Hate: A Strong Word

So, last night, I posted about how I hate living here, yadda yadda. I decided to delete most of that, just because it was a bit too offensive. Basically, I didn't get to sleep until well beyond 4AM last night, because of people being inconsiderate. That's all. I would have ideally liked to go to bed when I was ready to go to bed, so that I could have been more focused on my midterms this morning, but hey--it's just not my style to tell someone and his friends to not be loud at 3:30 on a school night. *sigh*

I really wouldn't mind living on my own next semester, but that probably won't happen, thanks to financial constraints.

Talk of pastries

I am frantically trying to write this English paper that's due tomorrow, with, so far, no success. I know what I want to write, but the words just won't come to me.

Last night, I saw Theo for the second time since February 1. He insisted that I Blog about it first, without actually putting it into those words. So, I'll comply. We had dinner at a Tapas restaurant in Evanston, and upon missing our movie, we went to Cafe Express on Dempster (?). There, we chatted (much like we did at the restaturant, of course), and played Scrabble--a first for Theo. Not surprisingly, we talked a lot about the thing that used to be "us," and aside from about 20 minutes of small talk at the restaurant ("How's school? How's your family? How's your job? How's your sig. other?"), that's basically all we discussed. We both acknowledged that being friends immediately after breaking up may not be healthy, but that we're doing things our own way. I want to have my cake and eat it too--I no longer want to be tied down to Theo, but at the same time I want him in my life in some capacity. And yes, I do realize the selfishness in that.

Tuesday I had to go with my roomie Shannon (Drunk Shannon, for those of you who began reading this months ago) to her psychology class. She was giving a presentation about families dealing with homosexuality. I talked about coming out to my parents, how I felt about the social stigmas homosexuals are subject to, and so on. According to D. Shannon, I "saved [her] ass."

Tonight, class/writing this paper/studying for my midterms some more.

Celebrity

Perhaps I should've stayed at Mizzou after all...an article Erin wrote for the Maneater, the University of Missouri-Columbia's student-run newspaper, is on the New York Times' website.

Fucking Ebola virus. Ick.

Je deteste ma vie

Whene'er I get ill physically, I also get ill mentally. I just become very withdrawn and introspective and sensitive and ultimately, depressed. So, here are my uncensored thoughts, in a conveniently-numbered list.

1. I haven't spoken to my "best friend" in days and days, and yet I'm supposed to visit her at the tail end of the week. Something about THAT bothers me. I understand that people get busy--I too, believe it or not, get bogged down with elements ouside of my realm of control. But a simple phone call or response to a silly IM once in awhile seems appropos.

2. I haven't spoken to my boyfriend in days and days, and that also has gotten me down. It really shouldn't, though, because our relationship is in the fetus stage still. When I get sick, i subconsciously expect everyone to be there for me, and of course, that can't be the case. I need more attention than I've been given, perhaps. It just makes it hard when considering I've spoken less to him lately than...

3. ...Theo, my former. Seeing his PNO Profile today really put things into perspective, even though I was already mostly comfortable with our breakup. I don't know. It's just a strange situation, that's all. We're going to see "The Pianist" on Wednesday in Evanston.

4. I have no friends. I have always had trouble making friends, but I feel like things should be different now that I'm in the perfect medium for making friends--i liberal campus surrounded by a liberal city. Oh well.

I WOULD go to sleep, but I know that if I go to sleep now I'll wake up at 4AM and not be able to fall asleep again. So, i'll just stick it out.

Blech

I spent half of last night waiting to throw up, and after I succeeded in vomiting profusely, I spent the other half trying unsuccessfully getting to sleep. I'm really not feeling well. Hopefully this will all be over by tomorrow morning.

"The Sound of Music" wasn't great. Not at all. It was the longest musical I've ever had to sit through uncomfortably (Jacobs' auditorium is a collection of the most uncomfortable seats I've ever had to sit on). Three hours--a bit extreme, especially for a show whose greatest part consisted of a chorus of nuns that was not present for most of the show.

Sharp pains...must go to bed.

