About 2 hours before we had to leave, Amanda asked me, gentle but obviously worried and motherly, if I had done my gifts yet. I told her I hadn’t, but was about to. She left me alone, but her reminder forced me to face my lack of any work at all. Instead of doing something about it, I let the feelings of claustrophobia and anxiety overwhelm me, as I do, and laid down on the bed, clothed and lightless. I cried and lay still for almost fifteen minutes before Amanda, even more worried, called my name, came into the bedroom, and sat on the bed next to me. We talked for a bit, and she brainstormed with me. We (read: she) came up with a good solution and after cleaning my face, I set to work on it. It came out only okay, but I didn’t feel too poor about it, given my memories of the previous years gifts. (I took a 8.5 x 5.5 piece of paper, drew a crayon picture in some form representative, and wrote a haiku encompassing, in short, a thought or feeling I had about them.)

Amanda and I showed up to my Mom’s house, in West Chester, and we enjoyed the party. Towards the end of the night, it came time to share our gifts. I felt the start of shame burn within my heart. My turn came, I handed everyone their papers, and they all laughed a little, cuz they’re funny. Jacob, whenever his turn was, had written a 5 minute rap with four stanzas for each person present. Liam made everyone mix cds from his own collection. Mom handed everyone cardboard boxes that contained personalized 2011 calendars filled with pictures of whoever received it.

That’s the story element, but the point for writing all of this is to lay out how I reacted in the face of “homework”, and rereading what I wrote yesterday (the above), I didn’t do a very good job of describing it.

Sometimes, I get in a mental rut. I trip on a thought, and it sits in my head, knocking around, looping and looping and looping until it overwhelms my other mental faculties. I put up a good front, but I have a lot of issues with failing goals and disappointing people who expect things from me. For example, back in early January, Amanda and I were talking about money and my future situation while she’d be off in England, and she put up the idea that maybe I shouldn’t try to save up and go visit her. I told her I had to, because it’s not just about visiting, though that is the main reason, but because if I don’t, I would disappoint my mom and dad (not to mention my siblings). I said that I’d already disappointed them enough, to pass up an opportunity like this would break their heart.  All totally true. I was getting out of the shower while I said this, and while I felt fine going into the sentence, by the time I finished, I was crying. I could feel all the pressure from years of school and NaNoWriMo and everything else I see as me failing, and it overwhelmed me. How it goes.

All that to say that I had the same reaction, except a lot more clear and specific, back in December. I felt the tightness in my chest, I knew the guilt and the shame and the regret and the anger and the frustration was coming, and I didn’t have enough time to fully react, so instead, I let the pain roll over me. I laid on the bed, and shook with the above. I hate failing, though. As I think about it, it really comes down to a deep aversion to failing and causing disappointment. Like Calvin said, Expectations are lower if you don’t try too hard, so I don’t.

I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. I know the feeling, and it’s fucking terrible. That’s why I’ll never be successful.

(Well, one of the reasons.)

Today is Thursday, May 5th. Two weeks ago +:

Friday, the 22nd I don’t sleep very well, cuz I’m on the floor with only a pillow, and a tiny blanket on me in my clothes. Even so, two long days of travel catch up to me, so Amanda and I sleep until almost noon. She tells me later that this is how England lives: late to sleep, late to wake. We drag ourselves into some clothes, stumble to the kitchen for some “wraps” (a tortilla with sandwich meat, cheese, and lettuce), and figure out what we’re doing for the day. The plan so far: procure a mattress for me, go down to The Mock Turtle in the Lanes for tea and scones, and then whatever! A sound plan we decide.

We walk over to the office, but poop and more poop, the office is under Spring Break hours, so we’ll have to wait until 4. Okay, next order of business. We dash back to the flat, tell Laura to meet us down there, and bust out, taking the 25 down the hill to the shore. Amanda and Mark text each other, to figure out meeting plans, cuz we want him there for tea as well. He’s already in the Lanes, but doesn’t know where the shop is. She gives him directions as we step off the bus and head down. As we wait, I decide I want some gelato from the cute gelato shop next to the Mock Turtle. I make the mistake of ordering chile chocolate, though, and it tastes horrible. Laura shows up and saves the day, tasting it also to agree that it’s terrible. We hold onto it just long enough for Mark to try it when he appears, but he likewise hates it. Glorious choice, Noah. Into the tea shop we go.

