everything except himself

There’s an oil smudge that runs along my arm. Both my hands have tiny cuts, and my left has a bruised knuckle. I have the craziest hair you’ve ever seen and another weekend of these oddly addictive memories. This weekend’s theme is “wounded pride and reminiscence.”

To start off with, this one girl I used to date just kind of stared at me for a bit. “i jus hvnt seen u n a wile its not ur hair,” she says. I just kind of laugh. This is the girl who, regardless of whether I’m there or not, introduces herself, even if there is only a remote chance that the person knows me, as the “one who dated Scott; he was my boyfriend.” This I doubt I will ever understand. I wasn’t the one who broke the relationship off in the first place. She’s changed in the 3 years since we were together. I can’t say it’s bad, and I’m not just getting used to her antics; she’s really changing from a girl who liked to cheat (like on tests and schoolwork and stuff) a lot, among other things, to someone who is kind of responsible.

Second, there’s this girl who I like to hang out with at work. She’s the type that needs constant approval, so I dubbed her the “Sexy Mexy” for making nachos. She’s taken that name to heart, to say the least. I’m her favorite “caucasian,” (over-emphasize the first syllable) though. Her friend was asking me, though, “What kind of game do you have?” “Me? I’ve got awful game.” “Liar! So-and-so [someone I’ve dated] is awesome.” Heh, okay, so shortly thereafter, another girl who probably wishes she were an ex of mine came up to see me. Someone had just chucked a piece of ice at me, though. “That’s right! People should always be throwing stuff at him!” says the wannabe-ex. Yikes! I look jokingly at the game question girl, “See what my game gets me?”

Lastly, and this is the kicker for the weekend, there’s the girl I most recently dated. I really let myself open up to her, but that was really such a huge mistake. Why is that a huge mistake? Quite simply, she didn’t care, which leads me to what has thrown me for a loop. I’ve become a master at picking out the “Aw, I just wanna reminisce about you” tone, and there it was, “Hey, how did you start working here? I never found that out, did I?” (That last part wasn’t really a question, and the two of us did meet through work.) “Just a summer job. Does it really matter? Stuck here now, anyway…” And then her voice changes to that unmistakeable tone, “I just wanted to know.” And it trails off as if there’s something that I’m supposed to find at the end of the sentence, but all I find is confusion. Why, of all people, would you want to reminisce about me, the guy you ditched and have had 3 boyfriends one right after another since? Mind you it really hadn’t been that long, and its not jealousy speaking but rather my own confusion about the whole situation. I just don’t understand why at all. These are the things I resolve myself to just get past and ignore. It’s kind of a common occurence, though. Maybe ignorance is bliss? I guess I’d secretly like to know, though.

Woke up this morning thinking of someone I hadn’t expected I’d find myself thinking about. Feelings just kind of hit me sometimes. I guess, in absence, I realized that I missed talking to her. Though there’s really no point in telling her how I feel now. It would be the equivalent of saying, “I’m confused.” Let’s face it: who wants to hear that? But such feelings dull the edge of whatever keeps you back about a person. That’s really very undeniable. For whatever reason, I feel this way.

Drove down to Columbus to pick up a friend from school. Got lost on the way back. Apparently the Camp Creek exit off the freeway is an unlighted, unmarked turn off. So, off we go into Atlanta… until I realize that my gas gauge is hugging “E”! It’s an old car, though. It probably is just wrong… Nope! Every last street I turned onto in Atlanta didn’t have a gas station, though, or the station wasn’t open. At this point, I’m thinking: “…” Off into the “bad” part of town we go, only to wind up, oddly enough, outside of town at Little 5 Points! A place I know, yes!

Long story short, refilled at the station and made it where we were going. Played DDR like it was going out of style… then drove home circa 1am. Called out of work today. Winter Break, I love you.