Sarcasm

Boy, am I glad I came home this weekend.

Restless

I decided tonight that, in the event of a grandparent's death while I'm in college (not that I'd lake that to happen), I'm going to move to London and live there for a year or two. I'd spend my inheritance on a tiny, inexpensive flat somewhere, and attend a shabby community college, while working at a restaurant or in retail. While I was riding the L home from visiting Tripp, who's ill right now (poor guy), I wished more than anything to abandon Chicago altogether and move to London. I felt life and energy eminating from its squat, old buildings, from its lackadaisical streets, from its beautiful, waspy, odiferous people, from its winding, expansive mass transportation system (hence the thought coming to me while riding the L). I sometimes wish I hadn't gone to Europe so soon in my life--I now long for that sense of freedom, that sense of exploration, that sense of newness and discovery every day.

And that speaks very poorly on behalf of my character. Ever since I moved to West Dundee six years ago, I've had the urge to move about and never stay in the same environment for too terribly long. Whenever I have a problem, I immediately assume that if I changed my location, it would fix itself. I longed daily to transfer schools while in high school. When Mizzou wasn't satisfactory, what did I do? Transfer to Loyola. It's a pattern. Hell, if I continue in this trend, I'll attend eight schools throughout my collegiate career.

It disgusts me to say it, but day by day, Chicago's novelty wears off, flake by flake. A homeless person asking for money is nothing more than that--while before I thought it was a beautiful facet of Chicago's multi-class society, I now just see it as a commonplace reality. The CTA just pisses me off now; my university does have its flaws; my apartment situation, while ideal in nature, has lost its glossy sheen.

Hell--in retrospect, I'd probably get tired of London's weather and population density after a month.

I've always wanted my social situations to remain constant, like friendships and romantic relationships. But I've always wanted to experience them in new mediums, new environments. Aye, a restless spirit is what I have.

Pinot Groggio

I woke up at 5:45 this morning, because I was thirsty. So, like any good neanderthal, I slurped a few litres of water out of my sink tap. I then woke up again at 7:30, due again to thirst. I decided to actually fetch a GLASS of water from the kitchen. In my absence, the cat overtook my room, wreaking havoc on my headphones and, I think, everything on my desk shelf. So, I decided to abort the original mission (sleep) and just get ready for the day.

I was horribly offended during choir today. Saul, a queer fellow who I befriended at the beginning of the semester, and have subsequently been hit upon at any given moment, decided to "insult" me in front of a large group of people by calling me "gay man." That may have been the most awkward moment I've experienced in awhile...well, since I forgot my roommate's boyfriend's name right in front of him. I know that I'm gay, and while I don't mind the ten people in the vicinity of my beratement knowing that I'm gay, I thought that his comment was ostentatiously rude and uncalled-for. My level of respect for Saul (which stooped to new lows every time he tried to touch me//introduce the idea of he and I becoming an item) has plummeted to an ungodly level.

Tripp graced me with his presence this evening--we had dinner and watched "My Big Fat Greek Wedding." I don't like spending profuse amounts of time away from my significant other--he's going to the Sleater-Kinney concert this weekend in Champaign--but that's just something I'll have to get used to. I never really realized how acerbic my humour can be sometimes--oh, no, I did actually. When people tell me that all the time. Nevermind. I suppose that's something I'll have to control, especially when dating supersensitive men.

I have trust issues with most people, but actors in particular. I'm too cynical to believe that everything they say is sincere--knowing full well that I, an actor at one point in my life, frequently am insincere. I like double-standards, like, for example, how I should be allowed to say things that aren't true, but no one else is. I just want to get to the essence of Tripp--and no, not in that way. I feel like, while I know a lot of facts about his life ("our pasts and presents"), I really don't know if I know him as a person just yet. I suppose only time will tell.

My playlist, as of late:
1. Clair de Lune
2. Vespertine, Bjork
3. Erik Satie--the best piano composer ever
4. From Detroit to St. Germain, St. Germain
5. Erin's V-Day gift
6. Mulholland Drive score

Nothing too exciting//nouveau.

