billyonaire

09:07 pm: TRACEN Cape May does blogs
Check out how other companies are doing at the Coast Guard Basic Training blog. It seems they started this PR about three months after I graduated. Granted not all companies are the same and some of the curriculum has changed, but overall the content of the updates summarize what I went through last summer--if such intensity can ever be captured in this media. http://uscgbootcamp.com/go/doctype/763/27287/

June 8 is my convening date for marine science technician A-school in Yorktown, VA. I expect to be gone for 13 weeks.

01:16 am: Just watched Twilight, and I hate to admit that I kind of liked it.
In other news, it has been a while, hasn't it?

I just want to make a short statement before I head to bed.

It would be nice to hold someone/something and say with the fullest sincerity, "All I have ever wanted is in my arms." Unfortunately, I'm not that type of person.

12:37 am: WindI
It sounds like some elephants are humping on our roof. The wind is blowing the vent, making it spin and squeak and thump in rhythm. It picks up and dies down, just as I imagine two elephants would on a roof. Or on a spider's silk thread. Ignore that.

Regardless, I have always believed that wind is the most effective and reliable source of energy. Ever since over ten years ago. Sometimes I get the sense that people don't believe me. I remember back in third grade making drafts of vehicles that are powered (or almost entirely supplied) by replenishible resources. Of course back then I didn't understand the first law of thermodynamics.

I also wanted to be a welder.

But, I wish I had the money or the savvy to make this house self sustainable. I want to grow my own vegetables and check on my solar panels and wind turbines to be sure they are all in working order.

I don't know what I'm saying. Goodnight.

12:59 am: Hesitations
I really shouldn't be updating this. The less I sleep now, the more tired I'll be at work. Which since the branch I'll be working at got robbed yesterday, isn't such a great idea.

The last time they were robbed, I was scheduled to work there that day, but was redirected to another branch because of anticipated higher volume. Call me cocky, but I was convinced that had I been working there, the robbery wouldn't have occurred. Well, now I see that two of our employees were working there yesterday, placing an extra body in that tiny branch. Granted, if someone is hard pressed to rob a branch, what is one more person behind the counter than usual? Though, I would imagine that the extra presence would deter a theft. However, this clearly isn't the case.

So, today will be busy. Times are hard for a lot of people. Some people are opportunists. I hope I don't have to deal with any threats.

Some more frustrations: I discovered fraudulent activity on my checking account. I've taken care of the matter, but it is one more stress source in a chaotic sea.

At least I've scheduled an appointment with a counselor next Tuesday. Sarah suggested I do so, and I promised Ashley I'd see one if she saw a doctor about her problems. So maybe there is some hope in the near future instead of my usual method of dealing with my problems: run away. I have trouble believing that one meeting is going to cure me of whatever ailments I blame on losing Erin.

I can't wait for Thanksgiving.

12:58 am: A quick bit about myself.
I hate shopping.

I went to CVS just before midnight to buy three things: razors, condoms, and toilet paper.

For the razors, I only had one choice, the Gillette Fusion. Back in boot camp, it was the one that I bought off a shipmate when I needed a quick razor. It was only ten dollars, but if I knew that down the line I'd be spending 3.50 per cartridge, I might have selected otherwise were there another choice at the time.

Instead of grabbing it and going, I compared every single men's razor product on the shelf. I even spent time examining the dispensing device used to protect against the theft of the expensive razors. Without having made my selection, the choice for me was either 4 or 8 cartridges, I turned around and tried on sunglasses. Subsequently, I visited the condoms and spent twenty minutes comparing each brand and the different features of each product. And without having picked anything there, I moved onto the toilet paper...at least that was easy...don't get the stuff I got last time.

With a 12-pack of toilet paper under my arm, I swing back by each section, grab the item I should have grabbed 45 minutes earlier, and wait for an employee to check me out at the register.

11:59 pm: Because I don't know where else to say this.
Someone died yesterday. Of course, but someone I knew died yesterday. Even more specific, someone I saw a few days before died yesterday. I found out this morning by investigating an odd news feed on facebook. At the time there were only four or five comments on his wall. The authors said they would miss him. Why? Is he going overseas?

