18 pages, 7611 words
This is mostly stream of consciousness. It's 18 pages of disconnected mess, spanning less than a year of my life. I'm sure this will be as well received as if I had torn a bloody, dripping organ from inside me and thrown it at a crowd of people. If someone actually manages to wade through all of the text, I will offer a kudos and my condolences.
March 9, 2014
Nathan James Phelps
Thatís my name. My father gave it to me. His name is James, where I get my middle name. His family name is Phelps, and thus I have that. Even my first name, my identity, he chose for me. Nathan the Prophet. Nathan the Gift from God. Nathan the Blessing.
I love irony. Itís the best way to create humor.
When someone asks who I am, I say, ďNathan. You?Ē
A simple answer, and then the focus is back on someone else; someone more sure of their simple answers.
Perhaps I am Nathan. It depends. Who is Nathan? I think itís already clear that Nathan is no prophet, no blessing. Heís human. Male, if it matters. Just over 20 years old, and attending the University of Wyoming. Perhaps that matters. Probably not.
Heís attending University, like his family, his father, wanted. Heís an English education major with a minor in Latin. His father didnít want that.
What did his father want, then? Maybe to become a cowboy, a rodeo star? Thatís what James did when he was Nathanís age. Then he went to work in strip mines and on pipelines. James somehow ended up making a career out of that. Fed his family that way.
And Nathan? Well, heís being foolish. Who chooses English as a major? Hell, what kind of fool decides to add a minor in a dead language onto that? Useless times two is still useless. What kind of family would he be able to feed? Heíd need a job to do that, and everyone knows English Majors donít get jobs. Itís like getting a second high school diploma. You can work at Starbucks or McDonalds.
So Nathan is making poor life decisions. Fine. He still gets a high GPA and passes all of his classes, even in college.
Maybe James wishes Nathan was a bit more masculine, wishes he would care a bit more about the things James cares about. In the end, though, even if Nathan isnít the football catching son he always wanted, James can comfort himself knowing that Nathan is baptized and loves God.
That his odd son and himself share at least one thing in common.
Nathan doesnít have the heart to tell him.
See, Nathan lives with his family.
Eats with his family.
Goes to church with his family.
But Nathan doesnít believe with his family. Nathan is a corrupted, hell-doomed heathen. Nathan believes that itís okay for gays to marry; in fact, he believes that they have the right to get married. Nathan doesnít believe in Hell; in fact, the idea of a God who loves everyone but still condemns people to an eternity of eternal torment seems completely illogical to him.
Nathan looks at the Bible and sees a historical and religious text, not the word of God himself. Nathan looks at those who believe in religion, and a small part of him says, ďHow could people be so illogical?Ē But then he goes to church, with his family. The nagging of his brainwashing tugs at him, and he realizes why, and how others believe.
Then Nathan asks, ďWhy can I not believe? Why canít I be like my family, and why canít I fit in and love what they love?Ē
And so Nathan lies. He pretends to believe, and puts on the faÁade of his previous, religious self.
He starts to doubt himself. ďWhat else do I lie about? Is it a lie when I tell my mother I love her?Ē He cannot know the answer until he knows heís being completely honest.
And he cannot be completely honest until he leaves the home of his family, of the blood relations that, by decree of society, must love him. Why? Because as soon as he stops lying, he fears that even the decrees of society will not be enough to keep his family loving him.
So he plans to stand on his own two feet. To surround himself with those people that know him and love him by choice. Those that see his choice to learn about the things he loves as admirable, rather than foolish.
They have names, these friends. Collin, who studies religion. There is some irony there, Iím sure. Collin studies what he loves, and looks at things critically, logically, questioningly. Collin sees the world in such a similar way to me; how could I not love him? Jonathan. Heís quiet, Jonathan is. Quiet, thoughtful, highly intelligent, and above all, temperate. Iíve known him since freshman year of high school, and yet heís always been somewhat of a mystery. His reservations make it all the more valuable when he opens up to me. For that, I love him.
These two were friends with each other before they were friends with me. See, in high school, I was religious. I didnít date outside of the church (which is to say I didnít date). I had one religious friend, Taylor. Perhaps my thoughts will come back to him. Taylor and I were inseperable, quiet, and alone. We did not connect with other students in any meaningful wayÖ or at least I didnít think we did.
But then Angel reached out to me. And then Jonathan, senior year. With both of these came Collin.
