shepherd

I've been thinking a lot about what my purpose here is. Not on the planet mind you (though that is part of it), merely where I live and with whom. Moving home is an interesting experience, one sometimes referred to as "boomerang children."

I rode my bicycle to the local coffee shop today and indulged in a soy latte while reading my book and listening to my iPod. It was a glorious and relaxing experience, one that harkened back to my days in Stump Town when I would leave for work hours early to do the same before starting. I felt at peace sitting there listening to whatever fancies floated to my ears while my eyes ran the pages of "1988." The book (1988) is one that deals mostly with the psychology of the main character and their unusual living arrangement. Of course me and my overly analytical mind took this to heart and started drawing parallels and differences between the odd life of the character and my own. The main character is a writer. Or rather, he fancies himself as one, only he never manages to write anything. He has a...well....room mate of sorts who is a painter who's art is grossly effected by their isolation while maintaining a sense of being "uninspired," to the artist himself. As I sat and thought about this before venturing home I reached a conclusion I've been doddling around for the past few weeks:

The one thing that I can do in my present situation is to try and bring beauty into a life where there is so much pain.

This life could be that of my own, my Father, my Sister, or even my Mother. Really, it's the life of my family, as, though my Brother does not live here, he comes around often enough to warrant enjoyment from the small things I can do.

This (here comes the grander existential application) stretches to the rest of life. I've been toying with this concept of absolute beauty. Not that it has to be "pretty," beauty. I think "American Beauty," (the movie) did an excellent job of explaining how the dullest, most mundane, even disgusting things can be beautiful in their own way. Pain has it's own beauty, terrible and powerful, one that must be acknowledged (though not necessarily enjoyed). I think that some of us have a responsibility to shepherd this absolute beauty. What I can create may not be so fantastic, but what I can channel might be. Perhaps it's too socialist a concept, but the idea of people taking the time to look at their surroundings and find what beauty there is in it, and bend it to their will to amplify it, is glorious to me. I will never have children, I will never bring amazing new life and beauty into the world. But I can take the world around me and try to sculpt it, shape it, shepherd it to my will. Try to take what there is and make it better for those around me (and for myself).

Since I can't offer a cure for cancer, or back spasms, or addiction, depression, or poverty. I can at least try to offer a distraction, break, or retreat. A place or vision to take away from the pain of reality and remind us that, though there is so much hurt in the world, there is also great beauty to behold. And maybe sometimes it takes so much pain to see it.

Seeing things

I once was told by an astrology nut that I have no psychic ability. According to my chart there is some sort of fog that inhibits my ability to wade through the mess of the yet-to-come.

At this point. I beg to differ.

Admittedly my mind is murky. Finding my way through the bog that occupies my consciousness is cumbersome at best and I tend to skate by on shear nerve. Occasionally though, I come across something that I know. Something I have seen, experienced, or predicted, yet have never come into contact with in reality before.

The last time this happened I dreamed that a friend had changed his picture on an online profile (sad the things I dream sometimes). I hadn't spoken to or seen hide-nor-hair of this person in months. I awoke from the dream a little confused as to why I would create something like this in my sleeping state. Later that day I checked on his profile to discover the picture from my dream. He had, in fact, changed to the picture in my dream.

Today I started the long road to student teaching. I attended an orientation at my school where we were told what and what not to do, then were broken into groups according to where we would be teaching. In these groups we met with someone who will come and observe us as we teach, tell us if we suck, and hopefully how to improve (beyond what our master teacher has already told us). In this group of mine there was a person I have seen. Where I have seen him I do not know. His name is not one I'm familiar with. He has never been in any of my classes to my knowledge, and though I did not speak to him, he has no connection to my life in anyway I can see (other than being in the same observation group as I am). Yet his eyes, hair, skin tone, even weak chin, were known to my consciousness. His expressions and mannerisms all too familiar. This poses an awkward situation. How does one, casually approach a stranger and say "I know you from somewhere, I have no idea where, but I do." One of three things can happen when this is brought up:

One: the homo likely thinks you are coming on to him (which you quite obviously would not be) and either flirts or flees.

Two: the person explains all the places in life your paths have crossed and be offended that you have not remembered their glorious countenance.

Three: They look at you quizzically, decide you are certifiably unstable, and run screaming from the room.