It didn't take me long to figure it out, of course. Throughout the day the posts came rolling in. Everyone misses his smile. Heck, I know I'm even going to miss his smile. This person I knew was a popular person. He's a genuine sort of fellow. Extremely talented at everything he did including sports, academics, flirting, and simply being a likable guy.

I'd like to say we were friends. It is even such that if you asked and he could answer, he'd even say that we were friends. I can't admit that I knew him terribly well, but we interacted frequently enough. Upon recollection, I kick myself for those times that I'd allow myself to walk by him without greeting. I regretted running into him because he was always cheerful. Even if I didn't say anything, he'd start with a boisterous, "Hey man, what's up? How have you been?"

He even stuck around when I'd answer those questions and talk about whatever was bugging me at the time. To me, in addition to being a well-rounded, spectacular person, he was also the big fish. He was the guy that was so much better than me at everything that I couldn't even see him as a competitor. I could only gaze jealously from the corner while he lived his life seemingly better than anyone else.

I remember playing intramural soccer against his team. We had ten more people available to substitute in while they only had one. It was toward the end of the first half and he had already played a full game prior to the current one. Because my lack of experience on teams, my team placed me on defense. Tyler came fast like he always does; having legs like a giraffe seems to help in that cause, but nonetheless he could dance with that ball and shake anyone in his way. But not this time. I shut him down, took control of the ball, and worked it back up to midfield, doing my own version of a dance to keep him a safe distance away. It was the second proudest I've ever been playing soccer when I finally fooled him and made a big break.

That small accomplishment made me feel like a big man. I boasted to my teammates, "Did you see me shut Tyler down?" They gave me their mock-congratulations while Tyler walks up from behind and wipes the sweat from his eyes.

"Man, you did good there."

Graceful, elegant, suave, classy. He inadvertently made me feel like shit for talking myself up, but in the best way possible.



So I really don't know what the purpose is in writing this. It's hard to say that his death is unexpected because nothing ever surprises me anymore. My initial suspicion about the mode of death was correct.

The last time this happened to someone I knew was back in middle school at J.J. Daniell. In that instance, his father told me that I was his only friend he knew of. He asked if I'd accompany him to Mellow Mushroom, Trey's favorite restaurant. I didn't go because I didn't like mushrooms. I had no idea it was a pizza place. I didn't even go to the funeral. I didn't cry. There were other people that cried. I thought it was stupid for them to cry when they knew him even less.

The same can't be said this time around. As a local hero, Mr. Knisely was by no means a loner. So maybe I'm writing here so that the flicker of my memory will shed its light where it can be appreciated alone in a corner, away from the bonfire to which everyone else is contributing.

05:17 am: Six Yeunglings and a cigar...
But I have no gold medal to show for it. Dawn is on its way. This will be the second time the sun has risen since Phantom Regiment's second world championship performance. I wish I could have been more involved.

I got to see many people. Some I had trouble remembering, and some I'll never forget. Friends, family, and Phantom fans lined up at our little souvenir booth. I did what I could to serve them best. The marching members did the rest.

Congratulations, Phantom Regiment!

02:54 am: Fell asleep on the couch.
I awoke not too long ago from about 4 hours of sleep. My conscious smoothly transitioned from dreamworld to realworld. The fantasies dissipated and I was left fully dressed, laying on the couch, listening to the BBC playing over public radio. The grogginess of sleep and the telephonic static did much to disguise a man's English accent and the subject matter on which he was interviewed. It could have been an educated African accent. The lights were dim, and reflecting off the living room's warm yellow walls, I felt very comfortable.

I glance at the clock. 2:30. It seems a fireplace and a pipe are all it would take to make this scene ideal.

Somewhere on the coast of the African continent, I was relaxing, sipping the milk from a coconut. Although I was relaxing, it wasn't a relaxing time; I was responsible for locating the source of a particular disease affecting hooved livestock. It could have been foot-and-mouth disease, whatever the heck that is. Regardless, my coconut became a coconut bowl filled with rice, and each spoonful I excavated was symbolic for exploring another part of the continent, digging down into the case and discovering clues that allow me to rule out another region, thereby getting closer to my goal by a process of elimination.

Or at least I hope it was a symbol because what actually happened in the dream was that there was a voice coming from the depths of the bowl. Each time I plunged the spoon into the rice, I became the spoon. I was sorting through grains, scraping the coconut meat, and scooping out rice.