And soon I realized that Jonathan and Collin were my closest friends. Angel too, although my own personal, stupid feelings for her prevented me from seeing her as just a friend.
That has changed, though. Those feelings are gone. I loved Collin too much to ever act on them, and hated myself for harboring them. Words cannot describe the relief I feel, knowing that they are gone. I can finally see Angel as she is: a flawed, but wonderful individual. Perhaps I will love her the way that I love Collin and Jonathan someday.
Because of Taylorís beliefs, Nathan fears that he cannot love Taylor the same way he loves Collin and Jonathan. Taylor, his longest and closest friendÖ
Well, besides Mallory. And Tayler. Mallory, who loves me despite my atheism. Who was born and raised Mormon, and who has always and will always love me. When she gets married, she better invite me. Perhaps I can meet her then, finally. Thatíd be funny. Ironic, even.
Tayler? Where to even begin. Like Mallory, I havenít even met her. Not in person. Sheís religious as well, but she shares so many interests and loves so many of the same things as meÖ and she looks past my nonbelief. Hell, sheíll be reading this soon. Texting me about what she liked or didnít like. Pointing out some grammatical flaws in my style, because sheís always been better at that than me. Tayler is the one I dream with. The one who I look to the future with and say ďWhat if?Ē Donít judge me too harshly, Dreamer. Witís wit is flawed today.
Molly is here. Thatís awesome.
Why is it awesome?
I donít know, really. Nothing might come of this, after all. Or everything. Or something in between.
I know I like her. I fear that Iím too flawed to ever love her, though. My past relationships make me question if I even can love someone that I want to have sex with. I donít know how to balance that.
I better learn. Sheís beautiful and awesome, as I nearly told her in a drunk text.
Maybe Iíll show her that.
How could I forget Ann? Loving, sweetheart, beautiful inside and outÖ
Sheís practically my sister, and sheís helped me through so much. She has epilepsy, which worries me. Not because she has a disability. Because she drinks. I want her to be healthy and safe, and I worry, like a little brother, that sheíll make herself more sick. But sheís an adult and sheís strong. She can make her own decisions. Iíll hold her hand if she needs it.
I donít know when to end this. Maybe it wonít have an end; Iíll just keep adding thoughts to it whenever the fancy takes me.
Maybe souls donít exist. If they did, this document would be a horcrux of sorts.
Except I havenít killed anyone. Thank God.
March 10, 2014
Itís 10:30pm. Iíve been trying to sleep for an hour and a half, but to no avail. Iím sick, I just want to get over this coldÖ
I want to be healthy.
I want to be happy and enjoy life.
See, when I donít get enough sleep,
When Iím tired and I struggle to find peace in unconsciousness,
I get, as Ishmael/Herman Melville would sayÖ ďgrim about the mouthĒ. I think thatís the quote. Iím not really sure.
I watched some of Louis C.K.ís comedy on Netflix. Good stuff. My mind was prying apart his techniques, what he does to make things funny. I enjoyed it more, I think. Hyperbole. Taboo subject matter. Continuation of a joke in other jokes. I can learn from him.
He brought up old age.
Old people donít have sex.
Well, for the purposes of his humor, they donít. Still.
I havenít even had sex once. 20 years old. Pathetic.
Sara offered to blow me once. Said no. Donít regret saying no. Regret having wasted my time. Kind of. Sara is flawed, but I canít fault her for that. After all, look at me.
Anyway. Iím scared. Grim about the mouth, scared, stressed out because I have two midterms this week..
And itís a tosser on whether or not Iíll pass.
My mind says ďNathan, you will have time to study. You will do well, and youíll be stupid for having worried.Ē
Then the other part of me speaks up.
This part of me has been around for a while. When I say ďgrim about the mouthĒ, what I really mean is thatÖ Frank is speaking to me again. Not an alter-ego. Frank is a character in Donnie Darko. He symbolizes mental unhealthiness. Frank is the part of me that says things likeÖ ďNo one would care if you didnít exist.Ē You know, morbid, insane things. Things I only think when Iím tired, like tonight.
But when I canít sleep to escape those thoughts?
Thatís why people get drunk. I donít do that. I have to figure out a way to shut Frank down without turning to some stupid poison. Not that alcohol is bad. I enjoyed it. I just think Iíd rather be the Nathan who doesnít drink a lot.
You might notice that I call myself Nathan, despite how I feel about my name as a part of my identity.
Iíll make it something good. Iíll make it mine.