None of these outcomes solves the problem of identifying why this persons face and mannerisms are ingrained in your memory without a context to fit in.

I blame the murky psychic bog that apparently thrives somewhere behind my imaginary third eye (no really, it is imaginary. I had the real one removed and steal plate put in to fill in the socket). Perhaps he, as well as my friend (and other places and people) have used ESP to implant these images into my psyche to lead me in the proper direction. If that's the case. Why bother? Why do they care if I have knowledge of something so mundane as their new picture or their weak chin?

Perhaps I should begin to practice occlumency.

natural

I find it interesting how primal our urges are. So often my students say that homosexuality is nasty. It's not natural. It's "Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve." These sorts of comments are merely annoying to me. At this point in my life I don't have time to be offended. Then I think about my reaction to heterosexual couples. The idea of dating a woman is so foreign to me now that when I see couples holding hands, kissing, or even love scenes in movies, I find myself becoming uncomfortable. My gut reaction is "that's not natural."

I realize that, of course, it is. However, to me it isn't. The desires of the flesh are a primal instinct. Sure,I could try to force myself to like women. I might even succesfully date one, but I would be forcing. I'm not going to wake up every morning and think of a woman. I won't go to sleep at night dreaming of being with one. The mechanics of the human body may work of their own accord, but the grinding of gears in my mind have their own agenda. What I crave comes from within and cannot be simply erased or changed. To love, be in love with, a man, is my automatic desire. It comes to me naturally, without invitation.

I've often wondered how my life would be different if these desires centered around women rather than men. Who would I be if society condoned my sexuality. What would it be like to bring my lover to a school function? How does it feel to hold your partner's hand in public, without fear of arousing violent retribution from passers by?

Not that there is anyone now that I would be cavorting with, yet if there were, these simple freedoms would be amazing. Though were they innate, as they are for heterosexuals, would I care? Sometimes I love my sexuality, not just for the men, but for the perspective it lends me. I have the privelege and curse of seeing the world from a different position. I have the blessing of seeing the weekness in ignorance, and the vulnerability in hatred. I have the suffered in my own way, and this has lent me the ability not to wish harm on others, but to hope well for them instead. There is no pleasure in hatred, not for the hating nor the hated.

I have been slowly devloping a mantra of late:

"What our society is sorely lacking, the cure for our ailments as a culture and a people, is compassion,"

Mud play

I ventured into the great outdoors today. I went beyond the fence and into the unknown reaches of the backyard. The place where the sun doesn't reach but the sprinklers do.

I played in the mud.

In this dark corner of the yard there was grass, some at least, moss, clover, and mud.

Lots of mud.

I hoed and dug and pulled and shoveled. I tromped, slid, and stamped. Despite my sister's claims that my insanity was showing, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. The therapeutic nature of pure manual labor is a wonder to behold indeed. My boots serve to remind me of the days activities.

In the end I achieved the first step in my journey to creating a new shade bed for my parents. The deposit of the living tree we purchased for Christmas this year. We had the living tree in the family room, so that my couch ridden mother would have a sense of the holiday as she absently viewed the babbling and flashing screen on the other wall. Now the vicious silver-green spike cone has been partially submerged in a bed of newly turned mud, awaiting it's new neighbors. It will be joined, eventually, by more Fuscias and Gardenias, not to mention Aureola and Forget-me-nots. The dark muddy corner will blossom with shade loving foliage and flowers adding a new texture to yard beyond the fence. The yard the dogs can't get to. The yard that no one (save the gardeners and now me) ever touch. I admit that this pictures reveals no great feat. It shows a small tree sitting in a muddy corner.

But what a muddy corner it is! Before the moss and grass and clover completed a neat brick of green ground cover that makes up the majority of the land beyond the gate. One side of the lawn is green and verdant, firm to the foot. The other was verdant in some appearance, though murky and (yes) squishy, to the step. I give you now the image of my labors. The red dots have been added to ease the task of deciphering where the lawn-mud ends and the mud-mud begins. The adjacent mud-grass has been colored as well, for the same reason. Tomorrow I may regret my deeds as I will inevitably pay a physical penance for the work. For now though, I bask in the warm burn of a days hard work and look forward to the shower that lingers in my future.

Tired

The days seem longer these days. It's 10:30 and I'm ready for bed. I find myself faced with these anxieties and want to vent with vigor. But I have, and often. So instead i shall retire (if only it could be the real deal and not just one night).