How you can get foot-and-mouth disease from that, or even go from there seemlessly back into consciousness, I'm not sure. It made me think of Ashley, though. Make sense out of that, if you can.

On another subject, I feel naked. Mostly because I am naked now that I am laying in bed, but I feel naked without my dogtags. I took off my Phantom Regiment dogtags for the first time before I went to MEPS in Montgomery for a physical. I'm more than a little disappointed that I'm not able to march junior corps. Although I've been offered jobs as staff for a number of corps and a spot in Corps Vets contra line, I'll be declining all of them. I really want to tour, but if I did, I think it would be detrimental to my situtation in the long run.

I'm having the same sorts of doubts about joining the Coast Guard Reserves, too. Eight years from now, will the job be holding me back? I'm excited and nervous. I think the feeling is called anxious. When I've been away from the water long enough, it seems to me that it is a silly idea. But then after racing last night, the thrill came back. I'll make a damn good marine science technician. I wonder what it takes to be posted on an icebreakig cutter. They get to go to classes in Yorktown, VA and learn about meteorology and oceanography. They get to go on arctic missions. I hope I don't get stuck inspecting ports all the time.

I need a woman to sit outside with me on these beautiful breezy nights. Ashley, if you get back from South Africa before I ship out in June, you're welcome to hang out with me in Pensacola.

10:53 pm: I am somewhat taken aback.
Reagan asked me to be her friend on facebook. If you don't know the story and think you'd like to dig into my darker side, ask.

Your name and your face were not among those I expected to ever see smiling at me. I have spent the better part of today enshrouded by confusion. As many thoughts I'm burning trying to find appropriate words, certainly you debated, hesitantly holding the pointer hovering over "Add William as a Friend." It must have been with no light heart that you finally decided to depress the mouse button.

I do not know what you have concluded or what has changed that gives you the gumption and motivation to invite me back. Before I destroy it with too many assumptions, and before too many words unwind your cause, or perhaps before I make light of a still delicate situation or add gravity to a weight to be lifted, I invite you to speak first. Enlighten me and make clear to me what you wish to achieve, and what I can hope to expect.

With all the humility, respect, and love I can muster,



William
Your fallen prince.

11:17 pm: This feels more like a stubbed toe than a broken heart.
Billy, you're a fuck-up.

Those are more or less the last conscious thoughts that pass through my mind every night before I black out in a restless sleep.

Well, not really, but it sounds more dramatic that way. The subject line used to be all that was in this particular entry, but I've come back to edit it.

Because I do not know whether the associated party will read this, all I will say on the subject is that I saw it coming, and perhaps I directed it to this particular outcome. Regardless, it happened again and I feel somewhat foolish.

But I'm still a fuck-up, and not just because I started opening up to someone and I let her close the door in my face. The beer I have been brewing may have been contaminated. The regatta I've been working hard for seems to be unraveling. My classes are suffering. I have no money in my bank account and no food in the pantry. Immediately after gaining recognition for being an excellent employee, I ruin it with a less than mediocre performance today.

How is it that I still get out of bed in the morning?

12:49 am: I was reminded just now of a story retold at Penair today.

Crystal's mother, a woman with enough years in the bank to make a cheap wine expensive, made an appointment with a new practicioner. Her doctor had finally retired. At the new office, she was led to an examination room where she sat alone for a period of time. Through the hall she could hear dogs barking. Shocked, she thought she mistakenly booked an appointment at the vet! It turns out the new doctor runs a family buisiness. The wife is the receptionist, and their pets are regular visitors.

How was I reminded?

Just now my stomach rumbled, though it was less of a rumble or growl and more like a buzz, like that of a cell phone vibrator. It occured to me, albeit very briefly, that I may have swallowed my cell phone.

06:44 pm: You know that phrase "Out of sight, out of mind"?
I'm sitting at my dining room table. The blinds are open, allowing me to take in a spectacular sunset. The pinks and the purples are now hiding behind the pine trees out back. Soon, I'll have to turn on the lights to continue writing.

How are you doing, Sarah? I actually bought this card before you left Pensacola, but I haven't found the occasion to write. But tonight, in the fading light, inspiration found me. I had a stressful and sleepless night attempting to complete in eight hours a take-home exam I had for three weeks. I skipped my classes today after turning in a shameful excuse for a test taken by an honors student. I've been in a "chill" mood ever since.