Frank says ďNathan, you are lazy. You are weak. You have no motivation to become who you want to.Ē
Thatís why Iím so scared of the future. Frank knows me so well. He knows how easily I fail, how quick I am to choose the easy road when it comes to the important things. I canít do that. I need to choose the hard road, the road that will give my life meaning and empower me.
Shut up, Frank. Whatever.
At least I might get a date with Molly sometime. Maybe, if I donít fuck things up. Frank says I will. Either that, or thereís something wrong with her. I canít really have a chance at a meaningful relationship. Itís college, thereís no such thing.
But I want one. I realize that now. I want a woman to call wife, despite my image of myself as this hardened, roguish bachelor.
Kids? I think I would be a terrible father. My parents showed me how hard parenting is. Not how to do it correctly, just how hard it is. Mostly because theyíre both so hard working and motivatedÖ
And they came up short.
But, then again. I have myself to blame for some of that distance.
If I believed in God, I could blame him.
Or Satan. Whatever.
The truth is, despite my parents flawsÖ I really do love them. Thatís why this is so hard, being Atheist. I want to be the good son. The one whom they love, whom they approve of. But that place goes to Justin. I will just be the black sheep, I guess.
My latin midterm is going to be hell. Domine salva me. Heh.
I hope this thing with Molly becomes something. I hope it gets that chance. I really, really like her. I want, maybe someday a few months from now, to wake up realizing I love her. I really am a romantic, huh. Just like every other fool.
Fine, whatever. The wise never made any interesting mistakes. At least, not when they were called wise men. Maybe when they were still fools; perhaps thatís how one becomes wise.
Iím going to try to sleep again. I hope Frankís confined to this word document. Thatíd help me.
March 13, 2014
Molly and I were supposed to hang out/go on a date.
Texted her earlier today, nothing.
I awaited word this evening about hanging outÖ
Nothing. Guess she forgot. Probably doesnít like me as much as I like her. Fuck. Iím in for a world of hurt with her, then. Iím guessing. Iím going to be overly dramatic tonight because I feel like shit and Frank is doing a lot of the speaking.
Midterm tomorrow. Fuck fuck fuck. Iím not prepared for this by any stretch of the imagination. Iím going to be happy if I get a C. Studied all afternoon, comforting myself with the thought that maybe Molly would be up for doing something tonight and that I would be able to hang with her.
Iím going to ask Collin and Jonathan if maybe I can get drunk tomorrow night, and stay the night. Itíd be nice to throw reality away. Really, really, really nice. I used to say things likeÖ ďI want my memory of my life to be like a good dvd; without scratches where it has to skip ahead because part of the disc is damaged.Ē Bullshit. Who gives a fuck? Itís not like I remember everything with 100% accuracy. Iím no better than anyone else, no smarter. Why the fuck should I act so goddamn different?
Thatís why I donít drink, really. I want to uphold myself to a higher standard than everyone else. I want to be better than other people. I donít want to be equal; are you kidding me? Fuck equal. This is America. Here ambition speaks. So I hold myself to a higher standard, to feel better, to feed my ambition. I want to be better so that I can feel good about myself. The truth is that I should feel good about myself regardless of how I compare to other people.
But Iím an ego-centric piece of shit with no self esteem who lies more to himself than he does even to his parents who only see the goddamn mask of weaved lies he spins for them.
I know Kurtis would tell me that I need to.. be confident. I need to own myself. Accept my shittyness and I dunno.. become okay with it. At least, to the point where I can love myself.
Maybe itís better that Molly isnít so interested. I should spend the next week getting over her, I guess. After all, If I wouldnít want to be in a relationship with someone like myselfÖ
Maybe I shouldnít be in a relationship to begin with.
Besides, I declared a minor in the very subject thatís going to slaughter my GPA and cause me grief until I graduate. Iím clearly not a sane, healthy human being. Clearly not worthy of being called an adult.
Iím going to go play my shitty video games and pretend that the real world doesnít matter or exist. Pretend that Iím an exceptional, interesting person who can do more than fail at the things he wants to succeed in the most.
Because, just like in high school, thatís the only way I can keep living.
Without video games, I probably would have committed suicide by now. Just to see what non-existence is like.
April 8, 2014
I got a 91 on my Lit midterm. Considering how much I bullshitted and worried about it, thatís an amazing grade. Same with my Latin midterm; got an A. Seriously, how the fuck.