By the by, Brie Vandekamp is a psychotic she-witch from hell, and I love her.

keyless

The world has locked me out. I'm trapped in a bubble, digging fruitlessly in my pocket for a pin to puncture my reality and escape to a realm less forbidding. In my pockets I find cigarettes, car keys, change, and chap-stick. The keys are too blunt, the cigarettes too valuable, the change reserved for fast food drive-throughs and parking meters, and the chap-stick is the only thing keeping my lips on my face. I would use my finger nails but I ate them in a state of panic and frustration. I would cry out and weep at the state of affairs but the bubble is small and I fear I would deafen myself then drown in my own tears. Like a hamster lured into ideas of liberation I paddle and roll towards doors and windows only to be met by sheets of impenetrable glass and the constant warble of a myopic depth of field brought on by the refraction of the transparent barrier imprisoning me. With illness and pain throbbing in waves tossing my sphere like a beach ball in a hurricane, I wonder how long until the bubble will pop of its own accord dropping me from heights unknown to an even bleaker landscape,

without shelter,

without air,

without even pocket change to feed the meter.
My teeth will rot out and my skin peel off in smooth sheets.

Perhaps I can use my molting to make purses and sell them on the black market.

It's never enough

Humanity's unsatiable desire for something else never ceases to amaze me. Relationships end because one or the other wants something else. People move from apartment to apartment, house to house, looking for someplace new. We binge eat, chain smoke, drink ourselves stupid, always wanting more. More money, more things, more people. Always more.

In my classroom it's the same. I've been bringing in movies, while finishing up business. There is testing to be done and grades to file; interviews to conduct, and activities to plan. Yet when I bring in a film they want something else. I thought I would suprise them with Lord Of The Rings. In terms of educational value, it's negligable. The story is one they should know I suppose, at least that's how I justified the choice. They were not pleased. My hope that they might enjoy something I suggested was obviously stupid. Once the film got going they quieted down and seemed to be absorbed enough in it to pass the time, which I suppose is all I could ask for. Their constant desire for something else is frustrating, but no different than anything, or anyone, else in the world.

Ella

I recently went on a spending binge. Consumer Therapy is, after all, the therapy of America. In my spending fury I purchased a best of album compiling music sung by Ella Fitzgerald. I have long thought that Miss Fitzgerald was, by far, one of the greatest singers in history. Now that I've had more time to sit (or drive) with her in my ears, I have made a decision. Bitch Wasn't Human!!!I believe that she was nothing more than a human shell wrapped around liquid sound. She used the super computer lodged in her shell to manipulate the sound as it poured out of her mouth. The end product quite possibly being the most perfect voice. The depth to which she used her larynx and the control she issued over it is so completely shocking that I find myself gawking as I listen. I don't just enjoy it, I am shocked by it. It's as though something has crawled into my head and installed this magic device that sends waves of awe and wonderment every time her voice comes over the speaker. It's no wonder she was awarded an honorary doctorate even though she never finished high school. The knowledge that she no longer exists in the flesh is upsetting. It lends itself to depression that the world is an uglier place without her. Then I think her mere existence leaves hope that maybe, some day, there will be another human being whose sound is so near perfect that all humanity can rejoice in its glow.

CIRCLE THE WAGONS!!!!

Apparently the evangelicals in Ohio are on a crusade. They're out dogma-ing their ideas and trying to control the populace. This brand of closed minded oppression is the sort of mind frame that is slowly destroying what little actual moral framework our country has. Whenever there is a group of people who's entire way of life and thought revolves around telling people that they're evil and that the only way they can be good is to be like "us," you're destined for trouble. I've been toiling over this issue for a short while now (something like ten years or so). Here is my issue with fundamentalist religious folk. Any time you get lost so deeply in a belief you are cutting out any possibility of an ulterior option. Religious fervor, in my experience as a witness (mind you I've never gone hard core in any religious ideal) can be an amazing thing. It can bring about great beauty and phenomenal compassion. It can also bring about horrid hatred and tremendous pain. Any belief system that spends the majority of its time telling others they are wrong for believing, feeling, and acting as they feel is right, is simply a vehicle for conceit, anger, and hatred. This applies to Islamic extremists, and fundamentalist Christians. Any person who so staunchly believes in any one thing without accepting that others can and will believe in another idea, way of life, principle, is, to me, a bigamist and largely responsible for so much of the violence and suffering that exists in our world.

