07/06/2005 - 2:07 a.m. | For Heaven's Sake I'm here I'm willing

It's not that I haven't been writing... OK, well, mostly I haven't... but there are tons of bits and pieces of what may be someday referred to as writing. Problem is, it's all stored in my laptop in a series of violently-named textfiles, and it's going to take more than a little work to get them all coherent. But, if I don't write something, I get further and further away from my last entry, which keeps me less compelled to write. With more time, I was going to write about this weekend, which was fairly awesome, but I got caught up in rating t-shirts and reading "Star Trek" trivia, so it will have to wait. Some surprise, huh?

The series finale of "Star Trek" was on today - is it weird that that makes me so sad?

How sad, you ask? Sad enough to look up various shitty novelizations on amazon to see if there was anything worth purchasing. Hint: No.

However, I do have a book that I would like to recommend to everybody... well, everybody who has taste like me (and if we delve deeper, my reading material usually focuses on memoirs, abnormal psych, thick surrealist Japanese novels, and zombies) but actually not just me because a) that is only me then and b) I think this is interesting to everybody. It's called blink, and it's about the way we unconsciously process information, often better than going through everything logically. I guess the thing I like the most about it is that it really had me thinking... like, I have been sort of the opinion that pretty much there are no new ideas out there anymore, and that is why there are no new religions or why the philosopher has essentially disappeared from society: We've run out of all the good ideas. Sure, you can still just make things up, but it seemed to me like all the real ideas were taken and everything recent is just insane gibberish (the Green Party, Scientology). It's just reassuring that some guy - this one guy, actually - is still out there breaking ground. Plus, I always get inspired about these researchy sort of things because they always interview these experts in such specific areas. Like, the guy talked to these two food rater ladies, and they can rate everything they eat in dozens of attributes on very precise scales. Fucking Oreos have 90 characteristics! Or this other guy who knew so much about facial expressions that it was like he was psychic. I am more from the bard school of thought - jack of all trades, master of none - but I am still sort of envious that I don't have that sort of insane (some might say passionate) focus.

It would be really nice if I could move with fluidity... like, if my movements were all smooth and coordinated. I feel so jerky and flailing sometimes, and I guess that's my style, but it would be nice just to flow.

The deliveries did not stop this evening, as I was sent zigzagging to opposite ends of town over and over again. It kept me busy, though, and adventures were had. I delivered cookies to this one couple who was eating a romantic dinner outside, and while they ran for a tip, I poked around and I think maybe he proposed to her, which is sort of sweet. He seemed like a nice guy. Not the type to beat her. Also, I found the Champaign-Urbana Scientology center, and they're hiring. Don't worry, friend; I took the number down. They'll be receiving a call tomorrow, trust me.

Kids in wheelchairs have taken over ISR. Now that I know Jevon fucked a chick with no legs, cripples have rising stock on my "to do" list. Lucky bastards.

Topping it off, though, now is medical staff. I had to wait a long time at the ER tonight for a nurse to come down and pay me, and I guess my delusions are kicking into overdrive because I totally think the cute blonde doctor was checking me out, hanging around on purpose. I smiled and averted my gaze like the book told me to and carried on planning our future. She would be shy as well but would start ordering cookies herself in the hopes of meeting me. Eventually, I would get up the courage to ask her for her number, and though our romance would be unusual (she in the high-powered profession, all stressed out and running around in her scrubs - me, the cookie delivery boy, basically pouring my life down the drain), it would work out amazingly well, and I would follow her around the hospital some nights, watching her run from one frantic situation to the next, keeping her head on straight all the while, and I would be so impressed. And when we made love (and would we ever), my orgasms would not take hours. They would come at a sensible time exactly when they should. And we would be happy.

So yeah, I definitely need to date a doctor. Or possibly be a doctor. Again, inspired by blink, I sat thinking about it for a while... working at some overcrowded nightmare like Cook County Hospital, never sleeping, running around, knowing exactly what to do, slowly going nuts from the stress but all cute in my little scurbs and stethoscope. It would be sort of neat to be a doctor. But I don't think I have the brain for it.

Maybe some more good news coming up. But I'm not ready to reveal it yet... even to all two of you who retain access to the diary. Yes, it's that good.