05/05/2006 - 12:46 p.m. | when will i and if i do will it do me in

arrrrrrrrrrg

I am becoming just like you, all not updating ever. I don't know what's up - I have things I want to tell you about, but boy does it seem like a pain in the ass to write them down. I want to start doing, like, audio entries, where I just tell you what happened, and you can fast-forward as a general rule. Still, I don't really have the server space for that, and it really isn't in the spirit of the thing, now is it?

Pretty much one sign language final is standing between me and the whole real world. I have this interesting mental picture of like a giant sucking void (probably something out of "Mortal Komabt" - my brain pretty much draws all of its visual references from there - "What's up with this ad? Dear lord, the trees have FACES!!!") with one lonely little test paper with frail arms and legs trying to hold on. You can do it, buddy. You can protect me from my future.

The summer is coming, and with it, well, I don't know what. Big changes. If we look at things positively, Omar will be gone, but then, so will everyone else. I'm beginning the slow process of mentally severing ties to everybody, because I truly do not expect to see them again. I don't think I can allow myself to see them again, in some cases, at least for a while. I keep hoping this whole thing will give me the courage to confess my infatuation to Hillary, and maybe she will be flattered, and maybe we will make out the one time, but I pretty severely doubt it. If I get a job in advertising by the end of the summer, I am going to that nasty handjob parlor in Danville. I don't know if that really costitutes a reward (and therefore, as motivation), but I certainly won't let that stop me.

Most things I can't write about, or don't want to just yet, so I guess I'll continue to ramble on in this manner until I feel I have paid my dues. On Monday, we had the first half of our sign language final, which entailed "singing" a song in sign in time with the music. It was hard as balls, and I fucked up a great deal, but our teacher graded pretty leniently, perhaps because Shelly and I had such cool songs. I spent hours and hours reading about dystopia for the next day's sociology test. I guess I was distracted enough to not even worry about my final essay critique. I expected terrible things - it was a reworking of the Avril Lavigne costume story from a couple years ago - and although the professor did call me a homo as expected, he also said it was my best work. The class seemed to mostly agree, but I think we sort of unconsciously got closer after spring break. (Wish I could get a little closer with that Camille girl you know what I'm sayin)

Actually, I never really had time to write this, but things in general have been better since spring break. The load off my back of being with Missy was gone, as was the initial sadness of finally having done gotten her off, and everything seems easier as a result. It's kind of funny - that creative writing class might have actually had a positive effect on my mental health. The second essay I wrote was about my crazy, and I guess I got some shocking news out of it. Apparently people think the way I do all the time. I don't know why this is really so surprising, why I figured everyone else was so normal and confident and not filled with doubt and paranoia, but it actually took me down a couple of notches to hear it, I think. I've been relying on that crazy for so, so long in a way - as an excuse for behavior and even more as an identifying charactertistic. "I'm a nutter butter, and there's nothing I can do to change that," that sort of thing. But the thing about this class, the qualm I've always had - they don't critique your writing so much as they critique you - well, it maybe sort of did something good in this case. The professor gave me a right turd of a grade on that essay, so I knew it was the one I was going to have to revise for my portfolio. The thing is, I couldn't just revise the writing, as the writing was me. I had to change the thoughts behind it.

And I guess I've been slowly working on that. For so long, I've blamed whatever head problems I have on genetics. All the Legrenzis had it and will have it forever, nothing can be done, etc. But then I actually took a step back and thought about it. My crazy (or whatever you want to call it) has actually waxed and waned during my time here, and I never really thought about why. I used to think it was the meds, but I'm not sure those actually did anything besides make me worse. So I tried to look at the big picture, and realized I am maybe more in line with my psych books than I thought. I am product of nature and nurture, all that stuff. Maybe I have the propensity for anxiety and paranoia and antisocial tendencies and moodiness and all that, but they don't really flare up unless there are unfortunate circumstances going on in my life. I mean, freshman year, that one's pretty obvious, and then more recently there was the tremendous guilt of being with someone I didn't truly love. So, I don't know... it feels like I learned something. My inner problems are caused by real shit sometimes, so sometimes I have to do real shit to fix it. I am slightly more proactive, and happier as a result. It's effing weird. I'm all looking for causes of things and junk.

One night, Omar said something stupid. OK, that's pretty much every night hundreds of times, but one night he was trying to be profound like he does, and it came off as stupid like it does, but maybe there was something underneath it that struck a chord a little. We were on the trampoline, and he was like, "Yeah, Nate, y-you look like you could be in a f-f-frat." [Omar stutters by the way - did you know that?] "All you'd have to do is get some muscle and change your hair and your clothes and how you act and what you like." This would have been actually a pretty good joke, if he hadn't said it with such retard sincerity. Anyway, there is some weird lame truth to it. We're all a few decisions away from being completely different people. I could have been an emo fuck or a frat guy or a goth or whatever, but these things I am are the things I chose. I don't even know what I'm talking about.