So, what I want to do (and never will) is respond to the Evangelical Ohioans with a counter attack. They want to convert thousands of non believers, I want to disenchant thousands of followers. They want to "clean" the land, I want to spread the dirt. I want to run through the country saying "It's okay to love God and Jesus, if that's what you want! Just leave the rest of us out of it! Believe what you feel is right, not just what a book and a good speaker have touted. Remember that there are billions of people who believe differently than you, what makes you so sure that you're right?"

Pedagogical rambling

Some critical pedagogists assert the idea of cultural fluency. This is not to suggest reading multicultural text (though that is a good idea) rather an ability to effectively communicate with and in a variety of cultures. Some of the greatest criticism to this idea is the reality of our national situation. The idea that, in order to be successful, one must be able to dress, talk, and in all ways possible, seem white. Or rather, middle-class-christian-white. If you look at the people of color in positions of power, each of them has essentially white washed themselves to succeed (with the exception of Condoleeza Rice who is not only white washed, but is also a scary lizzard woman).

When I face my classes, work with them, I find myself pushing for a sense of cultural fluency from them. For a minority to reach a certain level of success it is necessary for our students to be at least biculturally fluent. The fear here that the former camp battles is the idea of losing one's cultural heritage. Do you think Condi Rice and Colin Powell would be comfortable going to see a movie in a Magic Johnson Theater? The trick here is to discover a manner in which the bicultural fluency is emphasized, not cultural replacement. If I am to teach my students not only how to read and write, but also how to act in certain environments, what words are appropriate, and what gestures obsene, shoudln't they also be taught those same issues, values, and concerns, in of their own culture? For instance, my students like noise. The best learning environment for them, is one where there is loud music, talking, and other seeming distractions in the background. The difference is that what I consider an obstacle to learning, they consider a tool. They absorb information and work faster when these elements are in place. So as an educator I need to find a way to allow for this environment, while emphasizing the importance of being able to learn in a more quiet and seemingly focussed environment like those I was raised with.

In an ideal world we would create a grey area. A cultural Esperanto of sorts. Some common culture that allows the individual culture to thrive independantly while we all communicate and effectively. Some of this is occuring to an extent. The growth of hiphop culture, and it's acceptance in a large segment of the white community is a sign that there is some cultural merging, a certain amount of grey area developing. Yet the power still resides in the hands of white men. White Anglo Saxon Protestant culture is still the dominant face of the American economy and media. While it is neccesary to recognize that this group is still the majority of the population, that leaves no excuse for the desparity in cultural awareness amongst that white majority. Classrooms need to be open to all forms of learning. If a culture is more interested in oral communication, allowing more time for oral communication and discussion would be an appropriate use of time, and would create a more accepting and open learning environment.

As our society becomes more diverse we are facing cultural revolution. The blending of race, culture, ethnic identity, sexual preference, sexual identity, religious ideas will continue for centuries. As demographics change so will the cultural norm. Our ability to be flexible, open, and understanding is the only thing that can keep us from falling into a pit of violent retribution brought on by simple ignorance. Race riots in High Schools are more and more common. The longer we avoid educating in manner that is multiculturally fluen, the more of these fights we will see, and with the injuries and deaths of our own.

um...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dates and Mates

My recent break up has led me to make some poor decisions. There is no excuse for such actions, these decisions are mine to make and though events in my life may effect my judgement, they do not effect my ability to decide.

As a result I have decided to use my up coming transition to effect my life in a positive way. My transition into student teaching, working and schooling simultaneously, will allow me yet another fresh start. The murky end of my current position (that of a lover and a teacher) has, when combined with constant stressers, has had a lasting effect on how I deal with my world.

When I started this position as the teacher here, I had just quit smoking, I was happily involved with Jon and was working on building a new life. Since that time I have excelled at changing the things in my life that I disliked, namely my tendancy to ingest noxious fumes on a regular basis. My recent relapse has been comforting, but it is not the person I wish to be anymore.

SO

as of January 30th, I'm back in the saddle. Back on the treadmill and fighting for the existence I want to create. In the meantime, I will stink, twitch, and cough; reminding myself of my weaknesses and the strength it takes to overcome them.

