What's up with that?

Why is my professor so enigmatic? He has two personalities: funny, story telling, relaxed guy, and dull, monotonous, and boring lecturer. How odd, right? I see him more as a stand-up comedian rather than a math teacher. He knows his stuff too. But he's just so dull; somehow he manages to elongate the three and a half hour lecture to twenty years to life.

In other news, I've been feeling really nauseated lately. I have these headaches that give me stomach aches and even sore muscles. What's worse is that my terrible condition has been causing me to suffer bouts of insomnia. I finally got some relief yesterday when I went to bed sometime around 2 or 3--the earliest time in a few days. I think it was on Monday that I stayed up until 4, tossing and feeling smothered in my bed until I got up around 1:30 and did something else. What could be the cause of all this? Stress, perhaps, from my new class. Maybe an after-effect of my illness? Or maybe it's something much more.

I've been feeling pretty lonely lately. I have my family and all, but it's not enough, sadly. It's not the kind of loneliness family can fix. It's more of a romantic feeling. I'm sure of it. But I know I'm not in a good position to be with someone. I doubt I'm mature enough to handle all that stress wrapped in some 5'7'' bomb with brunette hair and a sweet smile. No sir, nuh-uh. But my instinctive mind doesn't know that. I'm a big believer in the things science can teach us. I know that the human mind possesses primitive thoughts of starting families and passing on genes that served our ancestors well long ago, but are somewhat less crucial nowadays. Of course, it's nice for our brains to be able to process information that tells us whether we're attracted to this or that person, but sometimes it's too much. And the urge to find someone to love is overbearing and insufferable, like the most extreme of discomforts--think hot bed sheets at night nailed to sitting still for too long mixed with feelings of despair from having the flu for a few days. Yeah.

But things are good. I must say that I have more than I need. I can't complain, nor should I--at least not very much. I've been treated well. I'm lucky.

Father & Danny

"So maybe I'm getting older, and so maybe I've outgrown my childhood. So what?"

"So nothing."

"I don't recall wanting your opinion."

"So don't take it."

"Don't expect me to."

"I don't expect anything from you."

"Another derisive comment disguised as complaisance."

"So you say."

"I don't care anyway."

"Yes you do. Of course you care. You have to care."

"So you say."

"It's the truth. Now help me with this."

"Fine."

"No, grab the other end. At the same time--one, two, three."

The two briefly struggle with the awkwardly shaped object.

"You got it?"

"Yeah."

"Over there."

"Yeah."

Both: "Oophm."

"Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem."

"I'll call you again when I need your help."

"Okay."

"Tell your mother I'm not hungry, by the way. I hear her calling you to ask me."

"Alright."

He begins to leave.

"Danny."

"Yeah?"

"Take my clubs to the car, too, before we leave."

"Yeah."

He leaves.

END

So? How was your day?

My day? Well, I liked my day.

My day went smoothly, if you want to know the truth. My new class seems to be a real gut-buster. It's three and a half hours of lecture, tedious note taking, and hearing my professors dull voice.

He seems nice enough. He was, however, fifteen minutes late to class.

I always find the unfamiliar discomfort of first days amusing, especially when everyone in the class is quietly waiting for the professor to arrive or for class to start. I'm not much on talking with people, if I'll be honest. I get by fine, but I'm not one to strike up a conversation with another person.

They say a good rule of thumb for studying is devoting two hours for every one hour of class. I think that's overkill. I would never be able to study like that for six classes in a regular semester. It's not that I wouldn't have enough time; I'm just a lousy student. Haha. I'm not terrible though. I get A's with some effort; but I'm constantly slacking off and such. If you know one of those people--smart but lazy--then you know what I'm talking about; if you are one of those people, then you definitely know what I'm talking about. Sometimes I wish I wasn't like this, and I know wishing does nothing, so sometimes I command myself to become a better student. But then I realize I'd be terribly unhappy if I did that, so I resolve not to. Disappointing, I know: can't sacrifice a few moments of happiness for potentially higher gains of happiness later in life. But I look at it from a different angle: concentrate on the now-happiness so you'll always be happy--or at least you'll try. I'm not one to plan the future up to crossing the t's and dotting the i's; I'm more of a hail mary, long shot type of planner. I'm more of a, "Hey, look how bright and lovely the sun is today" or "I think I'll dance in my living room and then go give my mom a hug" type of planner. A slacker, you could say; or even a waste of potential. But like I said, I'd go crazy if my only thoughts were "study, pee break, read dull textbook, pee break, type, type, type, pee break". I'm a happy person, which I think we know by now doesn't mean I'm happy all the time--impossible!--but that I'm happy most of the time. And potential is such fickle idea. Who's to say one person has more potential than another? We all have different strengths that aren't always shown or appreciated. Because I'm a good writer, does that make me a happier, more fulfilled person than my friend Charlie, who's good at something that can't be applied to academics, like kite flying? Heck no! Charlie should fly his kite as we damn well pleases. Go Charlie, go! My point is that I'm happy with not excelling in school; I'm fine with not going to an Ivy League or top-tier University--transferring next year; I'm fine with living in modest but clean and healthy means so long as I do what I enjoy and am able to live a life I can be proud of. The truth is, I'm just fine with myself! I'm still getting a wonderful education; I'm still focusing on bettering myself through academics; I'm still getting that coveted piece of paper called a degree. I'll be fine in the future. I can't tell you what I'll be doing, how I'll be living, who I'll be hanging around, or how successful I'll be, but I can tell you I'll be trying to make the best out of any situation I'm in.