Now Iím stressed about this stupid Huckleberry Finn paper Iím writing tomorrow night that is due Wednesday. Whoa, shit. Itís past midnight; that means Iím writing it tonight and itís due tomorrow. Fuuuuck.
Lunch with Molly tomorrow. She might be leading me on. I donít know. She might just be really fucking busy. Girls are confusing and Iím scared that Iím too attached to the romantic notion I have of her. She could easily hurt me right now, just because Iíve let myself continue to chase her. It goes back and forth. Some weeks I think she likes me; other weeks I think I just want her to like me. She wants to hang out, but she rarely has time. Sometimes I feel like she blows me off. Other times I think that sheís just got a lot going on and doesnít really know what she wants. Goddamn.
Iím going to kiss her, first chance I get. See how she reacts. I mean, I could just ask her how she feels about me, but thatís a shit way to go about romance. And thatís what I want, I think. Romance. Thatís what Iím in love with. This is why I let myself get hurt: I like being a tragic romantic figure to some level.
So what happens if Molly ends up really liking me and reciprocates? Do I get bored like I did withÖ I forgot her name for a minute. Stefanie. Iím a terrible person.
Whatever. Iíll wing it, and if I get hurt itís nothing new. I tried.
Iíll wing the paper too.
And the digital story assignment.
I love my friends. They are my family, really. Ann is my big sister. Collin and Jon are brothers. Angel is my aunt (haha!). Hannah can be momma, seeing as thatís my nickname for her. Micky is my little sister.
Mallory? Dunno. I havenít talked to her for a long time. I should call her. I miss hearing about her life.
GuhÖ I stayed up too late. Now Iím hungry again.
I want to get my doctorate in English. Something specialized, of course, but English.
April 22, 2014
Three days until my brotherís birthday. Heíll be 25. Itíll be his golden birthday.
Things with Molly are stupid. She seems interested in a relationship, but she never has time for me. I want to spend time with this cool person, and she justÖ canít. I canít force my way into her life, I canít ask for more time, I canít do anything but wait until she decides to go on that goddamn date with meÖ
Iíve been telling myself for the past three weeks that I can just ask out another girl to coffee sometime and remind myself how independent I am. Truth is, I guess Iím not very independent. I like her too muchÖ
But thereís this weekend. I think this will decide it. If she doesnít have time for me this weekend, I will move on. I have to stop wasting my time on someone whoís obviously not wasting any on me.
Ö And if this weekend is like the past three, she wonít be in town.
I even had a goddamn dream about her. About kissing her, or going on a date; I canít exactly remember. Just this lingering feeling of elation from holding herÖ Even my unconscious mind wants her. Itís not healthy. Iím scared. I have been scared. God, Iím pathetic.
School is scary as well. Next week is dead week, and then after that is finals. So close to freedomÖ
I need to talk to Elisabeth about getting a job with her employer. I really need employment this summer.
Because if I get a job, I can move out. If I can move out, I can be free from my parents.
Iím going to go take a shower in the dark, now. Itís like meditation. The lack of light takes away a lot of visual distractions, and the warm water calms me, kind of focuses me. Cleanses me, physically and mentally.
Take a deep breath.
Time to face the day.
April 29, 2014
I went on that Ďdateí with Molly today.
It was great, of course it was great. We talked, enjoyed talking to each other, and thoroughly enjoyed each other (I thought). We talked, we ate, we enjoyed the conversation.
But then I decided to ask the questions, to seek the truth and to stop deluding myself.
ďHow interested are you in me?Ē
She likes me. Enjoys hanging out with me. But she wants to be friends before she can date; she needs a lot of time to decide if she wants a relationship, essentially. I guess thatís the mature, reliable way to go about dating someone. I let on that I was okay with it, because it made sense.
So why do I feel like shit? Why am I not okay with it?
Probably because it feels like the Ďfriend zoneí. Because the way I go about dating is to find a girl I want to date and then DATE her. I donít fuck around, I say what I want (or at least I try to) and try to get it, I guess.
And all of my relationships have been failures. Kinda makes me feel like a failure.
I donít have any people I canÖ Ďbe friends with and then dateí. I have friends, and I have people I donít know. The girls I know are all friends, and will probably always be friends. Angel? Friend. Ann? Sister. Elisabeth, Hannah, Glenna, ETC. : all friends. None of these close people are even possibilities for relationships.
So thatís why Iím not happy with this. Because her reasoning is sound, and in the system of her reasoning, I have no options. Iím pretty much a failure, because I have no female friends I see as dateable.
