing something but i don't know what it is. i'm trying not to fall asleep. my mother is napping in the den, my father in the master bedroom. my sister is sitting in front of the television snacking. she is very good at this. she's in the middle of her sixth hour today. that's just since she got up at noon. i was up at 8:25 with my dad. walked out to the fence with him and looked at the beach for a while. came back and cooked both of us eggs with some bacon, watermelon, and cantaloupe. did 60 pushups and 100 crunches with some plank time thrown in while they went to the grocery store. read some in my magazine. read some in my book.

i've spent a lot of time out on the porch reading. it's one of my favorite places here. i finished the first magazine and am down to the last 60 pages on the book. it's easy when the pages count down for you. i'm worried where i'll go when it's done, though. just pick up another. had some gazpacho for lunch, which was delicious because my mother adds hotsauce where my grandmother doesn't.

after lunch, my parents and i went out walking on the beach. the wind was stronger than it looked so we turned west to walk. i figured we wouldn't walk as far into it. we got a little over a mile down the beach when we got tired of all the drizzle from the approaching thunderstorm and turned around. i thought i'd pretend this week that i didn't care what anyone else thought about me but the girl in the red/green/yellow/brown bikini reminded me that i probably looked terrible in my cheap blue sunglasses. a single drop hit the back of my ear and made a loud thunking noise. we didn't really talk, any of us.

i sat in the den with my mother flipping channels for a little while before landing on the end of dogma, then braveheart, then the race. i ate a couple scoops of original craisins. went back out and read some more in the rocker chair outside. the sky got darker and little rain spray hit my arms. people started leaving from the pool. i tried real hard to see the rain but i couldn't tell it was falling unless i wasn't looking at it. now i'm holed up in my room waiting for dinner. don't want to go to sleep. don't want to read anymore. don't want to watch television.

i guess i haven't really said anything at all. it's gray. it's intermediate. i can't find whatever destination i'm searching for.

that and i'm still looking for the right words or the courage to walk away.

i want it to rain and storm like it never has before.

this is how it works

confused. charles barkley is stumbling through an interview with david letterman. just did the top ten list. it's early saturday morning at the beach. i'm bored but i'm still glad i'm here instead of out other places. i could be at a big drunken gathering in raleigh to celebrate an old friend's 21st birthday. truth is, i'm kind of glad the beach thing got moved to this weekened (with my mother and grandmother...) just so i wouldn't have to lie not to go. i love him and all, and would sure as hell enjoy drinking with the kid sometime. just not in that situation. figure a large crowd. figure i know about half of them. figure even those i haven't seen or kept up with since high school. figure lots of drunks. figure me not staying the night and not being able to drink because of it. where does that leave me? i'm anti-social as it is. i'd rather be a good friend, be kind, be generous, and be here instead. it's true.

earlier today i was sitting at the stoplight at hammond road/hw 70 in garner watching the people drive past. the eastward lanes hit their red light and the western left-turn got the green. a mid-nineties pickup truck was first, followed by a pristine top-down mid-life crisis volvo c-70. beautiful car, really. the truck took off slowly and a thin, brown plastic bag lifted calmly out of the bed and literally hung in the air four feet off the ground. there was enough movement in the air to hold it right in position. the volvo driver, a grey-haired man, slowed the car up to avoid hitting the magical plastic bag but it didn't courteously move itself so he drove on carefully through it. the bag swept across his hood and gracefully up the windshield, vaulting up in the air inches above his head. as it left the glass and entered free airspace again, the danger behind him, the mid-life man hit his throttle and tried to get out of there... only... the bag wrapped itself around his radio antenna and hung on valiantly as he high-tailed it away in shit-stained surrender. i laughed hard and our loud in my own volvo as he strained his neck to see what was going on as he tried to keep in his lane. first time i've laughed like that in a good long time. it was pretty nice.