I took a nap on the dock on campus at the end of Campus Drive. This was after working up a sweat wandering through the wilderness. A chilly breeze perfectly balanced and regulated the warmth I bathed in laying shirtless on the dock. Here at home, I popped in Jack Johnson's "On and On." Right at "Taylor," I sang along, and a sudden desire to hear you strumming the intricate riffs while I try to keep track of what verse we were on struck me.

I don't miss people. At least, I thought I didn't, but that point I'll discover later. I do miss people's company. And for simplicity's sake, I'll go ahead and admit that I might miss you.

She just wanders around, unaffected by the winter winds, and she'll pretend that she's somewhere else, so far and clear, about two thousand miles from here.

Although it is more like 4500 miles (I know because I used Google Maps and a pencap for scale)(two thousand miles might put you just beyond the Mid-Atlantic Rift) it is still too far. I thought I would be thoughtful and send you my regards. I remember how exhillerating it was when I got mail when on tour. Hopefully this has the same affect. Let me know!

Enjoy yourself in Swansea. Take care, and come back safely!



Billy

It's a big load of crap.



Miss You


Card for Sarah Everhart.

04:17 pm: I like to record my dreams, no matter how pointless they seem.
Because I was supposed to finish a physical chemistry exam by 1 p.m. today I was not able to record this dream in a timely manner. Only by chance I recalled it as I was paying bills yesterday.

I was working at Penair Downtown when a member asked if she could borrow some stamps.

"I don't normally let people borrow stamps, but since I have them in my pocket..." I started, retracting my checkbook from my left side.

I opened the booklet of stamps only to find a number of one cent stamps. Flipping from page to page, I'd sporatically see an occasional two cent or outdated 27 cent stamp. Somehow, corners of parcels marked "postage paid" in amounts of up to $8 made it into my booklet. It was like a magician's neverending kerchief trick. It flustered me.

The end.

02:32 am: How to boil an egg.
I just did an internet search on how to boil an egg. Seriously. I needed to know the endpoint, when they were fully hard-boiled.

11:16 am: Chemistry Majors
For my analytical lab procedure today, there is a note: "The titration should be conducted drop wise when the gray tinge is noted, because the indicator slowly oxidize (reacts)." I added the font emphasis.

This sent me into a chuckling fit. As though we need clarification on what oxidation is.

08:28 pm: E-mail to my sister
I hope that you have at least Word 2003.

So here [attached to the e-mail] is a rudimentary list of what we want to do. If you can think to add anything, go ahead.

Why do we want to do this?

The house doesn't feel like a home. It is depressing walking around the house with charcoal walls. The bathroom has no ceiling, no practical floor, no mirror, and a bad light source. Although the original plans were to acquire Rockmart and somewhat move in there so work could be done on the house, the collision that somewhat impaired Mami has left her practically alone in the house.

Peter spends all his time in Rockmart, and Papi splits his time. Sunny and I feel the same way that one of us should be with her for those occasions where she needs something in the middle of the night, but like it has been delineated before, the house doesn't feel like a home. I've practically made my home here in Pensacola.

Anyway, in order to lift that gloom, a renovation is in order. I believe that pumping a week's worth of effort and energy into refurbishing the house and removing clutter would foster momentum that would keep the home spirit for a few years. It could again be the place where the kids hang out, or where New Year's and Memorial Day cookouts are held, and where board games do more than collect dust.

Furthermore, I believe that the preparation, anticipation, and work we'll actually generate will help Mami recover faster, and that after everything is said and done and the house is once again presentable, she'll be able to walk around the house, entertain guests and friends, and establish the dominance she once had. I remember how much she used to fret when I'd bring Erin over and the house wasn't in the best conditions. It didn't really bother me until now, where I have my own house to take care of and friends to make good impressions on. If she can walk around a rebuilt house and smile, just those endorphins should make a significant positive change in her health. I can't imagine how much she is being hindered when she walks around now in so much pain, wanting to do something about the condition of the house but can't because of the pain.

Why hasn't it been done before?