Molly? Yeah, I want to date her. I really fucking want to date her. But now I realize that I have to spend even more time trying to build this foundation of friendship with this person that I want to date. I have to really bond with her. And then? It either becomes a relationship or it doesnít, and thereís no way of knowing either way. I have no guarantee. I either spend a few more months trying to be friends with this girl so she can make up her mind as to whether she wants to date me, or I move on.
And moving on has even less of a chance of a relationship.
Iím going to talk to Sara about being friends with benefits, I think. I just need to get laid and stop giving a fuck about girls so much. Sheíll probably say no, but. Worth a try, I guess.
Let this thing with Molly take its course. If I meet someone new, someone else, so be it. If I donít, and it works out with Molly, so be it. If it doesnít work out with Molly, fine.
Ö. I can say that I all want, but I still feel like shit. GODDAMN IT. I canít even cry it out.
May 14, 2014
I got a B in Latin.
I feel really dumb. It shouldnít be a big deal, but I always expect so much out of myselfÖ and I draw a lot of self-confidence out of my grades.
I got a job. I work for a lady called Isobel. Construction/apartment renovation. Iíll learn a lot.
Molly said sheíd be here this week. She left for Riverton.
Screw me. Why did I let myself be led on? I mean, I was and I wasnítÖ but she really hasnít given me anything worth the effort I put into chasing her. I donít understand why I keep spending my emotions on people who donít deserve them. Why canít I rein them in and control them better?
Sometimes I just want to turn everything into logic and reason. Have everything make sense and not be chaotic or confusing. I like the chaos and confusing things when they make life interesting without making life hard, you know? But at the same time, part of making life interesting IS making life hard. The challenge has always drawn me in and has always ruined me. Iím bored in the summer, when things are simple. Iím depressed in the winter, when things are complex. Thereís no winning.
I guess my summer hasnít been boring so far. Drank some beer with Kurtis, played SO MUCH Risk with Jon, Collin, Isaac, and Josh. That game is still going. Iím hanging out with Sara tomorrow or Friday; Iím going hiking with Jon and Angel and maybe some others Saturday. I just had an amazing Facebook conversation with Tayler.
I guess I really just want something more from my life. My parents would say I need their God. Thing is, I was raised with that God, and Iím pretty certain that he did nothing to fill up whatever it is In me that wonít get filled.
I think I want love. I always feel better, more whole, when Iím with Ann, or Collin/Jon, or talking to Tayler. Other people drain my energy, but they just make me feel wanted and cared about, I guess. Itís stupid that I donít feel that from my parents. Well, I do, sometimes. They can be good Ė they have their beautiful, partially redeeming moments. Then they fight with each other and get mad and expect me to side with them.
And since I want that love, that acceptance, I drink and smoke just to feel cool or fit in. Although I think I actually like drinking, especially since Iíve been doing it in moderation. Anyway, that need for people to love me is what is making me keep throwing myself at girls who donít want to throw themselves back at me.
May 30, 2014
Usually, I use this document as a sort of landfill for all of the bad emotions and stress that I canít handle. I try to expel it all onto this document, as if by putting it into the computer Iím taking it out of myself. The truth is that it really just helps me understand what and how Iím feeling. Helps expel the emotions, not the problem. Then reason comes in and fixes things. Usually.
Anyway, I guess this document is really going to be looked at as a reflection of myself someday, if it ever survives to be read. And, even if Iím not planning on publishing it, this document has (by merit of its continued existence) a chance of being read by someone.
And I donít want any possible readers to think Iím crazy or weird; I donít want them to think that I am what this document so far has painted an image of.
For that reason, Iím going to try and talk about the good moments in my life as well. Perhaps by talking about them and remembering them, I will grow to appreciate them more. After all, if you focus on the negative aspects of life too much, thatís all youíll see. Itíll be a good exercise for me to explain and record the positive aspects of my life.
Letís start with last night.