Sigh

Let's all take a brief moment and recognize the sheer honesty that is expunged thanks to copious amounts of alcohol. My posts are always (when they are able to be followed/read) much more "from the heart" than my usual ramblings because while I know that this is MY journal, and that I should only be writing for myself, I also have to recognize the fifty other people that read this superfluous drivel every day, and self-censor my thoughts. 'Tis a shame, but that is why I have other journals in which I unleash the REAL nitty-gritty.

It doesn't look like I'm going to be able to see "Rent" in Columbia, MO next week. My plan was to leave Thursday morning, after taking all of my mid-terms early (my spring break, as uncanny as it seems, begins the first day of March). But, since my cultural anthropology professor is "too busy" to allow me to take the exam in advance, I'm not going to be able to see the show and will instead drive down to the Land of the Lost on Friday.

Are any of you familiar with "Lemmings," a semi-popular computer game that was introduced at least 8 years ago? Well, I was enthralled with the simple game as a youngster, and now that I've recently downloaded it, I spend much too much time playing it. If any of you know what game I'm talking about, you'll be nodding your head in understanding right now.

Choir, then another choir, then dinner with Tripp.

Untitled

I cannot think of a title for the life of me. I've drank about (looks at bottle perched on his computer) 4/5 of a bottle of wine this evening, and am a bit tired. Bear with me--this will be brief.

How accurate are instincts? Should we follow them always? I suppose this just makes me think of Plato and his notion of the soul--how Reason controls Emotion and The Passions. But when does one determine when his emotions and desires are unreasonable? I just don't know. There's so much uncertainty in life, and while I told Theo last night that I like being free and not having commitments and boundaries in my life, I think about it right now, and perhaps I do like having constants in my life. Like my relationship with Tripp, for example. That is something that could not at all be called a constant--I never have any idea what's going on, in my mind and CERTAINLY not in his. Perhaps that's just how I deal with relationships (with Theo too)--worry and sweat and lose (some) sleep over not having a guarantee, a guarantee that things will always be the way I would like them to be. I'm just a very controlling person, I think--I must dominate every situation. I've ruined my sister's life by dictating, essentially, what she should think about everything; I NEVER work well in group projects; sometimes I think about the things I do around the apartment and wonder if I do them just so I have some subconscious level of dominance over my roommates. So strange, I am.

I'm digressing.

And another thing that, for some reason, I've been thinking about all day--why are Chris Jensen and I no longer friends, let alone acquaintances? We simply stopped corresponding with each other. So strange. I certainly hope I haven't offended.

Which is what I think I did to Jesse. I think he's really angry with me for some reason. Every one of our conversations, of late, ends in a huff on one of our parts. I don't understand.

Going outside//going to bed.

Relief

I wish I hadn't read Theo's journal before posting, because then I may have had a few pieces of original thought to share here. He essentially stared everything that I had to say. Theo and I had an hour-and-a-half conversation about close to everything--our past relationship, our new friendship, our current relationships with other people. We talked about things that were never brought up during the 1.2-year course of our relationship that would have explained so much. My elation is overflowing; I actually sat down at the piano and played for a bit tonight after our conversation. I'm very very optimistic about what my newfound friendship with Theo could behold.

My day even before that was fairly good. I received an A on my first Philosophy paper, and while at first, my professor's copious comments were almost insulting, I reread them on the bus and could tell that she found great depth in my piece. Stimulating discussions ensued in both my Philo. and English classes. I was mildly offended by my English prof.'s comments on date rape--he essentially took the chauvanistic male approach and decided to regale us with theoretical anecdotes about girls who decide the morning after they say "yes" to press sexual assault charges against their suitors. I was really shocked that he said what he said, and am curious if he's going to get away with his agressive commentary, with Loyola's obvious stance against sexual violence.

Tripp and I had another Monday session--lunch (this time with Sarah, Tripp's friend who I adore almost as much as Tripp himself) and a nap. As always, a treat.