Lack of initiative. Sure, Papi has had plans to redo the house and add more, but nothing has really been done. He's collected materials over the past years, but that led to other problems such as storing and accessing the building supplies. It took a year to build a shed for that. I think that as worthy as it would be to add on and do all the renovations on the house at that time, it is impractical and unlikely that there ever will be such an occasion without a significant investment and sacrifice of time, labor, and money. It is not a project that can be done on weekends, no matter what Papi thinks. I would doubt that it could be done before he is due to retire.

Therefore, the project and the final decision fall on us. Not that it is a pleasant thing to think of, but ultimately if the house does not sell before they die, we'll inherit it. Papi and I had a nice long chat about inheritance (and a great many other things) on the way to and from Illinois for Thanksgiving. At Grandma and Grandpa's house, we had a nice long chat with them about inheritance. It's good to plan and invest.

It isn't only that the house will become ours, but it still is ours. I was born there. I can still remember that the branches in the paper birch in the middle of the front yard were great places to look for Easter Eggs. I remember how shocking it was to move back to Georgia from Illinois and see the blue wallpaper and blue carpet in the living room. It wasn't right and we weren't exactly happy about having left Illinois. I remember getting my hair buzz cut in the ugly green swivel chairs around the speckled-white, round table. Heck, I even remember making peach ice cream or sherbet or yogurt or whatever on the banquito between the kitchen/dining room and what used to be the laundry room, the memory you and Pete claim to be from a past life. I remember collecting Papi's change from on top of the brown-mustard colored dryer and running around in diapers or naked even after showers. I remember waiting behind the screen door and peeking through the pine trunks for Papi's green Ford as Mami walked to PoFolks.

And as much as it hurts to think of any of that changing, or even being the person responsible to make the change, I realize that it is necessary for the house to continue to foster the birth of new memories. Looking into the possible setbacks we might encounter, I realize that we will probably not do things Papi and Mami's way. Certainly, we'll use their advice and knowledge and labor, but if they want things differently, they'll have to do it on their own time. I'd like to do everything legally (will we need a building permit? will we have to bring things up to code?) or at least discretely enough to avoid that sort of hassle.

What we have going for us is all of Sunny's experience, knowledge, and labor, Iver, Anival, Luis, Peter, and my labor, not to mention friends and cash here and there.

It will make a fantastic birthday/anniversary gift for Mami and Papi, and if everything is done before Easter, we'll get to celebrate our work together as a family in the house we grew up. If not, we'll celebrate Easter anyway and have a glorious time for the work we have completed, and there should be enough desire to finish the work even after I leave. Pete might acquire a work ethic and stick around the house a little more, maybe even consider getting a job in Marietta and get some classes out of the way at Kennesaw. Luis, Anival, and Iver won't feel like second-class family (not that they think they are now, but my perceptions as a non-frequent visitor suggests that it could be the case). Sunny will be extremely happy to come "home" again. As happy as he is now that people come to 1884 to hang out, it would bring things back into balance when 1874 shapes up. I know you have already agreed that this is a wonderful idea, and certainly, you know the benefits that will affect you and your kids. I couldn't even begin to enumerate them.

Papi and Mami, I think, will be thrilled to see that we still do care about a dilapidated house that none of us live in. It will give them more hope about how we'll be able to come together to care for them when the time comes. The value of the house will rise dramatically (hopefully without bumping up property taxes too much since most of the work we'll do is on the inside and in the back). They will be able to start seriously thinking about similar work at Rockmart instead of having Pete leisurely do what he does.

And for me, maybe you've noticed that I'm treating this like a crusade, but it will mean so much for me. I think that since 2003 I have made so many mistakes, that I've been so costly, and it has taken too long for me to show any results for their efforts. This is a chance to show what I have. Even more so, it's a chance to show myself what I have, that I have the initiative and drive to fix a problem. It is a major step in gaining confidence in my independence.

I hope I haven't forgotten anything.

William

12:04 am: Day 1
First day of the new year and I'm about to break one of my resolutions. I spent fifteen hours with a girl, from a few moments after midnight to roughly three in the afternoon. I gave it my best, and in the end, I didn't even get a new year's kiss out of it. I think if I'm patient, something good may come of it. Unfortunately, I'm giving up caring about or trying to attract the attention of the fairer sex.

Other things to work on? School, work, sailing, essentially time management. Fitness. Getting off the internet. Saving money for a boat or bike. Maybe even some religion. More to come.