i'm getting jealous of my friends doing things with their summers while i'm stuck at home and in school. it's about over anyway, two exams monday and tuesday and i'm actually really done for the summer. until i feel like working again anyway. i'm planning for times to come. i applied to work for the field hockey team this year so i kind of hope that works out. or sports medicine as a work study job. that was my second choice. i'm hoping school will be as easy as i'm counting on - summer school damn well wasn't - and that i'll have time to meet new friends and get drunk with them. maybe i'll get high too. if the right opportunity presents itself anyway. and maybe i'll have that damn job i've gotten fucked over for the past two years. maybe "little ireland" will work out ok. i've got a lot of maybe's, to be certain. i'm thinking maybe i'll get dean's list for a third straight semester. i'm such a dork. if i'm lucky, i'll start/join a band. how often can i write about all this stuff? feels like it comes up fairly often.

but next summer, after another short year, i have no idea what will happen. i'm hoping i can head out to europe and tour around some while i still have the chance. i was also hoping i could move out. and get a job i'd actually enjoy. i can't really see all three working out. maybe just the first. i need more summers, i really do. i remember an episode of mike rowe's "dirty jobs" last year where he went out on a small boat with a guy off of martha's vineyard and caught sharks for research. they'd grind fish, make a chum slick, catch a shark, tag it, take blood, measure etc. and throw it back. what a job. got me thinking of what jobs there are out here at the beach. something like that? do they do shark research out here? i'd love to find out. if i had any internet right now - which is quite confusing, as i'm connected but the modem is telling me it isn't working and the internet itself is failing... but i'm connected... - i'd be looking around for internships and the such. maybe a paid one. i don't know. i just want to do interesting things, that's all.

today during chemistry, geoff brought out his laptop and scanned facebook while the rest of us oggled diethyl malonate reactions. naturally, i snuck peeks as he responded to birthday messages, never reading anything but noticing at least who he was writing to. and i happened to notice one note in particular, a long one. and i happened to notice who it was from. and i happened to remember that i never got a note like that on my birthday... and it reminded me that we haven't spoken in a little while and leads to all kinds of conclusions in my mind. this is a sad story.

this is how it works.

i've gotta know. why are you so much closer to him than me? (this is me going mad, going sad) is it all just history, maybe there was something i should have done differently in high school? i mean, i'm just jealous anyway. what is it about me that drives you away? am i hard to deal with? am i really that bad? oh my god, i'm that bad. i'm crazy. i'm a crazy bastard. is it because i have the same issues over and over again? i bet i complain about the same things over and over again. i bet i complain and don't even realize it. i probably talk too much too and don't listen. i probably don't really offer that much in terms of being a friend. do i still overreact? i used to, i know. i hate that. how i used to be. am i still like that? am i terrible and soul-sucking and don't even know it? how could i not realize that? so i never really made the connection with you that so many other people did, is that it? or did i and i just fucked it up? i fucked it up, didn't i? i'm crazy and terrible and soul-sucking and i fucked it up with you.

so this is it. you're repulsed by me. i'm crazy now and i always was. i'm alone. i'm sad. and i hate myself.



that's pretty much it.

goes down easy

my cat is attacking my foot. i guess it's ok. i did just kick her (accidentally). sick moment. hold please...

i can't count the things i need to say. or the things i want to say, for that matter. i've been reading and studying and playing music. driving, thinking, and wishing. it's funny that i'll end up saying the same things here that i always do. i never feel any different. i'll write an anecdote and it will disintegrate into talking about girls. here goes.

pleasant today at starbucks. i get by because i never buy anything. in fact, i'm a little surprised they haven't kicked me out yet. i think if i ever brought my mcdonalds lunch to starbucks and actually bought a drink, i'd just die. i almost feel guilty for the mcdonalds. i know it's not real food but i eat it anyway. i'm too poor to do anything different, though. come on, double cheeseburger and coke for $2.16? i'll take it every day. today, though, i moved outside because it looked like all the tables were becoming reserved and i might be surrounded by young black teens signing modeling contracts by hustling, lying agents. it's happened before. i finished my burger and walked my shit outside. after a while, this guy and his dog walked up and sat down. i kept studying chem.