Good dinner again tonight--cooking can be such a treat. Oh, last night--about the only good thing that happened yesterday was this: I cleaned off/out an old wine bottle, put a fresh branch of rosemary in it, as well as a few garlic cloves, and filled the bottle up with some extra virgin olive oil. I'm Martha Stewart, everybody. Good Christ.

Pictures will have to wait--I'm experiencing technical difficulties with my D: drive. The "D" standing for Durr.

The Hellmouth Opens

But, I'm not allowed to discuss these things, because we made a house pact, of sorts, to not discuss each other behind our backs. (Could write SO much here but won't.)

This was one of the worst days I've had in 2003 so far.

First, I met Theo in Shag Park to give him back his air mattress. I abhor the situation we're in right now. I yearn so much to be his friend, but know that I cannot. And that really bothers me. I acknowledge that I've done this to myself, to us, but I'm still really upset about it. I just want everything to be the same as before, but as deeply close confidantes. And while the cynical part of me wants to believe that he's abstaining from renewing some connection with me just to hurt me, the realistic part of me knows that I've broken this one-of-a-kind art piece, and it'll never be recreated, not even by the artists themselves.

Then, I drove home, in anticipation of a pleasant, relaxed afternoon with my family. But, oh, no. Instead, we spent 10 minutes eating cake and opening presents, while the remaining four hours involved me receiving lecture after lecture about how we have no money, and how I need to get beaucoup de scholarships, and how I'm irresponsible. My mother and father literally made a list of all the things they needed to lecture me about. I was offended beyond belief, and then moreso when my father insisted I fix everything on the computer that he destroyed. I looked through my Theo bag, we dined, we drove me back to Chicago. I thought my worries were over.

But no.

I then had to deal with a hellacious witch-hunt in my living room. La la la.

I am 42 minutes past my bedtime. Must sleep off the day. More pictures will come tomorrow.

St. Valentine's Day

My mother lost her 26-year-old job this week. Provena St. Joseph Hospital had been making drastic cuts in all of its departments over the past several years, due to a decrease in funds, but as the head of the hospital's largest off-site hematology laboratory, we hoped that her position would not be affected by these changes in her long-withstanding occupation. On Tuesday, she received notice, along with her conpatriates in her lab, as well as three others in the greater Fox Valley area, that all off-site enterprises would be no more.

She's handling it surprisingly well--my mother has experienced relatively few shanges in her job for so long, and as she put it, "[her] job became so much a part of [her.]" She has already received an offer of equal (if not higher) prominence at Lutheran General Hospital in Park Ridge, but is put off by the hour-long commute.

I'm rather concerned, myself--she explicitly stated that my collegiate future is in jeopardy, and if adequate financial offerings are not made by Loyola, I may need to switch schools for the fall semester and beyond. Things just aren't going well for us.

My bed is only half asleep--I must go make it whole.

Weblogs Wanted.

I encourage all of you who cannot read an entry in my journal without fidgeting to go to the above link. I've submitted my Blog to a person (man? woman? robot?) who runs a website that essentially just snips random sentences from online journals and pastes them together to form a surprisingly pseudo-linear entry. Go there and see for yourself. (Thank you Cyndi)

Tuesdays and Thursdays are generally droll days. I have one class on Thursdays, and that's about it. I moved my car, took a 30-minute shower, ate the leftover mousakka, and went to class.

I'm so uninspired right now--perhaps it's a result of writing pages and pages in my Moleskine on various bus trips I had today.

Isn't it odd how we, as humans, inherit the role established by our most recent exes when in subsequent relationships? Sometimes, with Tripp, I feel the way I imagine Theo felt at he beginning of our relationship. And I can see that Tripp has feelings (very) similar to my own when I began to date Theo. It's one of those inherent traits humans posess, I think, so that we can see what we didn't like about situations we were in, how other people feel about us, and ultimately, so that we make less mistakes in succeeding relationships. It's a really good thing to have.

Isn't it amusing that, even though we've all but dismissed each other from our lives, Theo still knows how to dig the toe of his Prada shoe into my side? He must be very proud, to have such limitless power.

