I Don't Like You

what, like, you don't like me in that way? what do you mean you don't like me?

no, M., i don't like you at all!!!

i have made a decision. and i'm pleased with my decision. it feels right. it feels, true. i have decided, that i really just don't like my co-worker M. don't like her. i do not, like her.

that feels good.

i sometimes can't tell if i like someone or not, so its always nice when i can resolve one of those ambiguous situations. and i'd rather decide that i like someone, i just have issues x, y, and z with them, but not liking them is just fine as well. hating them, a little extreme, but also fair. what? i'm a hater. i hate. don't judge.

today's issue with M. brought things nicely into focus. sure, she's done a fair amount of stuff that makes me think she's self-centered and opportunistic, but whatever. she's also said a couple things that make me think she's sort of bigoted, or at least has some questionable beliefs and/or assumptions about things of an ethnic/racial/religious nature. whatever. its texas. if i started making a list now, i'd die before finishing it.

today, we had a brief chat about relationships. and M. jokingly(?) mentioned that she's been married eighteen years, and at this point, she and her husband have just decided to "stick it out".

i responded by saying that that probably would not really ever happen to me, because i like dumping people too much. this got a few odd looks, so i clarified. i said, "hey. its not like i just break up with people for no reason. but if i'm in a relationship, and things aren't working out, and the other person isn't interested in working on fixing it, or addressing the issue, then *BAM* YOU'RE OUTTA THERE!!!" and yes, i take a certain pleasure in breaking up with people. its like pruning an unruly shrub. you take out the crap you don't like. you simplify your life. and i am all, for jettisoning dead weight (i.e. unresponsive boyfriends) in the interest of simplifying my life.

M. was still not sure about this. she seems to have chalked it up, at least today and at that moment, to some sort of rampant superiority complex she thinks i have. she said that she thinks i just have no hope for a successful romantic relationship; she thinks i don't believe it can happen, and so it never will.

so i tried to deny this, and told her about my rule.

have i mentioned my rule?

i said, "you know how amusement parks have signs that say *i mime a hand at chest level* 'you must be this tall to ride'? well, i have a similar rule that says *hand at nipple level again* 'you must be this awesome to date.' i expect someone i'm going to date (i.e., spend a lot of time and energy on, in the hope of getting the opportunity to spend even MORE time and energy on them, long term, till we're old or dead) i expect someone i get involved with to be at least as awesome as me."

M. looks at me like i'm nuts, or just pure evil. one or the other. so rather than toss the shovel aside, i do what any good moron does and keep digging.

i explain that i want someone who's an ivy-league caliber intellect, who's handsome, who's devestatingly funny, etc.

she asks where i went to school. did i go to an ivy league? no, i went to wesleyan. its better than an ivy league, because we only put sticks up our asses in order to stimulate the prostate and/or g-spot. i didn't say that last part. M. admits that wesleyan is a good school. yes. i know.

so she retreats to the safe-ish position of "your standards are too high." if i demand someone who is as great as i think i am (because i have a superiority complex) then i'm just never going to find someone. i'm being "unrealistic."

bitch, i'm that intelligent, i'm that handsome, i'm that funny, i'm that kind, i'm that sensitive to other's, i'm that willing to give my all in a relationship, OBVIOUSLY such people exist. why should i settle for less? do i not deserve someone who brings as much to the table as me? i'm sorry, but if i think i'm the shit, its only because, in some ways, i am. fuck, i'll even admit i'm wrong (MOST of the time) if i'm wrong.

i say some of the above to M., or at least, the part about me being as awesome as me, so obviously it can happen. she stands firm, and asks why i have to have someone who is those things.

on reflection, i should have responded, "because i'm a little person, with a short attention span. i get bored easily with people. i'm not interested in a relationship for the paltry reason of not wanting to be alone. if i'm signing away an undetermined amount of my independence, it better be to someone who's worth it. it better be to someone who is smart, and compassionate, and can keep my attention. i'm not willing to go through the hassle that is a relationship just so that i can wake up one day and realize that i've settled for less than i want and need, and instigate divorce proceedings."

i think what i actually did, was just let the conversation drop. but a few minutes later, the thought sprang to my head, "wow, M. is a really mediocre person." and i laughed, out loud, a lot. because its such a horrible thing to think, but its just so true... i may be demanding and cruel, and call myself a tiny person, but M. is in truth, a tiny person, if she's willing to take anything less than what she truly wants in the name of being open-minded and realistic.

but mostly, M. is just a person who i don't really like. i don't hate her. but i definitely don't like her.

and i am totally cool with that.

