The Day I Reconsidered

I might be clinically depressed. I’ve probably always been this way, but too foolhardy to consider it. This could be all part of a comedy of errors.

From the looks of things, I won’t be complaining about work anytime soon. My rather acerbic demeanor fits in perfectly with my other coworkers. Save my elitist accent, it’s a match made in hell. Speaking of elitists, Jared didn’t like Obama and Clinton because they were “elitists” in his view; hypocrisy notwithstanding, I’d wager it takes one to know one. While the pot was calling the kettle black (and disrespecting Madeleine Albright at the same time), his pick John Edwards committed political suicide. Another victory for me! In hindsight, I was right…like I thought I’d be.

But back to the regularly scheduled program: depression. I seriously considered dropping out and restarting anew at a community college so I can go to Berkeley and have the best time of my life. That’s how depressing my time has been thus far. Twenty years old, single, and relatively friendless (partially because I can’t stand people and the people I’m around are suspicious in an odd way). I’ve effectively buried myself in school and work, and when I’m not doing either, I can’t stand to be around myself. The television grants no favors. I went dancing two nights ago, and I had limited play. Notable, there was a smallish girl there who was well, freaky. It took me about an hour to find my groove, and when I found it, it was relatively fun. Then, the party stopped, people coupled off, leaving me with my car. And it’s one more night up in the canyons…

So that leaves me here, now. Saturday night, all alone, consoling myself with Gregory House. If there’s one thing I could ask for, it’d most likely be a girlfriend or female companion of some sort. Either that, or a time machine, set for Berkeley, Duke, or Harvard in 2006 A.D. I crave a fresh start where I can be an asshole in a new environment…or start pulling towards the center from my far-left leanings. What I desire most is happiness. Having the knowledge of a god is a daunting task; I know too much to have any peace.What I want is affection, companionship, or something of the like. I want to know the feeling of waking up next to a girl and not giving two shits about the news, only caring about what’s in store after school and work. That’s what I want. That’s what I crave. That’s what I desire. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Lil’ Wayne “A Milli”


Last Falconry

Fatigue has set in as my day finally concludes. Bordering on being a straight edge, I could use a nice, cold refreshing beer. Tense, ornery, confused. That sums up my outlook, because this year is long. When I’m at Berkeley earning a doctorate, how will I feel? YES, YES! I AM ALIVE!

Ahem, back to the regularly scheduled entry. I’m currently in a state of want, as in, I want things. A PS3 would be nice. A shiny Intercontinental Title wouldn’t hurt. A friend (or group of friends) that knows where and how to party would prove useful. Finally, a girl to spend time and money on could serve me well.

Being alone sucks. A lack of timely television programs only amplifies problems. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Heart “Barracuda”

Quantum of Solace

I was unemployed for about six months. During that time, I finished approximately one and a half sessions of school; about twenty seven units in total. As of last week, I am once again employed, learning my craft as a loan shark. Also, I’m taking 22 units, almost the same sum I took during my whole labor-free experience. I wish I could say I’m proud of myself, but I can’t proclaim pride until I’ve finished with grad school. I mapped out this crazy scenario where I would leave school with a total of five degrees; two doctorates (political science and law), one MA (rhetoric) and two BAs (political science and communication studies). The sad part is, I could see myself attempting this path and succeeding beyond a mortal’s wildest dreams.

But am I a mortal? I do not know anymore. I barely eat, sleep, and have little time to explore the finer pleasures in life, such as dancing. Even still, the only way I could incorporate dancing into my plans was by scheduling it as a course. Somehow, I’m lucky enough to be fully committed to Salsa Club. One thing remains: whenever I step foot onto the hardwood, I own the night. I’m a complete hybrid…an intellectual killer meets fleet-footed virtuoso.

During this time, I barely know my neighbors. I barely know the single room that grants me respite from the frenetic world I impress. I have familiar allies in all classes, but familiarity breeds contempt in the outside of world. I wonder will I have as much fun as I feel I am owed, but I’ve learned to cope all the same. I still occasionally have football and Eric Foreman past midnight.

I also seem ready to have a love life. Curious, considering I haven’t spoken with my friends in about a week. Jordan should be breaking in his new place in Westwood, while Brandon is starting to piece together his farewell ride. I’m somewhere in the middle, but back to the story. I’ve been flirting with a couple of girls, both happen to be touchy-feely. One is artsy and dabbles in erotica, and the other is a fellow comm major with an affinity for the Chargers. On top of this, I’m starting to connect with one of my favorite dance partners, who might be the smartest of them all. She could either be falling for my charms, or disgusted by my antics. It’s all relative, or it will all be after I get well; nosebleeds aren’t fun, but neither is a lack of rest.

Is this happiness? A hollow delusion?

Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Creed “Faceless Man”

New Room

Drawn from the imaginations of spoiled homesick kids, some schools offer single rooms for people who’d like to fork over more money. Guess who agreed to this doctrine? Of course I did, because I’m not looking for any surprises this year. Surprises scare the hell out of me, so now, I’m camping out by myself. The suitemates seem to be an upgrade over last year, although replacing Fivecoat will be a stretch. Overall, I consider this a win compared to last year.

The classes, the horror. The politics and the money; the pleasure and the pain. Conventional wisdom says 22 units may be a bit garish, ostentatious, and in short, crazy. I have a solid chance of scoring higher than I have previously, but I’m not sure if that’s my motivation. Do I care about graduating? Not particularly; I can easily coast if I so felt the need. Do I need to placate my ego? Sure, but my ego doesn’t exactly bow to great feats; to earn my mind’s awe, worlds must be moved. As many magic specials as I’ve seen, I’d be skeptical afterwards.

I came to the realization that I may just be masking my social anxiety by burying myself in classwork. However, I sure as hell could’ve picked a less expensive distraction; I may hit $500 for books, which is ridiculous. Eight classes be damned; that’s a lot of money. So how’d that working out?

I’m back to square one; things haven’t changed. Still feeling lonely, cheated, and screwed. I’m a cagey veteran, only cagier. On top of that, I told a friend who has bad taste in guys that dating me would make her a “glutton for punishment.” Damn, even my self-perception suffers a bit from a case of honesty. My room, despite the lack of feminine intervention, my room feels adequate. I still have a full slate of decoration to do in here that will lead to guests…hopefully. Dejectedly, the once proud king/manic-depressive retires to the drawing board.

Skibbedebeop. Much later.

Current Track – John Morrison and The Miz “Mizfits and Mofos”