a little bit later, when we were the only two out there, he asked me what i was studying. i'm not really used to being spoken to by strangers but we picked up a conversation. i must have spoken to him for half an hour out there. he asked me what school i went to and that led to sports and whatnot. he had this wonderful dog. a big brown long-haired thing. said it was a border collie mix. he kept walking over and jumping with his front paws in my lap. sweet thing. i'd be nice to him too. love a good dog. oh, we talked about hockey (he was a big fan) and schools and other things. i wasn't having the best time putting together thoughts and words, oddly enough, but i got by. i took a slow opportunity to gather my stuff and mention that i needed to get back to state for lab, even though it was 40 minutes before i'd usually leave. i'm awkward like that. shook his hand and all, petted the dog again. good guys, the both of them. said he'd see me at a game sometime.

here's to kevin and bodie. i raise my empty mcdonalds cup to both of you.


i get down for lack of friends. and i don't really mean that in any offensive way to anyone i know. i haven't really spoken to anyone all summer, save danielle in the coffee shop the other day, which was wonderful. i worry that the people i know aren't the kinds of people i really want to find. just don't really know where to find them. i need a band. this one girl on myspace (jesus, it hurts to say) lives near school. she's quite pretty, or at least has grown on me or at least i've just realized it or something. for some reason she's on my buddy list, been on there forever. maybe we spoke once at the beginning of freshman year or something. i don't remember. i was feeling bold one night and responded to a bulletin she'd raised about something or other. she wrote me back with a mild complimentary comment open for interpretation. which is to say, it was probably nothing. i sarcastically but sweetly responded in turn and didn't hear from her again. a couple days later, it sounded like she wasn't doing well so i wrote her again, just a sentence or two being real supportive and all. i mean, i was hoping she'd write me back and maybe we could keep doing that for a while. it would be nice, that's all. i never heard from her. don't really see how i could write her again, either. oh well, ok.

and annie, i miss you too. not sure what's happened since summer. maybe you're working. maybe you're in school. i don't know what it is. you sound tired and frustrated though. wish i could help you out.

i send text messages and never get responses.

sitcom friends. i want sitcom friends.

and a drummer.

yeah well, maybe just a little

strangest dream the other night. never kissed you before then. weird but... it was good seeing you.

i don't want the music to go down. i'm in an uncomfortable place again tonight. i don't really feel like talking about it because it makes me sound like such a bastard. when the music goes down, i can hear the shit tv in the other room. it reminds me i'm not alone down here.

tonight at dinner - tk tripp's - i walked to the bathroom to facilitate our food arriving. it came just after i left. in there, i could hear the radio. it sounded familiar but it wasn't until i was in the stall with my belt undone that i recognized the song. brought back memories of late late nights at school listening to it softly over and over again while trying to finish some work. kept me going. i stood there, belt sticking out, listening. when the chorus hit - oh - i danced. i danced down low, all around so nobody could see me. i danced with my fingers and toes, arms and legs and unmentionables. just in place, just to the tune for a while. and when the chorus ended i, well, i sat down. and when i got up again and nobody else was there, before i fastened my belt, i danced to the chorus again and again. happiness is dancing in an empty bathroom.

i need to move out.

i've decided to be a racecar driver. a weekend vintage volvo racecar driver. it would make me happy. fuck what people say. i'd rather die spectacularly flying over a guardrail than with renal failure confined to a bed, 90 years old. where in those years do you live? where do people live anymore? everything is so safe and pre-planned. packaged. boxed. and, to be sure, vintage racing isn't the most dangerous thing out there. but it is classy, it is slightly dangerous, it damn well will be fun, and during my short time here (at least 1/4 gone already...) i'm gonna fucking do something.

our waitress tonight was really quite pretty.