Yes, I Have A Libido

i have a libido, and it is getting a little bit out of hand.

since i'm either working, or trying to go to sleep and wishing i didn't have to work again so soon, or maybe even sleeping, i haven't had time to like... take care of business... in i don't even know how long.

yes, i'm talking about masturbation.

because lord knows i don't have sex. i haven't had sex in almost four years. and that, my friends, is way, way, WAAAAAY TOOOOO LOOONG.

but that's all right. its fine. i have hands. i have a fun silicon friend. i have lube. and i have porn. i can manage for now.

but really... like, i've started a few times. i'll scrounge around on x-tube, hunting down hot amateur action videos. i'll get all hot and bothered.

but i haven't "closed the deal" in quite some time.

i haven't even gone to the gym and sublimated my urges into fifty minute sessions on the elliptical machine.

and its all starting to adversely effect the rest of my life.

today, personal-trainer T. (venti americano with a half inch of steamed heavy whipping cream) came into the store. dude is six four, with that special V-shaped torso you only get with good genes and taking really, really good care of yourself. like, i've always thought T. was hot. with those mean athletic thighs that look so good in tight blue jeans... i'm getting hot right now. so today, he comes in, and i'm just like, GODDAMN! the shaved head, the strong jaw-line, those ridiculous shoulders and arms... i'm totally going menopausal. i'm having hot flashes.

so he gets his drink, and a little later i go on a spin to clean the store. and i'm cleaning the condiment bar, which backs up to a window wall between the store and the bookstore. and T. is sitting at the table right beyond the window, facing away from me. and i'm confronted with the expanse of his back, stretching his tight red and black striped t-shirt.

and i'm cleaning slower, and slower... and i try and see what he's reading. honestly, i do. like, i'm unwilling to realize what's going on.

and i'm cleaning more and more slowly, and then i'm like, "oh. OH. i see. i'm standing here staring at T., nigh on fantasizing about him, and apparently i'm willing to forget about my job in order to stare at him. apparently, i'm willing to clean more and more slowly until i'm no longer cleaning and am in fact just humping the glass between us and drooling on myself. its all clear now."

yes. and then, BEST PART!, i feel the need to tell my coworker about it. as though it were any of their business, and as though i would ever be comfortable sharing that with anyone but a close friend. i was immediately mortified.

"i can't believe i TOLD her that!..."

well, i did.

clearly, i need the big O, and fast, or i'm going to go insane. er.

insaner.

but goddamn he's so fucking hot...

Stop the Ride, I Want to Get Off Now

i swear to god, i feel like, this job, i feel like i've stepped onto the merry-go-round from hell. and now its just goin' faster and faster, and i can't get off, and its just gonna spin me around until it decides i've had enough. or until i die, or at least have my psychotic break. at which point, i will certainly be fired, but conversely, not having a job will be the least of my worries. good? bad? i don't know. i can't decide. but sadly, involuntary commitment sort of sounds nice at the moment.

my feet hurt. my knees feel very old and creaky. or like i give blow-jobs in alley-ways for a living. or both. my legs are tired. and mostly, my brain hurts. i am very, very, very, very, VERY, VERY TIRED. i'm too tired to exercise, so i'm not sleeping well or clearing headspace in my brains. and since my sleep schedule is whacked anyway, i've given up on limiting my caffeine intake and am slamming doubleshots of espresso alllll day long. which makes sleep even more elusive. but if i don't do it, i can't manage my shifts, which are until midnight one day, and at five a.m. the next. and long. they're always long. and i'm not functioning well. i can't deal with people. i want to punch them all in the face. even the ones who aren't morons (although there are a lot of morons...) and who don't ask question after stupid fucking moronic question.