01:34 am: Look towards the future, and leave the past behind.
The subject line are words from a song that's currently occupying my mind. They have little relevance to this entry.

I don't know exactly what I want to write about. I'm writing because I feel like talking to somebody, but my internet is far from reliable (communication via aim is darn near impossible) and everyone who is going has already gone home for the winter break.

I know what I don't want to write about here. I don't want to write about girls. I don't want to write about how this is the second time in as many weeks that it feels like I have been stood up. I don't want to write about how that sort of thing shakes confidence and self-esteem because it seems that all I do to the general public is complain about women. Well, not necessarily about women, but about how I can't seem to attract any for longer than a heartbeat or two. But I'm not talking about that.

Instead, since it goes along with my subject line, I'll think publicly about what I have coming up.

Firstly, even though the break and subsequently the next semester has friends flying to all ends of the earth (including Wales and S. Africa). But it also means that friends are coming back to their homes in Pensacola! Tyler's coming back! Wooo! I anticipate sailing and trailblazing and possibly some beers. Jessie might also be coming back to UWF. We'll see how long she stays, but I'll welcome her back with open arms.

I don't have plans yet. This might be the first Christmas I don't spend with family. Why? Well, it might be presumptuous at the moment, but if I get an internship for next semester, it would mean cutting back on my hours at USC, so far back that its almost like quitting. I don't want to tarnish my reputation with them, so it could mean working through the holidays to show that I am a devoted employee, not some silly student that jumps at every opportunity for higher wages.

However, since I have not heard back yet from ESP for the GIS internship, I think it won't be as big of a problem since I won't have to deal with it. Unfortunately, since I have waited this long to make a decision, I might not be able to get Christmas Eve and Dec. 26 off. In which case, earning a few extra dollars might not be a bad thing. And if that is the case, then I could pick up even more hours working for Seville again, keeping to the word I gave them when I turned in my two week's notice.

That would mean that I could not be home for Christmas. I'm not sure I can handle that. I know my mom could not handle that. And this is the great debate.

So what do I do in the meantime other than work? I want to hang out with friends. I wish they would call me though. I want to repaint my room. I want to build the scale Wright Flyer. I want to sail and bike and get into shape. I want to date. I want to work. I want to make the world a better place. I want to see my family. I particularly want to see my nephews and niece. I made so much progress with my niece over the Thanksgiving holiday, by the end of the weekend, she actually gave me a hug and a kiss before she left. Might I remind you of last ( Christmas. ) I want to write to Erin, and if not her, then at least to her mom.

These are really the things I think about. At times, it doesn't seem that way because I won't shut up about girls.

Asking my dad for advice/permission to do what needs to be done for Christmas, I also asked for some money...no more than $75. He asked if I had done my Christmas shopping yet. I don't like shopping. I had done some grocery shopping, though, and let him know I had enough food to last me till the 21st. It was a lie. I have enough breakfast to last me till then. I wonder what kinds of miracles I'll pull out of my butt for Christmas gifts...I've never been good at it.

Oh man, I ramble too much. At nearly every paragraph, there was some desire to talk about how a certain aspect of my relationship with a particular girl is going. I resisted very well, I think. So, closing this entry...

I probably won't write again till the new year. I anticipate one of my resolutions being lessening my internet use. A suspicion of mine has nearly been confirmed...the IT industry might contribute just as much to global warming as vehicle exhaust. I want to keep in touch with people, but I want to be more "green." I wanted to be green before the phrase was popular...but I don't think anyone here would believe me. And honestly, I could probably cut communication with acquaintences. I bet it would serve all of us better, though I hate to think that I haven't impacted somebody's life thoroughly enough to go un-needed.

And I think ultimately that is what I want. I want to be loved and needed.

02:03 am: No need for concern.
So much has happened since the last time I wrote. I am kind of glad that I don't record it, because I'd spend so much time trying to retain all the details that I'd miss another opportunity to live.

Why I'm writing tonight is not necessarily related to anything at all. A bunch of images that have been floating around in my head are starting to congeal. The first was stolen from a movie, one of the Leprechaun movies, I believe. During a not exactly rough time, but one of my lower points in the past few months I envisioned my intestines being slowly extracted from my gut. They were wrapped around a rusty length of barbed wire wound on a rotating spit. Occasionally, a barb would pierce the wall and some digestive fluid would leak out.