magpie

i was sitting outside starbucks today doing some chem. actually, i was more just watching people. the cars periodically line up on peace street at the glenwood light. i looked up and scanned them down. there were two young girls in a black saab. the passenger had those big sunglasses on like she was a movie star but didn't want anyone else to know. i watched them for a second and glanced on down the line. the light turned green and i looked back down at my notes. as they passed, i heard someone yell. it was the passenger and she was pointing at me. i mean i think she was. there was nobody else out there. i had no idea who it was but i gave a little wrist wave anyway. the noise she made sounded vaguely like it could have been the last 75% of my last name. who knows? i half expected them to turn around or park at the mushroom and come say hi. at least then i'd have known who i was dealing with.

then a pretty younger girl (i think) came and sat down at the table next to mine and sat staring at her mac. i read history books. we'd both look when a siren passed and i'd look down again, sneaking glances while she was engrossed in her business. she really was sort of pretty. and i'm such a goddamned twelve-year old. i really am.

i don't think some people realize that i actually get mad. sometimes it's just really unwise to try and joke with me or argue for the sake of arguing. because, believe it or not, you're the fucking ignorant one. that's why i'm quiet.

i'm not going to write about what i probably originally wanted to because the night is shot. it's gone. the happiness i had kind of disintegrated. at least the music is good.

dictation

i know i've said this a lot over the past couple years but it's still true. i basically monologue all day long thinking of things to write about. problem is, when i finally put forth the effort to damnwell sit here and write those things... i can't remember any of them. that's basically how it goes. so i know there's a hundred things i want to say. trust me, i have a hundred interesting things to say. i'm just not going to say any of them, ok?

my parents need to realize that school is fucking hard, that i do a very good job of taking care of myself and working hard, and that if i get an 80 on an organic exam when the class average is a 65, that's not cause for concern, that's super. i'd kind of like their trust sometimes. i think next summer i'll move out anyway, though. i always feel one step behind everyone else i know. either they're at home with jobs or moved out or moved out with jobs. i'm stuck here at home doing more school with no job whatsoever. great way to save money, right?

jennifer aniston has perfect hands.

i'm wondering if and how i could reinvent myself. i think that would be a worthwhile thing to do.

spent a while working on my bike this afternoon. installed the front brakes, cables, and brake lever. works ok but the pads are twisted and i think i need to get a couple washers in between the spring setup so they don't rotate before they hit the wheel. squeaks a lot too. still, since i had front/rear both working ok, i rode it up the street a ways and back again. didn't fall or nothin. i'm so damn smart.

i've been having these deja vus... i think anyway. it feels like if you have some experience where you feel like you've been somewhere before, it is automatically a deja vu, or at least that's something convenient to call it. it's not really that, though. i think i've dreamed these things, these places, these feelings before. there are so many of them. outside about to wash my car. in the kitchen reading a magazine. washing the mini. sitting in here watching baseball. looking up the stairwell from the basement. over and over, crimson and clover, over and over. these dreams i've had, these images i've seen. problem is, most of them are very strongly connected to emotions. just a while back i was watching the braves game and some braves commercial came on, chipper jones' face on the tv, him hitting a home run. all so familiar. i relate that one to getting up in the morning, that unhappy late late late dream when it gets light outside. maybe i know i have to get up soon but i'm still sleeping. i know the images and i know the time and i know how it feels. the emotions are so damn powerful, it's overwhelming. i get sick, nauseous, weak. it's incredibly difficult to explain. like being unable to breathe. a heaviness deep in the core of you where oxygen doesn't help. the overwhelming difficulty of realizing a pretend moment over and over.

the worst of it now, i can't remember your face.

the worst thing is, and i feel like i have to say this, isn't exactly friendships or relationships falling apart, but when somebody else doesn't even seem to care. that's the proof to me. a year and a half ago i was close to someone. i stopped it because i didn't really believe it was real, more of a lie. after all the time we'd spent talking, walking, watching movies... she never spoke to me. never made eye contact when we'd pass walking. pretended not to know me as much as i pretended not to know her. that's just it for me. she never even loved me as a friend. you don't just let somebody go. doesn't care one bit whether i exist or not, never did. and i still lose friends, or it feels like it. i'd love for them to return, but they still don't even try to make me return. that hurts worse than about anything. i don't really know what to expect. as a general rule, i act mean and hope people will reach out to me so i can reconcile all. still sucks when they don't. i waste away on people whom i won't speak to just hoping they'll find words for me.