This time last year I’d be packing up everything to come home. Yes, that’s right; SPSU doesn’t let you stay on campus over the holidays if you’re in one of the dorms. Totally lame. Winter break’s started for me already. This list of people who I’m supposed to hang out with over the holiday has grown, too, though. It’s just gonna be tough to fit all of it in, but it’s cool, I guess. I’m glad, to say the least, that school’s out for a bit. Living at home is a double-edged sword, but I’m kind of EMO so it works for me. (PSA — That was a joke.) Anyhow, I’ve got a lot of stuff to do today.

There’s no way you’d understand. If it were dancing, it’s the point where you crash into the floor. As you drag yourself off it, it’s the time when you wonder, “Could I keep going?” Though your body’s yelling, “No!” you’ve got this sick rush that says, “More!” Body pressed up against a wall to hold yourself up, you go on thinking of everything that happened. It’s all a messy haze of speed and ecstasy, but it won’t leave you alone. You re-live it for a split-second’s eternity. You finally make it to the door, and then the cold air hits you. Your mind freezes, seeing everything but taking nothing in. Somehow, you’re crashing into your bed: “More…”

Heh, someone reminded me today that I’m alone. It usually doesn’t get to me, because I’m pretty self-contained. “You are too awesome to blow off.” I know it was meant to be encouraging, but it kind of hurt. Like, I don’t even know why. I guess it was just who it was coming from. I mean, I guess I’ve come to dislike statements like that altogether. “You’re a great…” Bite me! Say what you really wanna say. Feh, whatever.

Saw this really cool Jazz band in person last night: Denver & the Mile High Orchestra.

In other news, I’m better after being sick for a whole week straight. The last week of college is coming up. I may have to unplug my computer to actually get work done. Been working on the “Hungarian Dance” song, lately. After seeing that band, I may try and do some jazz/blues exercises. It seemed like they were all having a lot of fun.

It depresses me that people will die for their beliefs, but that they won’t do something similar in their manner of living to protect the lives of innocents. What really, really upsets me is that those beliefs are only about land and its possession. It scaled to such a height before anyone thought ill of it, but isn’t its effect obvious? No, I guess not to the people who take their lives in such a way, taking others with them. They don’t get the opportunity to decide the morality of their actions after they’ve done them. The processes of equipping and training and planning probably get spread so thin, too, that no individual thinks to themself, “What I’m doing is going to kill someone.” Or it could be worse, “What I’m doing is going to kill someone! Death to…” Insert object of communal hate here. No, let’s hope that isn’t what it is. I don’t think people like that ever turn from their ways.

Addendum

And yet, having only recently been forced to look, I see the same things in my own life. I can see the desire for corporeal acceptance, even a skewed need for intimacy. What’s more intimate than giving your life up for someone else? Yet, last night, I picked up my copy of Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s “Idylls of the King.” The selection I chose to read was “The Passing of Arthur” (meaning the fictional King Arthur of Camelot). During his final battle, he cries out that he is confused, and a great mist decends upon the field. The battle ends only to see that his men are dead, having killed themselves by fighting each other in the mist. What purpose is there in dying like that, though? If to live, would it not be better to do something good? In many of the idylls, the vow is to that of a woman’s honor. This is presented as a sort of hyperion promise, epitomizing the height of good: chastity, which in turn is purity. Not a one follows such a thing through. On the contrary, selfish desires being the motive for such a pledge (on both sides, mind you), the only fruit is then selfishness.

I give you such an example because I know oftentimes I do things out of that selfish spirit. I think it’s not too much of a stretch to see the connection with, say, a suicide bomber who has pledged himself or herself to keeping the upstandingness of their god’s name. It is not for a powerless idol or a formless falsehood that they give their life; they die for the needs of their heart that need to be met: acceptance, a sense of purpose, love, and everything else important to a person. I sometimes don’t care about the innocents my actions affect for the very same reason. Mind you, I haven’t physically died yet, so I can still set right that wrong path I’ve followed. Sometimes is just takes someone telling you that you’re wrong. I need someone like that in my life.