DWB

I hope you all have that one special relative that you look up to, admire, and otherwise love spending hours with. I do--it's my Aunt Jennifer. I've described her here before--she's a fortysomething single woman who lives in Evanston. She's cute, in my opinion, and knows something about everything interesting. I've learned so much from her, and tonight I had the great fortune of dining with her.

She called me and asked if I'd like to come over for a "small meal." Of course, having no other plans, I agreed. When I, and most other people think of a small meal, we think sandwiches, maybe some sort of simple pasta dish. No, no...my aunt bakes bread, the most delicious moussakka, garlic potatoes, a bountiful plate of apertifs, wine, and some French chocolate and a beautiful fruit caketart thing. I was bowled over. So, I'm spendingtime with a truly inspirational woman, plus I'm eating the best meal I've had in months, plus, as I was leaving, she gives me most of the leftover food, and FOUR BAGS of random kitchen supplies and cookbooks. I love her more than words could possibly recognize.

(DWB = Driving While Buzzed...I had a few glasses of wine and drove. Not good. I controlled myself, though.)

I took a nap with Tripp this afternoon. It was, to no one's surprise, quite pleasant.

After my Trippafternoon, I waited for 20 minutes for my bus. It never came, in the grand tradition of Chicago Public Transportation. So, I decided to just take the L and hike the three or four blocks to my apartment. As I'm waiting on the platform, the wind bashing me left and right, up walks Jesus Christ. No, not the Son of God--the Jesus Christ of Loyola, Joe Carlin. I hardly recognized him for some reason, but then we both stared each other down for a few minutes and started talking. We chatted--him loudly, me more subdued--for the duration of my L trip. It was strange just talking to him, but even stranger when, as I deboarded my train, I realized that I don't have anyone to tell this story to. Sad.

Tuesday, Tuesday

Today was such a nice day, for a Chicago winter, until about 5:00 when all meteorological hell broke loose and snow was soaring through the air at the insistance of the lovely 50 MPH winds. I was cold throughout the day, however, even when the sun was shining and the wind was not bludgeoning the Chicago skyline to death, because I didn't have a single pair of clean underwear to sport. So, freeballing became the game of choice today.

I have spent three of the past four nights with a sleeping companion. How bizarre is that, for me, if you know me well enough. Fortunately, those nights were all shared with the same (great) person, so I don't feel too terribly icky.

Theo and I had been conversing for the past week or so--nothing too deep, just "how are you?" sorts of things. I will admit, at first it did make me uncomfortble, because after all, we now exist without the warm blanket of a relationship to caress our conversation. But, I assumed that everything was alright. Today, after not really communicating with him for a few days, I IMd him, just to make sure everything was alright. We treaded through the waters of awkwardness, and I left to go prepare some food for dinner. I returned, only to receive a long IM from him, stating that he and I could no longer converse. I fear that Theo and I will never have a friendship--and I realize that the "I'd like to be your friend" is a literary kick in the junk, but I sincerely mean it. And now, I'm sad about the possibility that Theo's presence in my life has really come to an end.

I spent the better part of my day (after buying my scarf AGAIN, after a Wendy's employee took mine, and a fun poster in Evanston) trying to construct a photo album, of sorts, to show some pictures of a roll that I just had developed. Shannon's scanner is broken for some reason, and that's why there are mysterious purple stripes across the majority of the photos. Enjoy.

Pictures of a day in the life.

The Rediculously Immature Life of my Apartment

I'm tired, and so I'm going to elaborate on the more frustrating aspect of living here: my passive-aggressive roommates. I am partially guilty of the same sin, but not nearly to the extent of my fellow Cornelians. When one person has a problem with another, he or she generally complains about it with everyone but the person he/she has a problem with. This usually involves the petitioning roommate gathering the remaining three roommates in a room and complaining to them about the fifth roommate. Then, the angered roommate carries on with the offending roommate as if nothing is wrong. Everyone has at least three qualms about each roommate. But, we rediculously carry on with our Mary Sunshine lives while with that person, often giving an offensive glare to the hated roommate behind his/her back. It's quite rediculous. We're all semi-intelligent adults, and yet we still resort to these childish outlets of frustration. Basically, none of us posess the cojones to stick up for himself/herself, so nothing will ever change. I sometimes hate it here.