music for strings and percussion

i don't know why i do this to myself. late night with the shining soundtrack. i would go berserk if i didn't have the tv on. or if my sister wasn't watching tv in the next room with the lights on. this just kills me. i just about jumped out of my chair right there. i swear to god, someday when i'm a creepy middle-aged guy making a production out of halloween in our neighborhood, this is the music that's gonna be blaring from the speakers around my house. i had the idea to write while listening to this while driving to the library earlier tonight. felt like a good idea if i could close my eyes and start having visions based on the orchestra. i don't think i could survive it, though. new idea: whenever i get an apartment, i'll lay in the middle of the floor late at night with all the lights off and listen to this. see what i can see. i swear to god i don't think i'd make it through. first time i tried this without anyone else downstairs, i think i got through one and a half songs. that's it.

i also meant to write a song tonight. i've been listening to a lot of good music lately, most of it i could, in some capacity, play for myself. good lyrics too, and god knows that's half the equation. never time, though. i get snippets of ideas throughout the day, no more than a rhyme or a line or an idea but never a complete one. i don't really know how to write a song. music first? words? at the same time? what do i write about? everyone writes about their girl, which seems fair but trite. folds can write characters' life stories and get away with it, same with b&s. oberst and arcade fire delve political. is there some middle ground? i'd love to get away with something "thirteen" or "modern rock song" ish. just epic. i could handle that, not too much range involved anyway. wouldn't want to outdo meself. the only time i can put it all together is laying in bed with the lights out. i had the same problem last fall writing short stories. 4am in my room, lights out, and i'd write stories to put myself to sleep. it's even harder to write songs... what with the guitars being noisy and downstairs at that. it's usually the music that falls into my head first, but i don't know why. i don't know. if i ever actually come up with something, i'll write about it.

i am never ever visiting the rocky mountains. ever.

my uncle was joking with my dad yesterday about going to my older cousin's graduation at uva. he gets emotional and sentimental about things like leaving school and busting into the real world. my uncle kept saying he really wanted to tell him that those years really were the rest of his life. that it's all downhill from there. nose to the grindstone and whatnot. enjoy the long slow descent towards retirement. not really what i'd hoped to hear. two things ran through my head. either i graduate wake and look to enter another school with hopes of extending those mystical college years a little further (think pharm) or i actually get a job that wouldn't be a decline at all. the problem is - and i know this is common - i can either do something i really enjoy for a living, maybe one or two things, and be poor or i can (this is where i stopped listening last time, right here) do something that makes money for a living and enjoy all the things i like but in my spare time. in fact, i guess i could go about finding something that really does incorporate a lot more of my interests... but a world-roving motorcycle photojournalist who's also in a band and does outdoor sports on the weekends is kind of a niche position. in fact, i'm pretty sure most of those have been filled. and i'm not sure a BS in HES at wake will do much to push me towards that. i have two years left. oh, and film. i'd love to do films while i'm at it. roving motorcycle/classic car filmojournal films. in 35mm. in europe.

{with somebody}

know how to make funny commercials terrifying? this soundtrack.

then again, anyone with the name gyorgy ligeti is bound to make horrifying music.

fire drills. all at the same time. the entire campus. what a string section.

someday i'm gonna blast this in my car, windows down, just to creep people out. maybe just halloween. i think that's acceptable.

i don't think there's any limit to how many times i can write about this but there's a girl in my organic chem class. well, actually there's around 55. but really there's just this one. i won't even go into physical detail except to say that she is exactly my kind of beautiful. and so serene. she carries herself as if she doesn't give a damn about anyone else in the room. head held high. quiet but confident. like an assassin.

oh no. my sister left. downstairs dark. fans on. tv on mute. computer and symphony. the awakening of jacob. as my head asplodes.

i really was just a little scared right there, needed someone to talk to. i flipped to my buddy list the instant you signed off. that's a little irony there, that's what that is.