It’s fucking adorable. Tiny, with a downstairs I never did get to experience, the walls and from window are covered in pastries and tea sets. The walls are a baby cyan blue, and all of the tables and chairs are creaky wood. We botch the order, so the waitress decides for us. After a surprisingly brief wait, she brings out our  food: boiling water in a teapot, a strainer, two tea cups with saucers, and a plate with three scones, butter cream and jam. I almost die. The scones are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. They’re practically bread chunks, being tall and thick and warm and so very delicious. And the tea is traditional strong British black tea. We all feast our faces off, taking many pictures and sharing much love. We finish, satisfied, and exit back out into the Lanes, looking for adventure.

Through them we wander, looking in the various shop fronts, giggling and chatting, breaking off into two groups organically, as the other two suspect Amanda and I want to walk together. They are so very cute together, Mark and Laura. Like best friends they never knew they had until England. I see them laughing together, and I want them to get married and grow old together, being this happy forever. We end up at the edge of the Royal Pavilion, and decide to walk through it. The grounds are gorgeous and lush, people are playing or lounging in the grass, flowers have bloomed. It feels like a movie. I’m floating.

We walk to the edge, finding ourselves trapped, and backtrack out to the street, where we hop on the bus and head back up to Falmer. We’ve got 35 minutes before the office opens, so we lay around, chitchatting and wasting time. FIIIIINALLY, it’s time, so we run down, chat with the very nice gentleman working, and walk away with a very generic mattress. Victory tastes sweet. Back in the room, we cover it, blanket it, and get back to our chilling and chatting. Shortly after, a number of the others  invite us to go on a walk with them. I give Amanda my puppy eyes, so we pull our shoes back on, and head out the door. Everyone meets at the edge of the flats, next to the tennis courts, where we hear about the fabled sheep that live on the hill behind the campus.

We head out, all of us walking and stumbling and trudging our way through the little bit of woodlands between the campus and the hills. The group includes Matt, Mark, Megan, Carli, Jen, Laura, Amanda, and myself. This group of kids is beautiful. Every single one of them is wonderful. They’re playful and kind and silly and they’ve made me feel welcome and a part of their group without reservation. I wish I could stay longer. We break from the trees to a fence and gate, which we step through, out onto a massive hill, stretching from my feet greenly towards the stark blue cloudless sky high above. I take a minute, caught in awe, but quickly dash back to Amanda, so as to not be left behind.

We climb to the top of the hill. Someone has taken some bigger rocks from around and spelled out SOS on the ground next to the solitary tree near the apex. For fun, I run around a bit like a biplane in World War 1. We get to the far end of this hill, and go through the gate to the next square of land, where a bunch of people are hanging out with their dogs and walking around. Amanda and I get tired, though, so we head back. We later find out they walk for five more hours, eventually making their way to downtown Brighton, before taking the bus home. Amanda and I walk back to the first hill, next to the tree, and we sit for a bit, soaking in the view. It’s breathtaking, and the more I look, the more emotional I become. I don’t know that I can accurately describe it through text, as a moment like this usually requires me rambling through broken metaphors and botched descriptions at length, but suffice to say, I cry. I look out over the valley, and Does Not Suffice floats softly through my brain. Amanda, who words cannot encompass, understands, and doesn’t say anything.

We just sit, and look, and know this will last forever, and then end forever.

After a while, we talk briefly and begin walking back. I consider hugging her, but I know that if I do, my tears will  drown me, so we walk in silence until we reach the first gate, and walk back through the woods. We discuss, within, how we want to raise our kids, and what kind of environment would be suitable. Through all the shit the two of us have been through, which, admittedly, is not a lot, I find myself continually shocked that we’ve ended up together. Our happenchance meeting online, our rough first relationship, my horrible double-dealings with Emma, the subsequent period of no contact, and now this: a sharing of purpose like my biology tells me it should be. A whole comfort within the vastly complex and infinitely subtle life and mind of another person. I can dig it.

