Posts Tagged ‘Love’


Friday, February 21st, 2003

Nobody responded to my posts. Tough luck, huh? I think tomorrow I shall have to make some phone calls. David wants to play a show. Badly.

I still haven’t figured out if I’m coming home for the weekend or not. It’d be nice to stay for a weekend; then I could go to the Higgins Hall show this weekend and maybe even the play. I’ll have it figured out by tomorrow, but consarn it I wish I knew now!

This week, I’ve been feeling a lot happier — I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s because I fixed my sleep patterns. Maybe it’s because I’ve had so many test and stuff that I haven’t had time to fret about everything. Maybe it’s because I’ve finally realized how hopeless my chances with Erin is/was, and I’ve accepted that. Whatever the reason, I’ve been a lot more chipper. I’ve been talking to people, and making eye contact, and generally acting — though not exactly — like the guy I was my last year of high school.

My life still doesn’t seem to have a meaning. My future career teaching is a vague shape in the fog, the band rarely practices and nobody in Missoula seems to want to form a new one, my high school crush — with whom at one time I may have had a chance — has nearly fizzled, and my writing may never be publish. But I guess I’ve looked at that and told myself, that’s okay, I can only make it better. And I know that. I’ve finally started taking steps to stop moping about everything and everyone I left behind and to start enjoying life again.

Here’s a poem, entitled, “Acrostic”, that pretty much sums things up:

Every time I think of you , I will

Recall a million things (maybe a billion, I honestly can’t keep track)

I never said or never did. But my regret, powerful as it is, is

Not what I want to hold close to me:

It’s what springs to mind first, uninvited, as I may well have been.

Losing stays with us the more than keeping,

Like some sort of perverse memory, an instant replay of remorse. Still I shall

Make an effort to look past the regret lurking

Inside my heart, and try to

Summon what good there was. Believe me, there may be less of it, but it’s

Stronger and ultimately will prevail. Do not think for a single moment that

You ever put anything but a smile on my face. I frowned

Over you, but I did that of my own volition. I carved a frown from my smile.

Until I leave this world, — longer still — I will never regret opening my heart to you.

Valentine’s Day

Wednesday, February 12th, 2003

Well, I got some nice mail today: a cheque to give to the University so they don’t kick me out of Friday. I have to go in tomorrow and pay it. I kind of feel like a fugitive: the University keeps sending me direr and direr warnings to pay or be killed by Siberian Death Troops.

Speaking of Friday, I also got a package from Grandma; she always sends something on Valentine’s Day. It’s nice to get something. Since I don’t know what’s going on, I’m going to consider myself ‘despondent’ this St. Valentine’s Day. Usually, I feel ‘bitter,’ so there you go.

I’ve been debating whether I should send my favorite little lady a letter, at least. I just don’t know; I really don’t like being in limbo. And all these friggin’ red and pink and white hearts posted around the campus don’t help my mood very much, either. 😉 A letter would be nice (nothing mushy) but might also be a bit presumptuous. Plus, can I send it tomorrow and have it arrive by Friday? Dave doesn’t know. Dammit, now I’m writing in the third person, the same way Shawn speaks.

Psych class passed quickly today. I think I’m getting more and more interested in it, which means I like three of my classes (American Lit, Psych, History of Rock ‘n Roll) and dislike two (British Lit, Geography).

Besides this weblog, I haven’t written anything in two days now. I’m feeling a bit weak. Maybe my blitz of poetry-writing last weekend was a fluke. I kind of got an idea for a blank-verse poem in Psych, but am not looking forward to counting syllables.


Tuesday, February 4th, 2003

God, we had to work in groups in Geography today. I hate working in groups, especially ones in classes where I don’t know anybody. It happened last semester in Native American Studies, and it’s happened long before that. I’m just a shy person, I guess. The assignment went okay, but I hate being forced to work with people whom I don’t know. I got to see Alan Alda on Scientific Frontiers (or maybe it was Nova) during a video in Psych class, so that was okay.

I wrote a song today, but it’s waaaay too poppy to even show to anybody else. I feel torn between writing songs that have significance and writing songs that I like to play. Occasionally, I’ll find a happy medium, but more often than not it’s one way or the other.

Well, it’s quarter till eleven and I’ve resigned myself to my fate. The ball’s in my court, there are twenty-one hours left on the clock, but even that much time isn’t enough to score a goal. Still, you gotta keep on playing, even though you know that the game is heavily stacked against you. There’s a chance, yes; there always is; but the odds are so astronomical that only a Corellian would feel confident, and that would only be before C-3P0 blabbed them.