i have things on my mind. that's the other issue. i have, like, major ish on my mind. the issues, have been stirred up by my family's inability to plan a summer trip. bear with me a minute; i'm heading into middle-class white privilege territory. but really... we don't take vacations. we were going to go to israel for a few weeks this summer because we could do it for free (birthright israel, check it out.) i was excited for the "Jews With Guns Tour '08", but alas, we waited too long, and missed registration. so it will be postponed until next year.

so no israel. fair enough. well, sister is booked until june first, and then is booked again at the end of june. then she starts med school. brother insists that girlfriend comes with us, regardless of what we do. girlfriend is working and attending summer classes, and has all sorts of prior family engagements. brother, for his part, is smoking pot and trying to avoid the reality of needing to find a goddamn job. mom wants to miss as few days of work as possible, since she isn't salaried, so every day is a double loss of pay; once for the money she's spending, and again for the money she isn't making.

i'm in the same boat as mom, but i get paid crap, so i don't care when we go, except that my store is so short staffed that we're all walking around with ptsd half the time (post-traumatic stress disorder, for those less learned in the mental health sciences.) and no one can have any time off, ever. seriously, we each get two days off a week, maximum, they're never in a row (so all you can do with your day off, or all you WANT to do, is sleep, and not be on your aching feet), and my favorite part is that even though we're in such dire straits, the company is exceedingly unwilling to pay us overtime. now, people at other stores can incur overtime if they do it by helping out at our store. that's like, totally kosher. but we're still trying to cut labor whenever we can. which leaves us shortstaffed when the inevitable crush comes ten minutes after we send a partner or two home.

so if we go anywhere, well, i'll have to find a lot of nice people to take all my shifts for me. or something. that, or i can't really go anywhere. and at this point, i'm starting to feel like its all too much work. all i really want to do, is go to sleep.

and here's part of why.

we've had like, five separate plans for our vacation. and each plan, has gotten axed in succession. often, because an issue comes up with brother's girlfriend. we were going to take a cruise (its the off season, so it would be cheap, even though we would have to buy a second cabin for all five of us if girlfriend comes along) but a four day three night cruise is during the week, when she has school. so nope. can't do it. three day two night cruise is too short and hurried. not a relaxing vacation. we finally settled on a long weekend cruise, and had it all lined up, but; girlfriend's sister has high school graduation that weekend. so that plan is axed.

now, my issue, besides feeling trapped in a job that is slowly killing me, and which won't let me take the time off i would need in order to be able to continue being ABLE to do the job... deep breath... my issues, are centered on brother, who on the night before his high school graduation, told me that he would feel better if i didn't come to the party that his girlfriend's family was throwing for the two of them the next day. he'd feel better, if i didn't come. it would be uncomfortable for him to have me there. because they're very christian, you see. very conservative. and i'm... well, i'm me, and you just never know what i'm gonna say, do yah!!! i'm just, y'know... a loose cannon. unpredictable.

he didn't really say those last parts. i insert them myself, because i have to do something to explain why it felt like the bottom dropped out of my stomach when he said that to me. "i'd feel better if you didn't come." my mind instantly emptied of all thought. for once in my life, i was completely speechless, and my mind was blank. and my stomach, my abdomen, felt emptied of all viscera. i was hollow, and cold.

because brother has said in the past, several patronizing things like, "i know you're going to be how you want to be..." or "i understand that you're going to do what you want." implying:

a) that though he's trying to sound like he's non-judgemental and cool with it all, he has major issues with how i behave, and

b) that i choose to to do the things i do, and that it's my fault that he's embarassed. that i choose to be gay, and neurotic, and loud, and odd, and that really, i could be like all the normal people if i wanted (and god help me, but sometimes, in all honesty, i find myself wanting to be like normal people) but i insist on acting the way i do. to prove some cosmic point, or something. or maybe just to spite him.