The curious part about this nightmare was that it was not torture, and it was not painful. In my sleep I somehow made the association that my gut, any and all the values and in particular, love, was attached to something. My natural tether kept me from straying too far, or rather hindered me from venturing forth. It was irritating that I couldn't escape due to this mock-umbilical cord. Yes, maybe that is it. Instead of being nourished, my nourishment is escaping and being wasted on some rusty wire.

I had that nightmare consecutively for about a week. Daylight would have me trying to decipher what was going on.

These other images haven't been nightmares at all. They are, in fact, the result of my attempts to understand that recurring nightmare. Each of them are gruesome, but in no instance have I been able to pair them with a grimace of pain.

For instance, strangulation to the point of asphyxia. I imagine a thick coil of rope, triple braided white nylon perhaps, crushing my trachea. The girth of the rope itself forces my chin up, forcing my mouth shut. I would look like a dog does sticking its snout high while swimming that awkward paddle they do. I could see blue lights bursting before my eyes. They would give way to a brown, checkered pattern encroaching my field of view from the edges, beyond what I can actually perceive through my pupils. Quickly yet almost unnoticed, the pattern would sweep inward, displacing all concepts of depth, shape, color, motion, light and dark. An exquisite transition, I must say.

Still, no pain. There is no intention or fear of death in any of these images either. Somehow it is understood, either I am immortal or I can be fixed...or I simply stop imagining before I get to that point.

I'll be brief and get to the latest one, the one that seems to make the most sense.

Due to: 1. This thunderstorm, 2. TENS, 3. Wanting to have a good conversation; this resulted:

I lay impaled on a bed of metal spikes. None of the punctures are disgusting and apparently it was done with very little external bleeding. It is clear that some of my vital organs now contain an amount of alloy through them, but there is no great concern. A large number of volts flow excitedly through this bed. I can both feel and hear the humming electricity as I daze into an empty sky. The amps running through me tickle slightly, but it is a very soothing sensation. I could with a stretch of the imagination pretend that twenty cobbler elves are working together to give me a massage. The only thing out of place is the wafting and minute scent of singed flesh and the applied friction working against gravitational forces, tugging my skin up the spikes like a warped meniscus.

Feels like paradise, right?

The last image I can deliberately and immediately attribute to my experiences with Erin. I used to call her when it stormed, or she'd call me. The storm now has moved on. It still drizzles, but the rumbling thunder is far off. I don't see those brilliant flashes anymore. The TENS (Transcutaneous Electrical Nerve Stimulator) is something I only recently was interested in. Christie has one to help her with her shoulder. I had suggested that my mom ask her physical therapist about it. A TENS unit is supposed to help numb pain. That could make sense in this last image. And then of course to me there is the obvious connection to Erin's lightning strike.

I am led to believe that Erin is the rusty barbed wire. Maybe she the coil as well, but I'm leaning more towards the tornado and the loss of the J for that one. I could recite so many thematic connections of how I feel, how I should feel, and why I do or don't about a number of things. I think they all follow a theme of constriction, or restriction. Something preventing me from moving on. I just wonder what that is and what to do with it.

03:58 am: That is absolutely correct!
I have been doing well. It is amazing what how shifting my focus has brought perspective and meaning back into my life.

Not too long ago I was journeying. This trip is one that many before me have taken; some testify that it is dead end. They call it a rut, but I know some people who have worked their way out of it or are making steady headway.

It didn't take me long working at Seville to recognize how much I appreciate the concept of earning my pay. I can do the laborous work, but it is the menial task on a slow night at the door that I abhor. It keeps me from my studies; it keeps me from my sleep. At night I'm alert, and I crash in the day. However, I don't see how this advances me and my pursuits in any way.

All I needed was confirmation for initiation. My dad provided.

"I need somebody to tell me, 'alright, go ahead and do it'"

"Alright. Go ahead and do it."

With these words, my dad alleviated me of tuition concerns, allowing me to bring all my attention back to my schooling. So I quit that very night. I turned in my two weeks notice. Coming into work the next day, the guys heckled me a little bit, saying I pussed out. After getting off work early Monday morning, I joined my fellow doormen at my supervisor's house for his birthday party.