9pm: I drive up to the Wagner Building (the place where I work as a part-time manual labor dude; I wax floors, paint walls and ceilings, cut tile, saw 2x4ís, and do other manly things that I never ever thought I would want to do. Truth is, I kind of enjoy it. The building is an apartment/office complex downtown, essentially, and people live in it. My job is renovating the ruined, old apartments left behind by the previous owner). Lander lives in the Wagner building, top (5th) floor. Heís 21 and heís worked for Isobel and Brett the longest of all my co-workers. (Isobel and Brett are the landlords and my employers.) I like him. Heís smart and chill, and has some really interesting world views. He believes in anarchy and extreme individualism, where no person is beholden to any other person except by choice. Extreme freedom. I like that, sometimes. Anyway, I go up to the fifth floor, after seeing Elisabeth, her boyfriend Aaron, and Ryan arrive and head up. Walking into his apartment, Iím greeted by an average height (I thinkóIím pretty tall, so itís hard to judge) woman named Crystal. She has this strange excited energy, like sheís on cocaine or something. The difference is that itís natural for her; in other words, sheís my kind of person. Anyway, she greets me and asks my name and who I know at the party; I tell her Iím Nathan, and Iím Jonathanís friend, and I work with Lander, Ryan and Shane. She promptly gets excited about my employment, having previously worked there, and tells me that she wonít remember my name. She has a lot of character. I like that. Her cocaine-like excitement for life makes it hard to know when sheís taking an interest in you because she likes you or because she takes an interest in everything; I like the ambiguity, but at the same time I think I should avoid it. Ambiguity bitch slaps me, if Molly taught me anything from her mixed signals and flakiness.
So yeah. The party is off to a great start. I meet a quiet, bearded, Arabian-looking guy named Kiro, who is trying out a Bloody Mary. I grab an Angry Orchard hard cider from the fridge and down it in ten minutes or so. Turns out I really, really like cider. Lander starts the movie, The Thing (a paranoia flick from the 80ís, I think) which is about an alien that infects people and takes over their bodies. I pretty much guess the plot of the movie in the first five minutes, and lose interest. (Iím not clear on the details, obviously, but I could tell which character would survive and who the alien would infect and stuff. The older plots get reused so much in recent films that itís hard to be surprised.) Crystal and Ryan are sitting on the sleeping bag laid out on the floor, while Kiro sits next to me while Lander and his wife Laura lay on their bed next to Aaron and Elisabeth. Jonathan sits on the floor at the foot of the bed. Lander starts a game, where some people get thing cards and other people get human cards and we have to figure out who is who, killing the things if youíre human, and killing humans if youíre a thing. Iím a human. I am, obviously, now suspicious of everyone. I kind of tease Crystal about being a thing, and in her energetic way, she denies it and shows how she has no bandana (the weapons we can use to kill each other with. A thing only needs to use their hand to touch a personís throat.) Everyone jokes about how maybe Lander didnít hand out thing cards, and if we kill each other, we are going to find out that no-one is a thing and we were all killing each other senselessly.
Crystal and I go on with our playful banter. She teases me by saying that I just donít like girls (because of my suspicions). She tells me I should kill Elisabeth, because sheís a thing. I donít obviously. I bide my time.
Kiro goes to get a phone call, after handing me a large amount of bloody mary, because he couldnít finish it. I tasted it, and loved it. I drained the glass quickly. Bloody marys are spicy, like alcohol and salsa mixed together. Then Crystal gets a beer and sits where Kiro was. We half-watch the movie, half-be suspicious of each other. I think about how Iím probably going to have a crush on her, because of how energetic and outgoing she is. I really like those qualities. I also think about how this is probably about how she treats everyone, and not to read into it. Logic and stupid emotion at war again. Either way, a woman is paying attention to me, and it feels good. Thatís all I have to think about, especially right now. And really, it made my day to meet someone like her; she distracted me from the occasional, intrusive, unwanted thoughts about Molly. She distracted me quite a bit, and for that alone I could develop a crush on her.
So yeah. That goes on, we share a beer, continue banteringÖ and then Kiro returns and stands behind us, since his chair is taken. I give him a suspicious look, and sure enough he gets both Crystal and myself a touch on our neck during a particularly exciting scene in the movie.
Well, now weíre both things. We plot on going on a murder rampage in ten minutes. In the ten minutes leading up to the planned rampage, Crystal takes my phone and puts her number in it, and texts herself on it. I remind myself not to read into it, and that sheís just using it for plotting, which we immediately do. I may attach the pictures of the conversation here.
Anyway, Crystal dies. I suspect that someone on the bed was infected in the beginning, and that theyíre all infected. The last uninfected person must be Jonathan, so I kill him right before we go play ghosts in the graveyard. I probably shouldnít have; ghosts in the graveyard would have been awesome with the game still going on. Still, though, it was fun. Crystal had to go to bed for work (she lives on the 4th floor of the Wagner Building), and she wanted to show me her apartment before I left to go play ghosts, so I went. 600 a month for a two bedroom is very nice. I wont lie, either; when she said she wanted to show me her apartment, part of me thought she meant sex. But my hunch was right, it just meant showing me her apartment. Thatís how she is. I like that, and dislike that. Anyway, if you canít tell, I think I let myself be distracted by her too much; I think I have a crush despite my intentions.