and its stupid to complain. because really, my entire family is an embarassment to my brother. our strangeness, our jewishness, our intellectual natures (except for my sister. she is not, an intellectual. nor will she self-identify as jewish. she's just smart.) our general, and in my opinion healthy, abnormality, our messy house, the way our lives run from one crisis to another, just like any family (again, in my opinion)... he hates it all. god, how he wants us to be normal. he really wants to have a normal life, with a normal family, in a clean normal house where you know that the spaces below the furniture get swept regularly, and nothing accumulates clutter or dust. nevermind the irony of his own abnormality, and how its a part of the net abnormality...

in addition, he's never wanted to expose his girlfriend to us, or our house, or our lives. he made it quite clear, from the beginning of their relationship, when they were in high school, that she might come over, but they would spirit themselves away to his bedroom (formerly my bedroom) with its window out onto the roof where it looks south, and opens onto a valley of single-story house roofs nestled among green trees in the summer. he and i used to sit there, where the eaves cluster around the chimney. back when i smoked, we would get high together and look at our valley, and have the closest we've ever come to a happy and mutually satisfying relationship. now its his room, his roof, his friends and girlfriend. safe from all the weirdness inside the house, down the stairs.

i'm all right with this, in a way. i think its silly, and immature, but its his relationship, and he gets to call the shots. and i've never wanted to be friends with his girlfriend. she's nice, and they seem happy together, but i'm five years older, and a very different person. so fine.

but it was still, to me, the ultimate betrayal; it was beyond cruel, when he made it clear that not only am i an embarassment, and a liability, but that he is ashamed of me. he is ashamed of me to the point where the thought of introducing me to his girlfriend's family terrifies him. i'm sure he loves me, or whatever passes for love with him. but it felt like i'd effectively been disowned.

and now, for the sake of the family of a girl who he's too ashamed of me to have me meet, our vacation plans are changed and rearranged.

it felt bad to me. it felt really bad then, and i ate it. i said, hey, "if [me not being there] is what you need to feel comfortable, then i won't go. i won't go." he was a nervous wreck, graduating high school. what was i supposed to do? well, i forgot about it, or repressed it, or whatever. but after the last axe, the memory sprang up in my head. and i got angry.

really, really, really, REALLY ANGRY.

and part of it isn't justifiable. like it or not, my brother would sell his entire family, me included, down the river at the drop of a hat for the sake of any of his friends, or his girlfriend. he just would. he's shallow, and callous, and unthinkingly cruel, and he really likes playing normal with his blond christian girlfriend and her blond christian family, where no one seems fucked up, and everyone loves each other, and relationships are easy, and the house is always clean.

and for my part, i've really stopped trying. i don't try to talk to him anymore, because i automatically assume that my questions and concerns will be ignored and kicked aside, like i've been. like i did to him, unwittingly, when i was in high school and then went off to college; an abandonment that he has never forgiven me for, and maybe never will. i assume that he'll never be around to talk about serious stuff, and honestly, neither of us really want to spend time with each other. he has friends his own age, and has written me off, and i'm sober now, and can't go back to where we once were. i don't belong on the roof anymore, and it strikes me now, even as i write this, that i hope my brother is at least sad, every now and then, and missing me on the roof with him. but i can't go, and don't want to. time with him sounds unpleasant.

my brother and i don't like each other very much. we're not very similar in a lot of ways. and we've traded a lot of hurt back and forth. and when we do try and talk about things, he's the only person allowed to have emotions. if anyone else starts broadcasting hurt or pain or anger, he throws up his hands and leaves the room. its a defense mechanism he's developed, and well, it works. i don't bring up unpleasant topics.

this is my brother. and i don't really believe in making people change for my benefit. its not a fair thing to ask someone to do. but my friends, i would hope they might try to find a mutually agreeable solution if an issue came up. and my family too, i would hope that if it was obvious that a family member's behavior was hurting me, they might behave differently on their own, if only because they love me, and don't want to be hurting me.