(In response to Tracy, Shannon, Nick and Lauren complaining about one of my few habits just within earshot)

Good Weekend

So, aside from the fact that I am psychologically broken in ways that very few know about, and that aspect of my personal life came out (but not really) several times, most in-opportunely, this weekend, I really enjoyed my birthday weekend.

The "surprise party" I was supposed to receive was a bust. I was embarassed/mildly pissed. But, Lauren made me a beautiful birthday cake and a soft, fun blanket, so that was pleasing. Nick gave me a gift certificate, and ERIN, my love, gave us tickets to see "Tick...Tick...BOOM!" at the Shubert this spring and dinner at Soul Kitchen. I really love her, and was most disappointed that she really had to go to NYC this weekend. [Her stepmother breeds Boston Terriers and Standard Poodles (caps?), and one of them was selected to compete for the Westminster Cup in New York City this weekend. So, of course, like anyone would, Erin went to the Big Apple with them.]

Tripp and I spent most of the weekend together. I sincerely enjoy his company--he's just very friendly and interesting and energetic. I like it.

I have my first paper to write for English 106 today--I really should take a nap before starting that.

Oh--and it's recently been announced, by one of Tripp's friends after reading my journal, that I have a "mean semicolon." I'm quite flattered.

Another year, another day

I've been anticipating the arrival of my birthday for some time now, and while the first hour or two of the day were pleasant, the rest of the day just slipped into the category of "Ordinary Day." Woke up around 1:30, ate, swept my porch (when I refer to my "porch," really I just mean the expanded stairwell outside of the kitchen. Nothing special.). Typical things. I took a shower around 5:00PM, and upon stepping out of my shower, which already has its own infirmities, I placed my foot in a quickly-growing puddle of water. A circlar piece of metal, which is screwed to my floor, was pouring copious amounts of water all over my tiny bathroom. It must be connected to my shower, because this past week, when I've started the shower water, a slow gurgle of water, no more than a cup, has seeped from the screwhole and edges. But today...it was rushing like a spring in the ground. Brahnco, the super, is supposed to fix it tomorrow.

I went shopping, bought three fun shirts on sale, and ate a surprisingly filling meal at Zoom. usually, I take the 151 bus downtown, and I did. But, on my return trip, I threw chance to the wind in a very "N25 in London" sort of way (Questions? Refer to first entry in A Summer in Europe) and took the 146 bus I was home, from 900 N. Michigan to 525 W. Cornelia, in about 5 minutes. I was uber-pleased.

While I was on the porch, for various reasons, I had a conversation with one of my neighbours. He's lived in he building for three years, and he told me an interesting story about how last summer, there was a bomb scare at Temple Shalom (the synagogue next to my apt.) and a swarm of police came and evacuated all the neighbouring buildings. Excitement!

That's all for now. Cute "Will and Grace" tonight.

It's my birfday...

I feel guilty stealing that from JC. Oh well.

It's my birthday. Well, as of 10:30AM--my mother had a caesarian, so she plan out the process of giving birth to me, something that generally involves a lot of rushing around the house and racing at top speeds down othewise-tranquil residential streets. Which must have been convenient for her--none of that 4:42AM bullshit that a lot of bitchy fetuses pull. I can see my mother now--waking up around 8, having a cup of coffee, perhaps a breakfast pastry of some sort that my father so lovingly purchased for her. Reading "Life" or some other relaxing magazine. Having my father drive her, effortlessly, at a reasonable speed, to Lutheran General Hospital in Park Ridge. She had the doctors play Handel's "Water Music" while I was ripped from the warm gelatinous shelter that was her womb.

Okay, I've crossed the line.