Post hookie

Yesterday was a strange day indeed. Not only did I play hookie, but I didn't eat.(with the exception of two small pieces of chocolate, a small piece of bread, and a piece of left over lamb chop which were eaten at 10:00PM).
I spent most of my day surviving off of stimulants. It was amazing how quickly I remembered how this is done. I haven't spend a day living on nothing but caffeine and nicotine in years. Sure I felt spun by the evening, but there is something to be said for just not eating. It's almost nice.
Not to worry, I have already eaten enough calories today to fill a small Ethiopian village.
My shopping trip yesterday was a fair success. I came away with a new pair of pants, a new shirt, and a new (eighties vintage) sweatshirt (which I'm in the process of altering). I came to this conclusion though when I was done.

I have no idea what my style is anymore

I'm sure there are those of you who would protest and feel apt to tell me what it is. But I'm not sure what I'm looking for, or what I want to look like. So, I'm taking up a new hobby (we'll see how long this lasts). I'm going to research men's style until I've identified a feel that I'm comfortable annexing and twisting to my taste. If you, (yes you) know of a good website or want to recommend a magazine please feel free. I'm not looking for informative articles (What? You thought I would read?)just lots of pictures. When I come across one I find interesting I will share (mind you interesting is a loose term).So for now, here is my first "interesting":

Ped-o-phile

Ew

double lawntendre

I think that the lovely people of scandinavia have stumbled across a brilliant new concept in home enjoyment. I have a gnome. A terra-cotta gnome. His name is Björn. He is a squat friend with no features to speak of. A round head, and squat roundish body with a lump at the bottom to stand on, and a very large hat. A hat that could be described as an enormous terra-cotta butt plug.

Now, I realize that whatever genius scandinavian designer who made my blessed Björn intended his hat for such a use, but he could be quite adept at the purpose were he applied to it. For this I have the inkling to create a whole line of such items. Not just gnome butt plugs, no. Flamingo floggers, lawn-jockey jackers, and squirrel squeezers could also grace the product line.

Just imagine the joy that old Martha down the street could have with her sunflower sucker, or neat-freak Ned from 1232 could have with his orgasm orb! The neighborhood would blossom with prancing suburbanites gardening au-naturale. The sweat from their brow not a result of the sun on their head, but the gnome under their rump. It would be a glorious sight to behold indeed.

noxious fumes

I found my gun.

It comes in a paperboard box wrapped in cellophane.

Roughly the size of a deck of cards, it fits neatly in my pocket, center console, or bedside-table. I can burn it bit by bit, the lighter as my trigger.

Soon I will have to put it back in the drawer or turn it in to the sheriff's station with the bullets removed and the safety on.

I wonder how much I can shoot before then.

sour taste

There is something to be said for the sour taste of bile. When it rises in the back of your throat it warns of its arrival. It hints at its intentions as it creaps up the esophagus towards the oral cavity. The taste is becoming familiar. Mornings are bringing new flavors to my toothpaste. Afternoons are struggling against a tide of clenching.
I thought I could control it. Shut off the emotions as I have in the past. Count my losses and quantify all the gains.

This time it's different.

The struggle is enveloping my existence. My lunch is spent arguing with my conscience. The morning is spent fighting my cercadian rhythms. The nights are spent wondering if reality is a constant or if I can truly live in a world I created to shield myself.

There once was a time when I could smile at adversity. When the fears of my feable mind were innocent and pure. Now they simmer in a pan of acid, erasing the life map I had drafted.

Devastation burns hotter when it sourrounds you.

in the words of David Bowie

changes


as in I have made some.

Namely, it is now possible for those who are not blogger members to make comments on my blog. Now, i realize there is all of maybe two people who actually read my blog at the moment, which, is not so shocking, as my blog is boring. But, should someone else read this and care to comment, even if that comment has something to do with macaroni salad or microwaves and non-dairy creamer, they can. Oh, and I placed a photo on my profile. Half-days due to depression can bring about some constructive action.

second day

Fuck this.


I came to work. I hate it here. I want nothing more than to go home and drug myself into a stupor.