Ah well, it happens. I probably wonít see her for a while, so itís no big deal. Itíll go away. At worst, Iíll mentally fawn over someone whoís NOT Molly. Win/win.
So yeah; ghosts in the graveyard, The Thing, cool friends and new friends, alcohol, and socialization. I had a really great time and felt great. Felt a bit guilty about killing the last human before ghosts in the graveyard, since Lander kind of wanted the two games to overlap. Ah well, it happens.
Also, I was acting like a werewolf for most of ghosts in the graveyard. Scared Elisabeth and some of the others, so that was fun. I should stop feeling stupid for acting silly. Thatís who I am. I need to own that, do it with more confidence. I should also learn to do it better, so that the silliness becomes an asset instead of a drawback.
That was last night.
June 7, 2014
Thursday night I got really drunk. Obliterated, really. We were playing Risky Whiskey, the rules of which I will explain below:
1. Decide of the rules of the game of Risk you are playing.
2. Play Risk. Whenever you would lose a unit, you may choose to take a shot of whiskey instead.
3. If you vomit, you lose the game.
4. If you die of alcohol poisoning, you win the game.
5. Otherwise, you win or lose the game normally according to the rules of Risk.
So yeah. That was a lot of fun. Yesterday I felt ill, which wasnít as fun. But, hey. I only vomitedÖ three or four times after the game was over, and they were all together in the same timeframe. And, seeing as I had around 10 or more shots (possibly 15 or so shots) of 80-proof whiskey, I think I handled my liquor pretty well.
A ton of fun. Although I think Iím going to stick to beer for a little while before going back to liquor. I could feel the alcohol poisoning affect me while I was drunk, which was fun, but looking backÖ
I could have died. Hahaha! I love that feeling, for some reason. Having evaded death. I could have died, but I didnít; life, by the very merit of being alive, is amazing.
I wish overcoming depression felt that amazing. I mean, it feels great to be able to feel great, but at the same timeÖ when you get back to normal thereís no feeling of elation at being healthy again.
Maybe being normal, being healthy, is its own reward; one with longer-term effects than the simple feeling of elation. I like that thought.
Which means, of course, that I should cut back on the alcohol. It really doesnít help a person be healthy.
Fine with me! Ha.
Saw Jonathan with Ainslee today. Sheís apparently on a date with him, which is an interesting development: sheís part of my church, see. Iím only a part of the church to deceive my parents into loving me; but she believes. And sheís dating outside of the church.
I can see why, too. Jonathan is a beautiful individual, and if souls exist, his shines. So does his sistersí. Jon and Elisabeth are fantastic individuals.
And the best part is that I can depend on Jonathan to keep my secrets, even with Ainslee; I can trust him explicitly. That feels good.
And even if I canít? If, by some accident or by some misplaced trust on my part, he lets slip the other half of my life? Well, it was going to come out anyway.
Sooner or later, I will have to take down the faÁade, the wall.
Wall so high, every brick a lie, will you come down? When? When?
June 29, 2014
Thursday night I got drunk with Collin. My parents left town and I just got drunk and slept over at Collins place after a beer, some wine (eurgh), and some rum (eh). It was fun, just drinking and talking with Collin. Heís a great friend.
Then Friday night I decided to say screw work tomorrow, and drank even more Ė vodka and sprite, whiskey and coke, angry orchardÖ Mmm. Walked home drunk with Jonathan, and we just talked about life and things. He got pretty drunk, which was entertaining.
And Saturday, yesterday, I went to Markusí house show Ė the local music scene gathered to play their songs and drink beer and smoke. I didnít smoke Ė weed or otherwise. Just enjoyed the music, rode out a nice beer buzzÖ found that I kind of liked the music scene. Everyone was really nice Ė I was expecting some of them to be complete douches, but they really werenít. I talked to Thomas, Annís boyfriend. Heís pretty nice, actually. A really chill individual. I get the feeling that he resents Elisabethís hold on Aaron, but. I like both Aaron and Thomas, Elisabeth or no, so I hope that doesnít become a problem.