but that, is not my brother.

and that is my truth to accept. and honestly, it makes me want to cry. it makes me feel so small, to not matter to him at all, or to matter so little. it makes me unbearably... its not even just "sad." sad is too short a word. too shallow. it doesn't do the feeling justice. maybe heartbroken. it makes me feel so broken and empty inside, like i'm a hollow person, a pretend person crafted of cardboard and paper. it makes me feel cold, and icy. it makes me feel empty, like a corpse on a slab, with all my insides taken away and discarded.

i can't stop thinking about this.

honestly, it makes brewing coffee seem like a very very difficult task.

so if someone can please stop this ride i seem to be on, i would appreciate it. i would really like to get off.

Skin

in case you're like me, no, this post is not about foreskin and how i feel about it in general. and believe me, i have some pretty well-developed and nuanced opinions on foreskin. we can have that discussion at some point. but not today.

i'm talking about all our skin. from our toes to our scalp. i'm recently fascinated with skin. and my recent fascination with skin, stems from my long-standing fascination with makeup.

background: i am really, really, really, really obsessive. not so much compulsive. just obsessive. like, not OCD, just OD. i get so wrapped up and worried about the planning of a project, that i inevitably reach a point where i become terrified of actually starting it, because i've built it up into such a nuanced and detailed machine, that i am convinced i will inevitably fail.

for a long time, upon receiving a sandwich, i would spend several minutes taking it apart and reassembling it in a manner i found more pleasing. my family continues to make fun of me for how long it takes me to prepare food. and it bugs the hell out of me. and they can eat shit and die.

obsessions can also be soothing. when the big messy world is simply too overwhelming, i can focus in on a single little detail and very easily tune everything else out. i could stare at birds, or bugs, or the birthmark on my hand for ages. sometimes, i look at catalogs of flower bulbs, and read the glowing prose about each variety of tulip or lily, and i look at each wonderfully composed picture. its all very, very soothing. or at the least, a defense mechanism; a way of kicking the complexities and worries of the world out, and creating order and simplicity within.

naturally, makeup is a perfect outlet for my obsessive tendencies as well. i love walking up and down aisles of carefully arranged bottles and sticks and compacts, all grouped by face area, by ingredient, by product line, by product type. and then, within each of those categories, all the various hues are assembled in ranks; pinks and plums and reds and oranges and browns and buffs and teals and taupes and greens. its very, very soothing.

its also very much a study in covetousness. because in real life, i actually never wear makeup. but i still feel like its always good practice to have a bottle or two of good foundations at my disposal, "just in case." and of course, with those, i need so eye-shadow, maybe a couple of liners. some lip gunk. etc. then there's nail polish, which comes down to a rothko-like study of color. i haven't painted my nails in at least two years, but i hang on to my two dozen bottles of polish, taking them out of their box at times to look at them, and marvel at the strength of their hues. its similar to how i view the buying of a scarf as a tribute to the art of the spinner of the wool, the weaver, and the assembler. its barely clothing, straddling as it does the line between functional item, and an exercise in fiber art. nail polish is even less functional, but in its retreat from purpose, it at the same time blossoms into an experiment in pure color.

now, i never have an occasion to wear makeup in real life. so sometimes, i just choose an evening during which i will apply everything that i have on hand, just to see what it all looks like. i immediately wash it off afterwards, several times. but its still important to give in to the compulsion.

except the last time i put on a foundation, it resulted in an odd effect.

it was a relatively lightweight neutrogena foundation, matched quite well to my skin tone. but after applying it evenly, i looked in the mirror, and all the color had been sucked from my face. i suppose it smoothed me out, made my face a blank canvas, which i suppose can be the purpose of foundation. but it was remarkable how cold and dead i suddenly looked and felt.

hence, my current fascination with skin.