There I sat and absorbed all the commotion. I drank my one beer and ate my fill of chicken wings and cupcakes. I recognized almost everyone there, most likely because I asked to see their identification at some point on my first week. I stood by ready to abate a drunken confrontation should it get out of hand. My supervisor took notice.

A new, blonde, attractive cocktail waitress was all that was left of the women by two in the morning. Her brother is a new doorman as well, and as she told me at the beginning of the night, he really likes me.

"He REALLY likes you. He looks up to you. He's told me about all the doormen he doesn't like and the few that he does. He's smarter than he seems."

I wonder if she knows that I have my doubts about him, but she continues:

"He is all that I have. We only have each other."

I can't get a word in. She's drunk, and she has two large men trying to get her attention. I don't really want to get a word in, because in her sincerity I hear desperation--not for her safety, but for his. There is a lot of drama unfolding among the doormen. Don't get me wrong, I like these guys, but I keep myself at a distance from these situations. Silly, silly drama. She wants to be sure that her brother doesn't get dragged in, and aparently I'm the one to do it. So I stay two hours longer than I anticipated till he gets off work and makes it to the party. I drive away sober and sullen.

Working Tuesday night brought another surprise. A server came out to spend some time off duty outside. We spoke at length about ambition and life and choices and regrets. There is no chance that I can recreate the passion and confusion and headache that this conversation evoked. It caused me to recall all my minor moments of glory, when I was respected by strangers for my ability to listen. I see now that it is because I played the part of a student. On the scale of awareness, most people are robots. Some are students. Very few are awake.

How is this relevant? This server I was speaking to, a dark-skinned man of short stature, had just been promoted to supervisor of nighttime servers. He once nearly completed an engineering degree in Michigan and had already secured an $85k job at an automotive company. After graduation it would jump to $165k. He developed three seat braces and put his initials, B.B, in the name to identify them as his, since the company kept the patents. So what is he doing in Florida? He chased a dream, an unsuccessful one, but at least he chased it. Upon speaking with me, he came to the conclusion that his rut is no rut at all. He opened his eyes and saw a future again.

I am not in a rut, even if I ever made the oposite claim before. I have so many things going for me, but I've turned my back on so many of them. Facing my current problems have proven difficult, but after the roughhousing from situations I've neglected, I already see myself excelling.

For instance, Chemistry:

I missed three and a half weeks of lab, and two weeks of the lecture portion. Meeting with Dr. Huggins face-to-face got my heart beating, especially after he asked the remaining people to leave the room. But I didn't falter. I took his sweet berating. I responded calmly and confidently. I further aided my confidence by identifying my remaining unknown from the long delayed first lab within thirty minutes of recieving the once missing data.

Or the lecture lesson on reading NMR data. Everytime the class was stumped on what to do next, I'd speak up, giving a suggestion, somehow driven from my gut. I find that I do chemistry better from my gut than my head. And everytime except once it was a "fantastic idea" or a "spectacular choice." As they should be since I have already had his Ochem III lecture and taken this lab. That sort of support makes me feel foolish for waking up every morning and not seeing a chemist in the mirror.

Even more exciting was interpreting Hamlet with Mr. Davis.

"What does it mean? Why are you reading Shakespeare and how is it applicable to you, here, and now?"

Some people would attempt a half thought answer.

He'd grimace, grit his teeth, groan and add, "Not quite! You don't have to worry about succession of the monarchy!"

I already know how the pieces fit. I've heard this passionate speach from a number of other professors and teachers over the years. I know not to blurt out the answer before people have time to absorb what they can. I let him spell it out plain as day before I make him feel like he's accomplished something.

"Hamlet doesn't act because he thinks too much. When he sees Yorik's skull, he recognizes the finite life and 'readiness is all.' So he lives and acts and duels and kills and dies. So, life is what it is, and you won't live it doing nothing, and you won't live it being dead. Live life.

"That..



".is absolutely correct!"

And so I felt unbound. Like Hamlet, finally awakened. All these events in the past two or three weeks have led to a greater sense of awareness. I will not mull and putter about meaninglessly. I will devote myself passionately to that which I am committed. I will continue to be true and honest and any number of virtuous terms. I'll explore my life and the lives of others who choose to let me explore. Lets see if this lasts.