Monday, February 3rd, 2003

I sure was tired this morning, so I skipped History of Rock ‘n Roll. I handed in my AIS (fingers are crossed), and slogged through the next English class.

All this plays second fiddle to the waiting I’ve been going through. It’s been a week since I called Erin and poured my heart out, and I’m pretty sure she said she’d let me know by tonight. She didn’t call. To her credit, my roommate was on the phone during the half-hour that she tends to call, so I don’t know. I think I already know what she’s gonna say, and I’ve been pretty much accepting that fact for the last year, but I have to know. Y’know, I just want to be able to know if, when she finally gets ahold of me, if I’ll despodently accept what she says or — and in my mind this is a remote possibility — I can go “Woohoo!” and do some strangely arrhythmical dance. I guess I’ll call her tomorrow, if I have to, but I’d feel kind of weird. I almost literally dropped a bombshell on her last Monday, and she probably needs time to mull it over, still. Is it wrong to phone and say “Well?” That seems so… so… much like delivering an ultimatum. I just wish I knew the answer to that. I know I’ve been pretty much reactive in every aspect of staying in contact with her, but I just feel that I should give her time here, to make a decision in her own way.

The thing is that she really is an empathetic person, so it could be hard to tell me what I’m fearing. But this limbo, this Purgatory on Earth, is much worse than flat-out rejection.

All I know is that I screwed up, big time, majorly, Iran-Contra, and if I have a chance I will let her know what she should already know: that she’s the prettiest, brightest, gosh-darn swellest gal I’ve ever met and that every second I’m around her is (literally) a dream come true. These words look so hollow on the screen, but that’s only because I can’t find the right ones.

Anyway, I’ve got this, for whatever good it does:

I couldn’t tell which had become more wet:

The rain, drizzly, falling on field and farm

Or the perspiration — I mean my sweat —

Which created small lakes under each arm.

When I saw her, dazzling as always

I jumped, because I still wasn’t prepared.

I did not know smooth words the smooth man says;

I fumbled, squawked, and nervously I stared.

I was suff’ring, yes, and deathly afraid,

But was happier than I’d ever been.

‘Twas later I this observation made

Which dispelled almost all of my chagrin:

I realized, as we were saying goodbye,

Perhaps she was merely as nervous as I.


Sunday, February 2nd, 2003

Al Gore on Saturday Night Live. Somehow, it didn’t improve his image much. Now, instead of seeing him as a stiff, emotionless politician (a “Gorebot”, as Tom Tomorrow took to calling him), I see him as a stiff, emotionless politician who once appeared on a sketch show that has seen better days.

I am, of course, at my parents’ house, a fact one can infer from my having seen television. The TV I brought to my dorm room quit soon after the State of the Union address, which doesn’t bother me much. That’s also why I wrote nothing here yesterday. Last night I stayed over at Shawn’s house. We rented This is Spinal Tap, a movie which neither Shawn nor Aaron found as funny as I did.

Friday’s classes came and went, with only two noticeable incidents. The first was in History of Rock ‘n Roll, when professor Leadbetter played some different early blues songs. I got this urge to go back to my room and hammer some of my own out on the guitar. And I did. Later, in my British Lit class, I wrote a couple of poems which may or may not make it onto my main website. I had to walk to downtown Missoula because my bike is still here at my parents’ house, but the stroll was pleasant. The weather was a bit drizzly and the fog clinging to the air almost made the usually dingy Missoula streets almost pretty. Even the turbid Clark Fork was something to look at as countless drops of rain speckled its smooth surface.

I finished reading “Apt Pupil”, a story which I found quite disgusting. Now I’ve started in on “The Body”, which in the popular mass-media world goes by the movie title Stand By Me. Is there anything Stephen King has written which hasn’t been made into a movie?

Tomorrow, I have to write an AIS for Brenner’s class, an assignment which tickles me pink. For the first time, I am looking forward to something in my college classes. I looked forward to some stuff in my acting class, but I’ve considered that more of a diversion than a bona fide course. I need to e-mail my Senior English teacher, Mr. Kane, about Brenner. Shawn tells me that Kane had Brenner and I’m not at all surprised.

It’s a bitch about the Challenger. But you know what really pisses me off? The fact that nobody cared a donkey’s ass about the space program until a shuttle blew up.

Anyway, something important might happen tomorrow. I’ve done my best to steel myself, but there really is no speech for me to write, I guess. I have a feeling I know of what’s going to happen. I can hope against it, but I have to face overwhelming facts.

That’s all for now. Mr. King’s prose calls.