Back at the flat, we eat some digestives, watch some Arrested Development, and enjoy the setting sun from her window.

Later, we cuddle. A simple bit of movement, a natural combination of bodies, a mirroring I’ve participated in my whole life. It’s not so much different with Amanda, physically, but it means something different. “A cup of kindess that we share with another. / A sweet reunion with a friend or a brother. / In all the places you find love it feels like Christmas.” Like that. We try sex, but it’s been a while, so the mechanics don’t work out quite right. It ends in laughter, though, laughter and groaning.

I know, as I fall asleep on the mattress on the floor next to Amanda. But I don’t mind. I pull the corner of the blanket a little farther towards my head, and go to sleep happy.

Thursday, the 21st So where did I leave off, last time? Oh yes. I’d just arrived, and stepped into Amanda’s room. We sit on her bed for a little while, hugging and talking and sharing, as it’s been over a day since we’d last talked. I tell her about my adventures in Brixton, and the nosebleed, and my nap on the train. She laughs at me, gently, and tells me about how she and Laura had waited for me at the bus stop at 8:30, then later at 10:30, but without any means on contacting me, they could only worry and wait. Many lolz were shared. Before doing anything else, though, I hop in the shower, and scrub away sleepiness and traveling. After a brief discussion of potentials while I dry off, we decide on going to the baguette sandwich seller in the Lanes. We hit the hallway, and I meet Laura, one of Amanda’s flatmates. I can tell she’s going to be kick-ass almost instantly. She wants to come with, so we lollygag until she changes, and then we’re off!

And by off, I mean we exit the building and walk up the hill to the bus stop. Woo. My £2 bus ticket from earlier still works for the rest of the day, so payment is a non-issue. We, of course, sit upstairs, and stretch ourselves out across our own two-seats. I point out where I’d stepped off the bus too early, and they laugh a bunch. An uncommon but understandable mistake, I take. The road systems make no sense at all. The double-yellow isn’t used to denote the sides of traffic, so to an outsider, the road gives no hints and the traffic paths are completely opaque.  We barrel downtown, and set off the bus into harsh, clear sunlight and warm weather. I can smell the sea. To the right, where we start walking towards, are the Lanes. Rows and rows of alleyways and sidestreets crammed with shops and stalls and stores, each as beautiful and unique as the next.

Up the way, we come to the baguette place. It’s a hole-in-the-wall 10×10 room with a counter-window for the customers, and some signs of the various things they sell. Laura buys a drink, I get a brie, bacon and raspberry jam on white, and Amanda gets a pesto chicken and Parmesan cheese on wheat. Lacking chairs, we wander down the street a bit until we pass a cute little park, and plant on a bench within. After hearing Laura whine about lacking money, I share my sandwich a bit. She protests, but still eats a bit. Once finished, we just sit and enjoy the scene. It’s gorgeous weather, the park grass has multiple groups, and a couple are walking around the edge.

From here, we head down to the beach, still not decided if we want to put our feet in the water. Through the Lanes, the lovely ladies point out their favorite tea shop, and promise me we’ll attend tomorrow. It looks adorable. Across the street, and we’re on the seawall. It’s not quite hot enough yet for the masses to come out, but the beach is still pretty full. We walk down to the waters edge, and the three of of take turns getting our feet wet. Laura is the most adventurous, and eventually soaks most of her skirt. A couple little kids play near us. They’re so very adorable. I know I talk about memes and recursion a lot, to the point of making the words meaningless, but it blows my mind to watch situations like this: The three of us are sitting there, tossing rocks into the ebbing water and chatting away, and this four- or five-year old girl, who has been playing in and around the water, starts watching us, trying to be subtle about it. We notice of course, but we don’t call out to her. Soon after, she sits down a little away from us, and also starts throwing rocks into the water, and frequently looking back at us in approval. We laugh about it, as she almost hits her little brother, but we’re clearly influencing her. Laura goes back into the water at one point, getting in pretty far, and soon after, once Laura’s back, the little girl tries her hand at wading in. (This is all under the watchful eye of her mother, who is not 10 feet away.) She wants to go in as far as Laura, but obviously is too small and not brave enough. Just mind-blowing to watch. She was learning from us older folks how to act. Learning through imitation and repetition.