Last night we tried to watch Lost in Translation, a movie Omar pulled out, I believe, just to talk about how much he knows about Japan, and the hotel the film was filmed at in particular. Of course, the most eloquent thing he got out was that it was "raw" there (not "flame," mind you - "raw"), and I feel like I pretty much have the expertise to say that sort of thing. You know my feelings on talking during movies. I don't know where in the clouded depths of my mind I decided it would be good to sit and try and watch one with Talky McPotsmoke. You'd think not responding to his questions or comments would send the message, but no, no it did not. I actually started to wonder if maybe he has some sort of OCD where his voice simply must be heard every minute and a half or so or he thinks he'll just burst into flames. I thought about asking, but I'm mean enough to him as it is.

Apparently he caught on to that too, which shows he's leaps and bounds above my expectations of him. He was complaining to Smacko about me, I guess, calling me a prick (which makes sense) and then going on about how creepy I was. I don't entirely get the creepy thing. He even asked Shelly about it, too. I mean, mostly I sit in my room or watch TV or do work. Maybe that sort of lifestyle is creepy to one such as his.

Anyway, I'd like to ask, who is the creepy one now that he pretty much went around showing everyone his cock yesterday. I missed out (darn it), but I guess he was parading around in just boxers, and he started doing squat-thrusts for some ill-advised reason, and there you go. Twig and berries on display. It's amazing, really. I've lived with these people for upwards of five years now, with nary a genital in sight. This dude's here like a month and pow. Dong City.

I am trying to be just slightly nicer to him, though, as I don't really like being disliked when I feel I can actually help it. I could finally go ahead and smoke weed with him, I'm sure that would go a long way to reconciliation, but considering how well the last time went, I'm not so sure.

Back story! [REMIIIIX]

Before Omar moved in, Allison and her friend Maggie were around some Friday, and the three of us kind of ended up at home sort of wasted (thank god the threesome was offered to Spritz, not me). Omar, as Omar does, had been talking about weed all night, so suddenly Maggie remembered and wanted some. We eventually got a hold of him and went back to his place to "hit the bong" or whatever (I can't talk about drugs and not feel like a tool, sorry). We went for two go-arounds, and this was how it went each time: Omar would pack the bowl, hit it for like 90% of the weed contained therein, and then pass the scraps to the rest of us to fight for between us. Now, I didn't mind too much because I didn't need any weed just then, but I felt bad that Maggie and Allison didn't get jack shit from Mr. Liberal Neo-Hippie Man. "Share and share alike ohwaitiloveweedsomuchimusthaveitall."

At least he offered us some coke.

The best part was when we stumbled back to our place to drink some more (Omar's tequila - I figured he owed us), and Omar came in all sick and whiny. "Arrrhhhggh - I think I smoked too much." There is a valuable lesson about sharing in there somewhere.

I know, I know - shut up about Omar. I mean, he's been paying his rent and he kind of knows Ralph Nader. Who can hate that? Complaining about him has become pretty much my biggest hobby, though. Other things have been happening, I swear!

I made some pretty terrifically crappy ads to end the semester Tuesday night. I didn't think it made much sense, to take something we worked on for one day at the start of the semester and try and make it good at the end, but whatever. I think Peter needed something to actually grade us on. In class the next day I marked everyone as an A to subvert his system. It was so sad, my last class at the university, my favorite one, all trying to make me care about critiquing things we all each sort of hated. I mostly ate cupcakes and talked rudely of other things. Plus, Peter wasn't even there. What a crappy ending. It was sort of depressing.

Things got a little better, though. A bunch of us went out for a drink (I had something awful and gay with rum. "I am gay with rum" would be an OK t-shirt. So would "I have finally found the clit" - or however I originally intended on phrasing that) and reminisced and I believe made plans for some future event together, although I don't know what. I won't be rid of those people yet, though!

That night I went out with Shelly and a bunch of her coworkers (technically I am one of them??) for a goodbye dinner of sorts. I did not really belong, but I got like a free 20 dollar meal of it, so god damn it I will make myself belong. I also have been spending an inordinate amount of time at Beckman trying to get things together away from Omar's constantly blaring music. WHO GOT THAT HYDRO WHO GOT THAT LIGHT GREEN / EVER SINCE I CAN REMEMBER I BEEN POPPIN MY COLLAR Is he even there? No, probably not, but he felt we needed to know how long indeed he had been popping his color. Now, in my mind, it's only a pretty recent trend, so the drugs must have addled the artists' brains pretty badly to leave them with that impression for the whole of their long term memory. I don't know why I ramble on stupidly like this. Maybe I do still like this thing after all. I finished my portfolio for creative writing yesterday (filled with much not-too veiled pissiness towards the class in general) and have been kind of in a stupor ever since. I am not ready to get this started. No, not ready at all. Another girl keeps smiling at me in the lab, though, and that makes things temporarily all right.

I do not know what else. I am bored with this.