By the way, slacking-off doesn't mean not worrying or stressing over school, assignments, etc.; it means not stressing so much, and keeping things in context. I won't die if I don't turn in a paper, if I fail a class, if I trip in front of people, etc. I'm much happier appreciating my life!

Starting

I feel good. I've been sick since Monday, but I feel good today; I feel like candy. Or a breath of fresh air.

School starts tomorrow. I'm excited. I'm excited for a new start, a challenging subject--I'm taking math!--and for the future.

It's easy to get down on life, and it's hard to find strength to live happily; but if we want that happiness, we have to work. Eden doesn't exist on Earth. Eden's a place in our minds that pushes us to live as apathetic slobs; but apathy shouldn't be the final answer, I think.

Now I've lost myself. Ha. Anyway, what's up with you?

Last Nights Dream

I had a dream last night.

You were there,
and you were scared;
I was there,
and I was scared.

But what we saw scare us,
we couldn't see.

I'm still probably failing four (unimportant) classes.

I feel better. More importantly, I feel content.

I'm reading again. I only had to make the extra effort of picking up a book and reading a few lines before rediscovering how much I love it. Now I'm back into devouring books whole. I even went to Barnes & Nobles today and bought Will Grayson, Will Grayson, Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl (never read it before), and several Yu-Gi-Oh! mangas (yes, I'm a childish nerd), which I'm particularly excited to read because I've wanted to enter the manga world for a while. Right now, I'm still reading Jane Eyre--which is fantastic! It'll take me a few more days before I start to crack Anne Frank or Will Grayson, Will Grayson (I really like saying that title for some reason).

As for school, I'm happy the semester is closing. I want a fresh semester at hand and all that it entails: excitement, curiosity, and stretches of endless potential.

Tomorrow I'm planning to buy a new golf bag--a lightweight, ten or twelve club Sunday bag (I think that's what they're called; if not, then I think they're also commonly referred to as driving range bags). Since I typically play a few holes once in a while, I think owning one of these bags is a good investment. I'm tired of lugging my old, elephant-sized bag across only three holes. :p

[untitled]

A bright day. It's warm with a mild breeze.

My little brother walks beside me. He is nine; I am nine years his senior.

He chatters tirelessly. I smile and nod to acknowledge I'm listening; I'm only half-listening though. My thoughts flutter forward to what I'll be doing later-- where I'll go and who'll I'll see. The image of a smiling chestnut-haired girl lingers in my mind.

We come to a crosswalk.

"Hold my hand when we cross, kay?" I say to him. He says okay and continues chatting.

We stand at the corner for some time, waiting for our signal.

It never comes.

A sudden darkness, like a passing cloud or plane, eclipses everything. We look up. The sky is not blue, but red.

Profound silence replaces the former street sounds. People exit their cars to stare. An eerie stillness, then--an explosion of noise!

I feel myself flung into the air.

I crash onto the ground ten or fifteen feet away from where I was standing. The world vibrates around me. I become deaf in an instant. My thoughts turn into a mush. I feel encased in searing heat--dry, unbearable, toxic.

I reach for my little brothers hand. I fumble in my personal blindness until I touch someone's fingers. They're warm and dry. They're unattached from their owner.

I feel light-headed. I try moving more, but pain swarms my legs, neck, and chest. I feel stiff. I try one more time to sit up, but I can't. I'm weak and sleepy.

Unconsciousness finally swallows me.