After we’ve dried off, we walk back to the bus stop, and chill out a bit until the 25 takes us home. I fall asleep on the bus, much to the amusement of the two ladies. We get back to the flat, Laura bids us adieu, and we sit down in Amanda’s room. While chatting, I fall asleep on her bed for a couple hours. After my nap, we make a shitty frozen pizza that hurts our bellies, and waste time until another flatmate of hers, her friend Mark, comes home from his trip to Belgium. We go visit him, and he shares his chocolates and stories with us on the floor of his room. We hang out with him, then, in the kitchen with some of the others, including Laura and Madison.

Then it’s bedtime, and we remember we don’t have an extra mattress for me. We try sleeping in the same double, but that’s even worse. So I take a pillow to the floor, and drift off into a very uncomfortable night of sleep. Yikes and ouch.

I don’t remember everything from Friday, though, or the other days, so I’ll wait to post about them until tomorrow. Any of you from Brighton, please comment here or on Facebook, and remind me of what we did together and when. I don’t wanna forget. I didn’t know you for very long, but I love you all. I’m glad we met.

Monday, the 18th I go to work, come home, mail my books outs, grab my pounds from the bank, clean up a little, take out the trash, and go down to Habenero to get dinner with Jason. We chat about music (natch), and my upcoming trip. I love this man. He’s absolutely awesome, as a friend. After our food, we head back to the apartment, where I make him listen to the new Between the Buried and Me album (The Parallax), and he introduces me to The Joy Formidable. I know I’ve fallen in love one minute in, but the piece continues on for six more minutes. Glorious. I immediately download it, finding it only in FLAC. Dad calls, invites me down to Arlin’s, so Jason heads home and I wander down the street.

Dad and I chat about my upcoming trip, we drink some beer, and on the way back, I lend him season 4 of The Wire. At home, I push some clothes around, barely filling the suitcase. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, I think. I juggle skills on Eve, unsure of what to train, until I decide on Weapons Upgrades 5. Fuck yes, it’s 8 days. Shortly after, I hit the sack, the cat loving me all over. He doesn’t even know.

Tuesday, the 19th Work, of course, but tense with anticipation. Robbs wife, Sally, joins me in the booth, and we talk/bs about everything, as I show her the ropes. Easy stuff. I’m practically bouncing by the time I get out. Abera shows up an hour early, which gives me time to run around a lot before Mom and Caitrin show up. They watch as I assemble the last of my garments, put some cat food in a bag for the Fin, turn off everything, and stuf Phineas in his carrying case. He meows a bunch about it. Poor guy. We load up the car, but at the last moment, I remember I forgot something, so I run back up, turn the computer back on, load the phone with the Joy Formidable album, grab my phone charger, turn the computer back off, and get in the car. We drive to the cat clinic, where I hand him over. He clings to my shoulder first, and I almost cry. We drive home.

At home, I talk with Liam and Caitrin and Mom. We chat and laugh and plan for the next day. I hit the sack at 1030, not knowing how long tomorrow will be.

Wednesday, the 20th Wake up at 7, after a bad night of sleep. A little sore, but rested enough. Have some breakfast with Mom, which is always wonderful. I wake up Caitrin ten minutes before we leave, cuz she didn’t know to set her alarm, and then we’re in the car and driving to CVG. Laughter and love the whole way down. The day is overcast and drizzly, but not too terrible. At the terminal, I hug both of them, then walk inside alone.

Ticket counter, then TSA screening. I opt-out, and receive a very grabby pat-down. The man performing it is professional and kind, but he’s still rubbing my legs and ass and the inside of my waistband. I feel pretty awesome, though. Once through, I walk to my Gate, find out I’m almost two hours early, and so spend the time reading Makers and eating a cream cheese bagel I buy while listening to TJF and Adele. Two different flights are boarding next to each other at the same time, so the crowd is a pushy mess, but I make it into my seat, and off we go. I chat up the really nice Australian HR guy next to me for half the time, then our 1.3 hour flight is over. Fucking simple. Once we cleared the clourds, they didn’t break once between Cincinnati and Chicago. Solid clouds the whole way.

