09/15/2005 - 9:20 p.m. | i've noticed you can tell you're fighting for my love

Friends, I could not sleep last night. For any number of reasons. For one, Smacko and Allison stumbled into the house, drunk, abandoning their concert, and Allison lurched upstairs to discuss advertising once again, and once again I was forced to stifle my grins as she seductively tossed her hair about. She lamented that her bike had been stolen and expressed an urge to replace it with the bike of another. The great enabler, I volunteered to drive to Wal-mart for procurement of bolt cutters, hacksaw, or crazy chisel and hammer set so as to both vandalize and steal. Unfortunately, it seems the powers that be (Wal-mart and Meijer, actually) have finally caught onto our schemes and no longer sell such implements of thievery. Hardware stores might, but of course Allison has no desire to steal while sober, in the daylight hours, when these places are open. A vicious cycle, that. Adventures were had, of course. Smacko wisely pissed all over some Spongebob pajamas, knocking them to the floor in the process along with some Spider-man ones. He loved to talk about it, too. �I want to go to whoever�s house that bought those pajamas and go, �I pissed on those! They are covered in my piss!�� Another proud day for Clan Wombacher.

It may have been the Coke I drank at 2 that kept me up physically, but the thoughts in my head seemed to be the driving force for my insomnia. Allison had mentioned discussing 452 with Chris Lukeman, another guy in it with me (another guy whom the jury is still out on � the boy loves to talk, often without saying very much, and he is a very big fan of advertising vocab words, a habit I find very, very annoying). Anyway, Allison asked how I was doing in the class, and Lukeman responded with �eh.� Which may in fact be the case, I can�t deny. I�m still trying to find my stride in this class (something I�m not used to doing � normally success comes naturally), but I�m definitely in the middle of the pack, maybe even breaking into the top, I would think. Who knows, maybe I�m being cocky. But his �eh� has been bugging the hell out of me ever since. Because of course it got Allison started on creative strategy once again (her favorite topic and my least) and how I have to come up with a strategy for my ads before I make them. Yes, it does make sense in the standard way, but I�m not always about that. Most people think of the strategy as the framework on which you build your creative execution. It�s helpful, but it�s also confining. I tend to think of it more as an exoskeleton � it strengthens what has already been done and allows for adaptation and growth. Now, maybe I am completely fucking wrong, because no seems to agree with me about this at all, and maybe I don�t like the idea of my chosen career path being more fettered down than I�d like (I�m in the �creative� field � it seems strange then that it should have rules and systems like anything else. But I suppose writing does, too... the only thing that doesn�t is pure art art, and most of that is drivel or bullshit), but it got me thinking all night long. And all sorts of other things go flying in and out � mostly about my future (or lack thereof). It�s really getting to the point where I have to make some choices, and I�m not sure which to go with. I was talking to Kay yesterday, and she was describing the process it took for her to get her dual degree, and I feel like there�s no way I can get it done in time, that I�ll have to take an extra semester, which means more loans and less income blah blah blah. And then I start to worry that maybe I�m not cut out to be a creative � maybe I�m too far out there or too unwilling to conform or just not good enough, and I start to wonder what to do instead.

My secret plan is to follow Augusten Burroughs career path: Start in advertising, achieve dizzying success, tire of it, and become a popular writer (focusing on my favorite top: myself), sign a movie deal, get played by Will Smith in my biopic. But, you know, not sucking guys' dicks. So, why not just jump over the ad part and just write? Lord, I don�t know what to do. And all of this is confounded further by this deep-seeded belief that I am going to be dead in the next couple years anyway. 23, my mind keeps telling me, although I don�t know why it would say that. And this sense of fatalism (note on definition: not that I am going to die specifically, but that I can�t do anything to change my destiny) has kind of made life livable up �til now. Not in a �live every day like it was your last� sort of way, because I�m still not out there bangin� chicks and calling everybody dickheads � just that I feel like it�s all going to be over with shortly, so it�s not really up to me to get much done, not caring about grades or jobs or credit scores or whatever. But what if it is not over with, and I am suddenly out there with no clue what I want, plus the added difficulty of all these penalties I�ve set up for myself? And then I start to blame the meds and maybe think I should get off them because, well, yes, I was unhappy and freaked out a lot, but I�m starting to regress now anyway, it seems, and at least then I�ll care about stuff (or fear it) and things will get done. I�ll clean and attend class and be nice to Missy. Maybe I just function best with the crazy. Maybe I was designed with that intention. But then I start to think I could probably just act my way through everything. Like, from henceforth I will just decide, �I am going to play a person tonight who is very brash and confident,� and then I will do it and reap the benefits. And I start to convince myself that it is very, very likely that this will work.

And soon enough 5:30 rolls around.

There is no chance of sleep now, I decide, so I rise and shower, take my time shaving, using random products I find lying around instead of my usual stuff (e.g. mousse). This kills about an hour, and I fall back into bed and listen to Joe Jackson songs I apparently downloaded, on repeat, until I finally do sleep.

For about an hour, and then it is up to face the rainy day!

I have not stopped being soaked all day long. The run was a real good idea today, too. About halfway through, and it starts pouring. So I think, �How can I get home faster? I�m already running.� This anecdote is going nowhere.

I am at the communications lab now, doing my job. Which is? Sitting. There are two whole other people here, but hopefully they will be scared away by 10:30, so I can close down early (I was told I could) and just die in a heap.

Well, call Missy first, of course.

God, those phone calls. Draining the life out of me. I don�t have anything to talk about ever, let alone every night, and yet, there I am, couple hours at a time, just trying to keep my head above water. And every night it�s the same damn thing. �When are you coming to visit? I miss you.� And I don�t know when I�m going to visit, because I don�t have any fucking money, and I do have lots of things to do (not least of them is to try and cheat on you), and even better is that they have assigned me a permanent shift on Sunday afternoons, so that I will always have to be here then and, as such, weekends won't work so great. Can�t wait to explain that to her this evening. Last night she explained to me how I should leave her little notes so that she knows I still care. Please do not order me to express my affection, especially when it is on such thin ice as it is. A girlfriend should not be a chore � I should either want to do these things, or I should not be with the girl. And she�s all like, �I do that stuff for you all the time.� And I think it would be a much better expression of her love if she could just leave me alone mostly, as I mostly feel guilt or annoyance when I get that stuff, and I fucking HATE voicemails more than anything, I just delete them all now without listening, and gaaaahh. No more, no more, I say.