Last night, for the first time in 18 (19?) years, I literally did not sleep at all last night. Initially, I went to bed around midnight, to get my quota of nine hours of sleep. But, as the hours rolled on, I just couldn't fall asleep. I tried everything--eating, drinking water, masturbating, ****ing, thinking about songs I'd learned as an elementary school student (a tip from my beloved mother), changing the temperature of my heated blanket--everything. I just watched the minute hand on my alarm clock swing around, around, and around. Eventually, the big hand hit the "twelve," and the little hand caressed the "nine," and my computer began to play "La valse d'Amelie," and I knew it was time for me not to wake up, but just get out of bed, as if I were a vampire emerging from his coffin. (Except in daylight.) I'm not sure why my heart was beating so fast, and so many thoughts were freighting through my head. So, I had a long day.

And now, on to what some of you were adamently sifting through my superfluous thoughts for: a summary of my date.

I feel incredibly guilty, because I must honestly say that I've never been on a better first date before. I met Tripp in his residence hall's lobby, and after he dropped off my copy of Monsoon Wedding in his room, we left. (I wish I could be more verbose about all of this, but I am REALLY tired.) After taking the L up to Evanston, I bought some more incense at Cost Plus, to kill time before our movie. We then saw Chicago, for my fourth time and his first. I still enjoyed it, strangely enough. There are some movies (Amelie) that I can see over and over again, and it doesn't lose any of its novelty value for me. After the film, we shiveringly strolled Evanston to find some Thai place one of his friends recommended to him. After that brief adventure, which involved nto finding the restaurant, we retreated to Clark's on Belmont. And it was there that we spent two hours conversing about the most grittily honest things. I think the key to our date was the level of honesty that we each came into it with. We discussed so many things--family, relationships, politics, music, friends. It was just so relieving to find that I could come into this with no secrets, no quirks that are discovered in only the most awkward ways. I made every attempt to avoid talking about Theo (failing at points), because I didn't want to be unfair to Tripp. Theo was perched not in the back of, but not in the front of my mind. I suppose that's to be expected.

As I reflect on the evening I've just enjoyed, I become even more wracked with guilt. If I didn't enjoy myself tonight, things would have been so much easier to deal with--I would've just classified it in the "Bad Dates" folder of my mind and moved on. But, instead, I'm presented with the guilt caused by my happiness. I just feel so...Catholic right now.

I just want everyone/Theo to be content in life.

Irony

So, as Theo prepares for his first post-Brownshirt date, I will be doing the same. I've consulted with many of my friends about the timeliness of this date, and gotten mixed responses. I decided then to throw caution to the winds of my mending state and take the chance. After all, when one is attracted to someone else, if one has nothing to lose, why shouldn't one act on his emotions?

(Note: While Theo, I suspect, thinks that it was this gentleman who served as the catalyst of the end of our relationship, it is really nothing of the sort. I did not even meet the soon-to-be described fellow until after my much-analyzed decision was made.)

His name is Tripp. While initially, I just thought it was a "fun" nickname he contrived for himself, I later came to learn that it does bear some significance; he's a "III," as in, his father and grandfather share his name. So, third, three, triple...you see the train of thought. He's a freshman at Loyola, hailing from the grand city of Atlanta, Georgia (And you thought after Mizzou, I'd be avoiding the South at all costs...). He's studying theater, and is in Loyola's production of "Chicago," a show I would have shed my right foot to be in (I didn't find out about auditions until after the fact). We share similar music and film tastes, and I'm trying to turn him onto David Sedaris and Ani DiFranco. He seems to epitomize the term "granola," without the general pretension that accompanies the title. He's just very down-to-earth. He has a mushroom cloud of curly dark hair on his head that even the great Mario Tricoci couldn't tame. But, I like it.

It's just strange, because now that Theo and I have parted, I feel like everything I do, everything I enjoy, from the music I like to the food I eat to the books I read to my decorating styles, I do so because of him. The only thing he excelled in above being a wonderful mentor was in being a wonderful companion and lover. I owe so, so much to him. In the beginning of our relationship when I ritualistically suspected that he didn't enjoy my company and was going to break up with me, I always told Erin, "At least it was one of the best learning experiences of my life--at least I've gained so much from him." His by-line belongs under much of my character traits and interests. I shudder when I think of what I could be like today, had we not spent our great time together.