I'm lost and I know it.

Lately, I've been feeling scared. With the passing of my first year in college, I've been noticing this irksome friend called Independence calling me more often. What will I do? Jesus Christ. What will I do for a living? How will I make money? Where will I live?

I should be completing several papers right now, along with studying for finals later today (it's 2:16 am right now). I've had three and a half days to prepare for this week of finals, yet I've done nothing. I'm completely out of it. I'm not focusing on school; instead, I'm thinking of nothing. Absolute, total nothing. What do I spend my days doing? Surfing the internet. Really, that's all I do. Hell, I don't even read as much as I would like, even though I really enjoy reading. What kind of life am I leading? I feel so aimless. I know I'm wasting huge chucks of my time; time that should be invested in making me a better person. I'm scared that I won't get back on track. Thinking of the future makes me fearful. Life is so complicated.

I think my biggest fear is that my life philosophy--enjoying life and not being concerned with money--is actually wrong. Maybe it's because I'm fortunate and live with my parents. I've never really known need or want. I've never been starving, mentally or physically. Sometimes I feel loneliness, anxiety, or stress. But aside from these things, I have very little to complain about.

I'm becoming so disenchanted learning about the world. I suppose many people like me feel this way. But what's the point, you know? The world is full of dangerous things that you can't change; it seems that bigger, deadly things that don't respond to love or humility dominate the world. I'm scared of these things. You can't live off gratitude or free-spirited love. Everything I value right now seems so pointless and removed from the life I see outside my house. A house is a place of safety and comfort, yet you can't live in it forever. I'm lost and I know it.

I think I'm dragging my feet so I don't get pushed out of the safety of the plane and free fall thousands of feet to my potential doom. I don't want out of the plane. Actually, I do. I want to jump but I'm too scared. That's a little pathetic. The ride, I know, will be fun. I know I have to eventually jump out. People who don't jump out remain stagnant shells. I don't want that. I want what everyone else wants: safety, pleasure, happiness, love, etc. The irony is that I should be afraid of not jumping and living a sad life. But when I see the world from this dizzying place, my throat clenches shut and I feel terrible.

Scared of what? What is my fear that paralyzes my growth into adulthood. What is my biggest demon? Is it loneliness? Am I afraid of not find happiness in a relationship? That I won't have a family--kids, dogs, cats, a wife, parents-in-law, etc.?

Am I afraid of finding myself insignificant? Is my self-esteem so fragile as to dissolve in view of the corrupt world? Where is my resolution to keep my chin up? Even if my chin is made of diamond, what's the point of keeping it up? I'll keep getting hit again and again. Then I'll have to hold it up only to get hit a third, fourth, fifth, sixth, etc. time? Then what? I die at the age of eight-one? With what? I scarred jaw? What's the point? Everything is a lot easier said than done. My chin is made of tissue paper.

I'm lost because I question the point of living. No, I will not end my precious life; I'm too smart for that. Neither will I convert to a religion. I've already struggled with my beliefs and have made peace for the time being. I don't believe in any particular religion. I believe there is always good in the bad and vice-versa. I've learned the universe is not black and white, or even shades of gray, but a full spectrum of colors--many of which I cannot even perceive. There is a lot I don't know, and the little bit I've learned I meekly comprehend. So what's the point of living?

Many people live on this small world, and there are many answers to this question; a question we've always struggled to answer; a question we can never definitively answer. A question many sophomoric, arrogant teenagers sit around their houses and superficially ponder and answer, and consequently, feel certified to answer on their myspaces and facebooks with statements like "music is my life. life is joy and love. sixteen years young. you don't know the shit i've been through. i've gone through so much and grown. i'm so over it." They then add lyrics to some song that's popular at the time to the effect of "we loved each so hard we could have died in each others arms that night. Our love is endless; our lives are now complete" if they are in teenage love; if not, then the lyrics would be something like: "we kissed and hugged and never wanted to stop. But now it's over and our love is never ever gonna come back. I loved you, but you didn't love me." And unfortunately for me, I'm one of these dumbass teenagers who sit around and romanticize life. We're young and don't know any better, I guess. We have too much energy. We haven't begun digging trenches or cleaning toilets yet. We still think love conquers all, when in reality it doesn't; it only mitigates the pain enough to suffer another day. That should be enough though, right?

What am I saying? I've completely lost my focus. I feel like I've lost the power to be happy. I don't feel in control of anything--except for this. I don't remember half of what I've written here, but I'll post it anyways.