Once in O’Hare, I quickly find my next gate, and reel a little from the 3 hours of waiting before even boarding my next flight. More Makers, then a jazzed up hotdog, and the toilet for almost 45 minutes. Bad food, man. Not good. Once it passes, though, I don’t feel gross anymore. On a whim, I buy A Game of Thrones, even though I brought other books. Because of Adele and The Joy Formidable, my phone is slowly running out of batteries, so I find a plug and let it charge. At some point, I finish Makers. Damn good book.

Only twenty minutes then we all board up the 747. I get the aisle again, and am surrounded by British folk. A mom with two kids, two married women in the seats next to me, a college-aged women across the aisle, children and children and children. One of the kids reads the British Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone from The Sorting Hat through The Midnight Duel. In-flight movie is Tron: Legacy, but I just saw it on Thursday (when the power was out), so I watch the first half in French, while also reading Snow Crash. Out the window, the daylight fades fast, and yet the cloud cover never breaks. (I wish I’d taken pictures of it. It was gorgeous.)

The map on the screen between films shows we’re almost over the water past Canada, but the clouds remain. Dinner is a lasagna-ish thing, with a salad, a roll, and a brownie. I determine that my drink for this trip will be Ginger Ale, as I’d had it on the previous flight, and it still sounds delicious. The next movie is How Do You Know?, with Reese Witherspoon and Paul Rudd and Owen Wilson. It was fucking terrible. A pile of shit, in every sense. Cliched and stereotyped, full of cheesy dialogue and cheesier situations, rampant abusive relationships troupes played for laughs, and beyond horrible editing and musical cues. Fuuuuuuuuuuck. I could write a whole post about the shit wrong with that film. Of course, I watched all of it, rapt in horror.

Now we’re solidly in darknes and over the water. I’m not tired at all, and Snow Crash and The Joy Formidable keep my attention. With an hour or so left, I end up chatting with my neighbours, and we chat about their travels and my plans and things I should do/see. They’re wonderful, and very kind. This is my first experience with the phenomenon of hearing a forgeign language in the English if I don’t concentrate. Craziness.

Finally, we land and disembark. I chat up the women from across the aisle. She’s nice, and recommends various places in London to visit. I remember none, natch. Through immigration, where I’m asked about my stay, and the worker reads the cute email Amanda wrote me with directions. After that, I’m free to go, cuz it’s pretty obvious my intentions. Down the stairs, grab my bag, see a sign for the Underground, and away I go.

I check my phone as I walk, and it says 6:35 am, Thursday, the 21st. Around a corner, I see automated ticket windows for the Tube, but I’m not sure my directions, so I ask a guard, and he points me towards Victoria Station, which aligns with Amanda’s comments. Excellent. 5 pounds, and I have my ticket. Down two more sets of stairs, and I slid onto the car right before it takes off. “This is the Picadilly line to Cockfosters. Mind the gap when exiting.” My phone is dying, so I snap one last picture before turning it off. The sun is just coming up, and I realize my internal orientation is backwards. I’m actually facing south, headed east. It takes me twenty minutes of internal discussion to switch myself around. The Victoria Line station appears, so I exit and dash to the next train.

This one is a lot fuller, as everyone is now waking up and heading towards work, but very quickly I am alone. Finally, the line ends. Right as I stand, my nose begins gushing blood. Fuck. I hop out and hit the street in beautiful Brixton, to see a Starbucks next door. The bathroom tissue stems the blood, I buy a doppio con pana, and wander to a bus stop. Looking at the bus stops, I don’t immediately see any that go towards Brighton. Fuck. I wander for a bit, ask tqwo bus drivers, and finally, a helpful Briton tells me I need to take the tube up to Victoria Station and hop on the train there. Goddamn it, okay.