What would you think of me now
So lucky? So strong? So proud?
I never did thank you for that
Now I'll never have the chance.
Jimmy Eat World, "Hear You Me"

Exerpts

From one of my many paper journals:

"I feel like someone has died. My friends, in my opinion, almost treated my relationship with Theo as its own person. They send me wishes of a speedy recovery, offer their condolences. And truly, it was that--we had a child together; our relationship was very alive and human. It had emotions, reason, temperance--and truly, it existed outside of us. We tookit everywhere we went together--it separated us from everyone else, like this glowing being that people recognized, and justas soon as it was acknowledged, the public sent it out of their minds. We took it everywhere with us, and when we were seperated, we had this child with us when we thought of each other."

"My ring just doesn't feel right on the opposing hand. Ironically, the right hand...right, being correct and proper. As if all of this was the only proper thing to have happened."

So, it's really over. I've cut my physical grieving in half every day since Saturday, and now I'm down to one tear session a day. The crying is not as violent as it once was, either--no writhing in my bed, no strugging to control my grief on the back stairs. I've gotten much more comfortable with my newfound singlehood. Singledom. Whatever.

Enough of that.

Today, I went a'shopping. Some Ragstock action--today was the first time I found clothes that I suspected might fit me. Since my parents are taking their long-held-captive credit card back this weekend, I decided to stock up on books for the semester. I'll talk about each of them as I read them. On the bus ride home, I started Jhumpa Lahiri's Interpreter of Maladies. A Pulitzer prize-winning book, it is a collection of fictional essays, all dealing with "characters seeking love beyond the barriers of nations and generations" (i.e., India and the US).

I'll post more once I return from the laundry room--I just realized I've had clothes down there since early this afternoon.

An Obituary

Theodore D. K. and Brian J. S.
Theodore D. K., 19 years of age, cherished son of all things liberal, independent and posessing inner beauty, and Brian J. S., of 18 years, fond offspring of a conservative environment comprised of delicate love, ignorant hate, and lots of theater, ended their fifteen-month relationship late this evening. Due to superfluous amounts of salty tears in his eyes, the coroner could not determine the exact time of death. Their partnership coupled K.'s endless knowledge of all things wonderful and S.'s limitless curiosity and love. Survivors include such phrases as "'Lil Louis" and "I'm full of love," a passion for NPR, The Green Chair, and an endless batch of memories dear and sacred. Funeral services will be held continuously, until S.'s box of facial tissues runs empty. In lieu of flowers, superfluous amounts of alcohol, filtered cigarettes, and boxes of facial tissues (with lotion) may be sent to S.'s apartment until further notice. Cash donations are also accepted with open arms.

On with the show

Empty spaces - what are we living for
Abandoned places - I guess we know the score
On and on, does anybody know what we are looking for...
Another hero, another mindless crime
Behind the curtain, in the pantomime
Hold the line, does anybody want to take it anymore
The show must go on,
The show must go on
Inside my heart is breaking
My make-up may be flaking
But my smile still stays on.
Whatever happens, I'll leave it all to chance
Another heartache, another failed romance
On and on, does anybody know what we are living for?
I guess I'm learning, I must be warmer now
I'll soon be turning, round the corner now
Outside the dawn is breaking
But inside in the dark I'm aching to be free
The show must go on
The show must go on
Inside my heart is breaking
My make-up may be flaking
But my smile still stays on
My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies
Fairytales of yesterday will grow but never die
I can fly - my friends
The show must go on
The show must go on
I'll face it with a grin
I'm never giving in
On - with the show -
I'll top the bill, I'll overkill
I have to find the will to carry on
On with the -
On with the show -
The show must go on...
Queen, "The Show Must Go On"

Deep Dish

Suddenly, the wind and chill doesn't seem so constricting. I had an evening that could make most other evenings turn shades of red out of embarassment. I've never felt so...liberated, alive, content. Several things in particular, things I dare not expound upon, made the dark din of early morning squint its eyes at their inherently strong glow.