I want to be filled with rage but it would accomplish nothing.
I want to be angry but I have no real cause.
If you've ever been really hungry. The kind of hunger you feel when you don't eat for two days. That dry, empty, almost nauseating feeling that resides in your stomach. Like the suffering of one hundred smokers without so much as a match. That is the feeling I sit with today.
A gentle gnawing at the back of my conscience telling me I'm still not good enough and I'm still destined to be a lone.


Seriously.
Just show me the safety and I'll manage the rest.

I DON'T WANT TO GO TO WORK TOMORROW!!!!!!!

Tired of the rat race

After a.....decent....weekend things have transitioned. Tomorrow is another day and I wish it wasn't. Jon said his goodbyes today. I wasn't too surprised. I was disappointed yes, but surprised no. I find myself wondering (yet again) if perhaps I've simply set my standards too high. I finally find a person who is equal parts beauty and intelligence, who fully turns me on, and it doesn't work. It never does. If I were a normal homo, I wouldn't care. I'd go out, get drunk, and take home yet another skank looking to get their rocks off. But instead I call my sister and my friends. I stay up past my bed time drinking and (yes I did it)smoking (though tomorrow I will not) and wishing that for once I could have some semblance of stability in my pathetic existence. I should have realized from the beginning that 100 miles of separation does not a healthy relationship make. I should have realized that perfect is too good to be true. I should have known that I'm not the person who can hold that relationship. But I, like all Americans. wanted to think that I could date outside my caste. I wanted to be one of the elite few who are smart, pretty, and successful. The ones you see in movies and magazines. Don't get me wrong. I'm not meaning to be self deprecating. I'm a hot piece of ass, I know it. But there is a danger in seeing someone who is so unbelievable. You spend too much time wondering how you could be with one so amazing, and not enough time wondering why you are so amazing. As I said to Jon tonight in the midst of our demise: "there are two types of relationships in this world, the ones where the other person is more into you, and the ones where you are more into the other person." I still hold to this hope that I'll find a third kind, one where each person is on an equal field. Where each person is into the other equally. Unfortunately, I've spent most of my life trying to make myself unlike other people. Struggling to find the aspects of myself that make me unique, and in the process, alienating myself from the possibility of finding someone whom I would consider my equal. Instead they're better or worse, or the other (other being friend). Normally when I find a person I think is beautiful, brilliant, and fun to be around, I become their friend. When I find those qualities and I'm attracted to them, I cling. That's when I get into trouble I suppose. This probably means that I'm not ready for that happy settlement that I claim as my desire. But I tire of the uncertainty. I tire of the games. All I want is to be with a person I want to be with who wants to be with me in return, intellectually, emotionally, and sexually.


Perhaps my standards are too high.

Now I do feel like Susan.

Luuuuuuviiiiin Yoouuuuuu, is easy cuz you're beautiful

I miss this

No me gusto

besa me, besa me mucho. Yo no fumo.

I don't like mornings.
I would like to retire.
I never had the option to run yesterday due to schedule conflicts. Now I feel sloth, lump, American.

Does anyone know of a minority group seeking compassion that I can denigrate, persecute, and urge to convert? I just figure, if I'm going to be American, I should do it the traditional way. I can't really become obese, it's not in the genes, but offensively self centered.... that I have down.

Apparently, in the city of the future, it's not so difficult for
Gold-Man to concentrate.

Jo-ru's bred.

I wanted to be cool like Tayluv

A myspace friend of mine posted this thing on a myspace blog. I was going to post the whole survey here, then thought better. If you're reading this (and you're not Taylor) say: "Thankyou J-J-Jimbo," I'll wait.



You're welcome.

If you are Taylor. I posted it on my myspace blog afterall, it just seemed to fit better there. Should anyone wish to know what this mysterious survey is, find me on myspace and look there. I assure you, there aren't many J-J-Jimbo Ninnys out there.

WORK!

tears and tears

Today was the day of the grand announcement. To my chagrin and joy the response to the news that i will be exiting my post as teacher to hoodlums, the hoodlums were not resplendent. Quite the contrary, the were in fact remorseful. They blamed themselves, they quarried whether I would be going to teach with different hoodlums. I assured them that no, I was leaving for personal reasons, I was leaving to deal with family, I was leaving to focus on my future. I did not inform them of my exodus due to monetary compensation (or lack there of). I wanted to. I wanted to say, "I would love to stay. I don't want to leave you at the semester, but the head honcho doesn't feel I'm worth what others in my position are, he low balled me at a volatile time in my life and he lost." But it would be unprofessional to say such things. Not to mention the difficulties explaining to my students: "By completing my student teaching in a public classroom, I will actually make more money in the fall, oh and it will make it easier for me to move to San Diego where I will frolic with my hot boyfriend, yes boyfriend." That would be glorious.