never mind that our skin is our largest organ, weighing in at about six pounds. never mind that its a wonderfully dualistic creation, simple in its appearance, complex in its function as a border between the inside and the out. never mind that it serves as physical protection, sensory system, temperature regulator. skin is all these things, and by fulfilling its purpose, it is utterly beautiful.

it is beautiful in what it reveals and what it conceals. it is beautiful in its layers of transparency and opaqueness. just like a squid or cuttlefish, we change our colors, blush and flush, pale and turn ashen, glow, almost flouresce. our forests of tiny hairs spring forth from our pores, raise and lower according to the weather. our pores open to bring in air and release sweat. veins are revealed and concealed with each movement. fields of wrinkles surround our joints. our knuckles are like great canyons. our genitals like florid blossoms.

makeup, i think, does the world a great disservice. it takes all of this away from us. it trades in artistry and a facsimile of "perfection" for the millions of permutations that our bare skin can display. it robs us of our emotions, every one of which registers on, IN, our skin. makeup can only conceal. it can only convey one thing. our skin, can convey desire, envy, pain, sadness, joy, everything and anything we may be feeling. and at the exact same time, it shows where the knobs of our elbows sit. it reveals and then hides away the muscles of our forearms. it breaks out in gooseflesh when a cool breeze whips around the corner, and all our little hairs rise up; taut skin, soft down.

its comforting to know that if i'm exhausted, i can look in the mirror and get evidence to support the theory. the slick, shiny purple bags under my eyes, my sunken sockets and heavy-lidded eyes all say, "yes, you must sleep." its soothing to be able to look at my hands and recognize them as my own, to recognize my knotty joints and bony knuckles, the flushed expanses of muscle between my thumbs and pointer fingers, to see the same patches of miniscule hair, and the same moles in the same places.

and its comforting to know that my cheeks flush red, and my lips remain a ridiculous hue that varies between pink and rosy purple; they are so garish, my lips, that they are part of the reason i wear a beard. alone on my face, they would be too obvious, too much "... a piece of raw tuna laid across my face." (go read "Memoirs of a Geisha," IMMEDIATELY!)

i am in love with skin. my own, and yours. its vitality. its expressiveness. its two-fold nature; what it reveals, and what it conceals inside.

i am in love with skin, and secrets it keeps.

and the secrets it doesn't.

There's Something...

there's something about standing in front of a cash register and service person, i think, that leaves human beings unable to process simple information in a timely and intelligent manner.

case in point:

i am at my cash register. an asian lady walks in, and no, she does not have an indecipherable accent. i can understand everything she says. its not that kind of a story.

she reached me, and told me she wanted to buy a fifteen dollar gift-card. i directed her to the display of cards in front of me, and told her to pick whichever she liked, and i would put fifteen dollars on it, and she'd be set. oh if only things were that easy...

she picked a card, i put on fifteen dollars of store credit, and that's when she asked for an envelope.

"i'm very sorry ma'am, but we're out of envelopes. we had three kinds just a week or two ago, but we've run out completely."

my manager pops up from below the counter. (she was looking for something, she wasn't hiding there for dramatic effect. oh if only she had been... if only life really were a cabaret...)

"you can put the card in a cup, and then say, 'hey, i got you a drink!' then, they open the cup, and they get a gift-card."

i love my manager. she's a fucking riot. sadly, her suggestion is dismissed by the customer.

i pipe up.

"what we've been doing, is taping shut the bottom of a cup sleeve with a coffee sticker, and slipping the card in there. its really very nice."

no no. this will simply not do either.

"but you don't have any envelopes?"

"no, i'm sorry, but we don't have any envelopes."

this provokes a long and serious sigh. and then, four other permutations of the same exchange.

"you don't have envelopes?"

"no, we don't have envelopes."

"well, do you have anything else i could put the card in?"

you mean like the cup, or the sleeve, or like an envelope?

"no, i'm sorry, we can put the card in a sleeve for you, or a cup, but we don't have anything else."

"when will you have envelopes?"

my manager comes to the rescue.

"not until thursday at least, ma'am."