Some of my poetry got shredded in the writing workshop thing I attended the other day. Markus goes to that Ė thatís the main way we know each other, outside of class and Coal Creek Coffee. The shredding of my poetry was good. They really liked ĎThe Fallí, but brought out a lot of constructive criticism that I enjoyed even more. Itís so hard to objectively edit my poetry, and they help a lot.
I am still dealing with some things. The usual underlying loneliness from being single in a society that hates single people and worships relationships.
July 1, 2014
Wait. No. That statement was bullshit.
Iím trying to deal with the fact that I, a rational person, wish to be happy by myself. That is, I want to be able to enjoy being single. And itís not that I donít enjoy being singleÖ the thought of a relationship is intimidating and scary, actually. I enjoy my time to myself and my freedom as an individual. I enjoy my partying and my reading and writing and sleeping and daydreaming and all of those things. Its just that I also, for some irrational reason, cannot help but wish for another person to be with me in all of those activities. Every attractive girl I see gets me day dreaming, however brieflyÖ every night I sleep alone desperately trying to quell the desire that someone else be in that bed with meÖ every time I go to work, I wish that I had someone to look forward to when I got home.
Stupid. Stupid stupid.
Being in a relationship doesnít miraculously make you happy. It doesnít Ďfixí you. It doesnít do anything other than provide a close, intimate friendship for you, involving romance and sex.
And those are good things, donít get me wrong. I do want those things.
I just think I should be happy without them. I shouldnít want or need them as much as I do.
I think Iím still insecure. I just want or need reassurance that Iím attractive, that Iím desirable. Men in our society today rarely get complimented, and almost never get asked out. Goddamn patriarchy.
And I canít ask someone to give me that reassurance. It would mean nothing if they gave it to me because I asked them. Hell, when I DO get a compliment, I just dismiss it because I think theyíre just being polite or some shit.
I should just KNOW Iím attractive, that Iím desirable. I mean, I have so many friends. Some of them, like Ann and Collin and Jonathan, are all really really good friends. People like me. People reach out to me (mostly other men, but still). All Iím lacking is confidence and I seem to be doing okay just faking that every now and then.
So yeah. My rant of the month.
September 5, 2014
Its that time of the year again, where I confront my insecurities brought about by the fact that my entire self esteem, a part of an American that is so crucial to the success of their entire being, seems to be based entirely upon my grades.
Where I live in fear of failing a class, because to me it means failing as a person. It means I am neither intelligent or successful. In a word, it means I am WEAK.
What is strength, then? Milton? A spindly, tragedy of a man? Perhaps. If strength is overcoming in the face of adversity, then perhaps Milton was strong. Blind, physically weak, convicted in the false idea of a deityÖ and yet he used that conviction, and overcame his blindness and weakness with his mind and tongue Ė composing the last great epic poem, Paradise Lost, by dictating the words and meter to his daughter from his bed.
I cannot compare myself to Milton, if only because I know the outcome is damaging to my self-esteem.
I wonder if he struggled with loving himself. I wonder if he even valued himself enough to struggle with that; he was, after all a Christian. Perhaps a true breed of selfless, humble and meek Christian. In which case, Milton was strong in the face of an even purer weakness than I perceived before.
Then again, who am I to judge religion as a weakness?
Who am I to do or say anything as If I know what to say?
Fuck, I donít even write this damn journal like a normal person. I switch into this English major voice where I try to sound remotely more intelligent. Where I prove once again that all I want, all I desire is approval in my words and actions, to be taken seriously and liked by my peers.
Inside, I am pathetic. Inside, I am the bulbous and fleshy organs, so weak and disgusting when inspected individually, so out of place outside of my skin. My desire is a cancer, preying on my stomach, my heart, my lungs; a tumor that cripples me from actually accomplishing anything, forcing me to instead constantly check to see how others see me.
And I did it again.
But I donít care. If Milton was blind, and still wrote Paradise Lost, then there is a chance that as he is human and I am human, I am capable of overcoming my own disability, the cancer in my mind, and accomplishing something.
We are all light and dark. I will not let my masochism allow the darkness to make me weak. I will be light; I will be fusion and fission; I will be a supernova of creation. The higher elements of literary accomplishments will flow from my center like the stardust I was created from fled their ancient core, unable to be contained by the crushing gravity of their existence.
Thatís all I should want: to release the sinking weight inside of me. To rid myself of the chains of my bleak existence and, like writers before me, attempt to transcend time in doing so.