Perhaps on my last day.

My new venture into the world of physical exercise has lead me to happiness. Granted there are tiny tears throughout my chest and arms, which is combined with lactic acid. The gentle pain is soothing to me as my life transitions. As I thump along on the spinning belt of the treadmill there's a large mirrored door directly ahead of me. This feeds my former narcissistic tendencies which have, as of late, transitioned into a critical eye. It was tonight as I strode on for half an hour that I finally understood all those gyms where the machines face a wall of mirrors. It's not so that people can look at themselves and marvel at how hot they are. It's not so they can cruise each other as they pump and sweat. No. It is to motivate oneself to keep going. If you are staring at yourself in a mirror and you look awful, but, you know that what you're doing will make you look better, then it helps motivate you to keep going. Plus you can make obscene gestures and funny faces at yourself. It also helps that running is a good way to relieve aggression that certain work situations may build up.

and on the third day he slept

Today I deposited my pay check into my bank. This is always an exciting occasion as it means that I will have money. Today however I will not as I was overdrawn in my account and the amount I deposited was too much for them to not hold it. I love that. One deposits money into their account, drafted from a n obviously viable source, and they put a hold on it. NOt because it's needed, not because it's important, but to spite you. It's as though they're punishing you for being poor. For this I say: "FEH!"
On a happier note, today I started working on being healthier. I ran, I lifted weights, I even had a sensible dinner. Now if only I was sensible.
Work was evil today. The students were nasty little fuckers, my boss undermined my authority with them (making me look even schmuckier) and tomorrow I get to go in an hour and a half early to tell the students that I willl not be working there much longer. This I am not thrilled over. At least I will be finished soon.Then I'll have a whole new group of trouble makers to toil with. I can' wait for the day when I'm adjusted to all this crap. I constantly struggle with this balance of good (personal health) and evil (work and life in general). I'm back to making a concerted effort to increase my happiness based on a conscientious decision to be so. I keep thinkin that if I tell myself I'm happy, and work out often, I will be. Cross your fingers for me (oh, and say your prayers to the proportionate body gods for me as well). Who knows, with some luck, maybe I'll look like this:

the un-usual place

Starting over

I've been thinking about stupid woman house. I think it might be wise if I were to start my own little version of the place. I'll start it here in my parents house. I'll leave out the life coaches, cameras, and annoying women. Instead it will be me, doing my thing, living in a house with my Sister, Father, and Mother. Special guest appearances will be made by my Brother of course. Perhaps I will call it, stupid J-J-Jimbo house or J-J-Jimbo experience. This will encompass all the times I've said, acted, created something stupid. For instance, the way that I quit my job for the betterment of my future without concern about the lack of income I face for the next five-six months. (Half a year with not pay!!!!) At least I'll learn a lot right?

As for the rest of my stupid J-J-Jimbo experience, I'm facing goals I have set for myself that involve lifestyle change. I know from experience that the best time to change aspects of one's lifestyle is when overhauling one's life. Take my not-smoking thing. Sure I haven't been the ideal quitter. There is inside me, a determined and willful addict. However, I have have persevered. Part of this I believe stems from the fact that I started a new job right when I quit (the job I'm leaving, imagine that). This meant a change to my entire schedule. Leaving out cigarettes was not easy by any stretch of the imagination, but would have been harder had the rest of my days been the same. I'm hoping to piggy back on to my new lifestyle and improve the rest of the health factor. Stopping smoking was intended to be the first in a line of personal health revolutions. The second was supposed to be exercise. Physical Fitness has never been my strong suit. My sfelt physique is genetic, and it's changing. I knew that when I quit smoking my metabolism would slow, and it did. Not a lot, just some. I have a love handle. Oddly only one. Having an adonis lover does not improve my self image. So the next step in my health revolution will be building mass that is not cellulite based. I suppose my inner fag is beckoning to come forth. It wants to sport a fine physique in hopes it will raise my self image a bit. I'll cross my fingers, toes, and anything else that I'm successful with this. You do the same.