"but you don't have any now?"

at this point, i really, really want to say: its because you're asian, miss. i'm sorry. if you weren't asian, i'd be able to help you. we have a billion envelopes, actually, but since you're asian, i just can't give you one. sorry.

really, i wanted to say anything just to make her go away. a line is growing behind her, and she keeps asking me, if i have an envelope.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! I DON'T, HAVE, AN ENVELOPE! I'M SORRY! DO YOU WANT THE CARD, OR NOT!?

finally, she sinks into a silence punctuated by sighs. she looks at the card in the sleeve, she looks at me, she looks around the store, and she looks at the card.

"no, i think i'll buy the card somewhere else."

like somewhere where they have envelopes, i'll bet... i take the money off the card, and she leaves.

i still somehow do not understand the human animal. why do we do these things? what is wrong with us?

by the way, i've heard that lots of stores are currently out of envelopes for their gift cards. have a good drive, ma'am.

The Pleasure of Not Doing Business

i love time off from work. and it is rare these days, my friends. i had today off, though, and i have tomorrow off as well. i am pretty fucking stoked about that, i can tell you.

however, i'm tired, and a side effect of being all topsy-turvy due to work-related issues (and moderately productive on a day off even, thankyouverymuch) is that you don't have much time to blog. or at least, i don't have enough time or mental energy to patch the random events of my life into a coherent narrative. not that my coherent narratives are necessarily that coherent, but you know. i like them to sort of have a flow of some sort.

so i will be establishing a flow as best i can, at the moment, which means writing a list, basically. i like lists. i like lists a lot. they make it so that everything has a place it belongs, and everything is easily visible, and you can go along the list and check tasks off as you complete them, or insert rod a into slot b (hahahaha, i can quote family guy! i truly am just as intelligent as the vast majority of bloggers!), and just generally feel productive about your time.

and god knows but i love feeling productive. its like the greatest aphrodisiac in my life. i get wet when i smell three-ring binders, freshly cut paper, and professional binding machines.

i don't actually want to make a list right now, though. it would be a good way to sift through a lot of information that i've been storing up for when i actually have time to make blog entries about it. i could quickly give you an update on all things josh stone. but it seems cheap. and it seems like a really good way to sell myself short. and i don't want to flirt with either of those. so i think i'll just ramble for a bit, and see where we get.

i've been talking to someone online. its getting to that point where i can't actually tell if i like them or not. apparently, this is a problem that afflicts many INFJs. its amazing. i can talk to someone for ages, and not be sure how i feel about them. then, when i figure out i hate them, a tremendous weight is lifted off me. and when i find out i'm in love with them, its like i've been hit in the face with a frying pan. well, mostly, my current situation has led me to the following conclusions.

any way you slice it, twenty years old is young. its really young. and no matter how mature someone seems, or how grown up they sound, every time you talk, they are going to say something that makes you take a step back and look them up and down while you mutter, "my god, you really are twenty, and that is an amazing thing."

i've also realized, or allowed myself to actually pay attention to, a few facts: a) i graduated from one of the top ten or fifteen universities in the nation. THE NATION. i got in, i went, i learned a shitload, and i graduated. i am smart. b) i applied to three competitive graduate schools in my state, and i got, in, to each, one. all three. accepted. austin was always my first choice, but i had my pick of all three schools that i applied to. i am some kind of smart. i am good. i am smart. i work hard. i succeed. i do not fail. i made a choice to not continue with my graduate schooling, but i did not fail. i succeeded. by all accounts.

i don't read enough. i miss reading. and i miss reading academic texts. i miss reading critical articles about literature and race and class and sexuality. i miss theoretical writing. i miss feeling strong, and smart. the strong, i need to attack from a few new directions, but the smart, i'm feeling a little more, recently. its a good thing to feel.

also, its really hard to blog when you're listening to goldfrapp.

they kind of demand your attention.

and i'm sort of willing to give them my attention. and its a nice change, right now, to feel able to give my attention to something, without having to feel like i'm avoiding something.