I walk back to the Tube, buy another ticket, this one only 4 pounds, and ride up to Victoria Station. Rereading Amanda’s note, she said Station, but I didn’t understand. Oh well. Exit at the right spot, check a map, walk round the block to the train station, purchase a ticket, run to the train, and enter with less than 30 seconds to spare before the doors close and the train departs. Reading the marquee, I can tell I have a while. Beautiful English countryside passes my window. At one point, I see four houses in a row, the same layout, with a person standing in the same spot in each, doing something different. One is drinking from a mug, one is patting a baby, one is washing their face, and the last is smoking a cig. Beautiful. I nap a little later on.

Finally, last stop is Brighton, and I exit to the sound of seagulls and cars. It’s 9:45 at this point. I hit the street, my eyes looking for a bus stop while my mind calculates taxi costs and timing issues and directions. A nice guard/helper asks my destination, then gives me the bus lines I need to take to Falmer: The 7 down to North Rd where all the busses go, then the 25 all the way to the University. I thank him, and he gives me a slip that’ll get me on any bus all day for only 2 pounds.

The 7 comes around the corner, I pay my 2, and we drive down. Exiting, I see the 25 coming down the way. Those must be tbhe Lanes, I think, as I board the 25. This time, I climb to the upper deck. I can see a couple shops down an alley, but then my focus is pulled forward as the bus drives onward. Minor panic, when I see a stop for University of Brighton, and quickly get off only to realize I’m on a different campus, and nowhere near Falmer. Another 25 turns the corner, though, and I enter that one, sitting tight this time. The wait at University of Sussex kills me, because I see the other bus drive off, but I breathe deep, and soon we’re pulling into the Falmer campus. I step off, look around, and start walking.

Down the hill, I walk to the dorms, but the sign only goes up to 6, when I need 30. What the fuck. A gardener points out the sign that shows every building, so I make my way to 30. (I later realize I took the longest path possible. Ha.) I come up to the door, ring the bell, and “Hello?” “Hey, Amanda.” I’m buzzed in, walk up the three flights, and we hug. She leads me to her room, I drop my things, we hug more, and discuss the day ahead. I see a clock display 11:30.

I think this a good place to stop. My thumbs hurt, and I need to talk to Amanda about that day.

Jules and I spoke on feminism, as we some times do. She shared an idea with me that has stuck with me like paste residue on a book cover. The thought goes something like, “The far right and the far left share a great many core concepts, but their reasons and goals are what make them different and even opposed. An example: Home-/un-schooling as a way to shelter your child versus home/-un-schooling as a way of freeing and broadening your child.”

I’ve come across, internally, another example. The character Jesus the Annointed, in the Christian Bible, tells his apostles to not lust after another person, specifically another woman, because to think an impure thought is to have already commited the sin. Modern Christians that I’ve interacted with and been taught by suggest a great many ways to keep ones thoughts from straying. I myself learn many techniques, one in particular sticking with me: the Eye Bounce. When seeing an attractive woman, don’t let your eyes linger, because that begets bad thoughts. Instead, learn to “bounce” your eyes off her, getting them looking at something else. I can still do this without effort or aknowledgement.

One of the reasons I quit religion, and Christianity in particular, is the oppressive focus on guilt and thoughtcrime. In my early teen years, as my sexuality became a focus instead of just “good feelings”, and I began watching/reading/viewing porn, I dealt with a lot of guilt and shame. Especially as I learned to masturbate, and learned to hide my interest in kink and alt-lifestyles. That took me years to fully get over. I had trouble with it until after I finally moved out, in fact.

I say all that to make the point that for me, not feeling guilty about my body, about sexuality, about lusting, about all of it, was and still is a victory for me. I broke away and found a better life that accepts and supports, not condemning and guilting.

In the last two years, I’ve learned a lot about feminism and equality and the principles behind QUILTBAG and able-ism and size-ism and every (obvs not actually) version of prejudice. I’ve learned some about rape culture and systemic sexism and patriarchal gender roles. I’ve also learned some about sexual objectivication (specifically of women), and its harmful role in suppressing marginalized views.

One idea is that men should not objectify women, period. By participating, even internally, we perpetuate a culture of debasing and dehumanizing women. So what that means for a man is to, you guessed it, Eye Bounce! We have now come full circle.

I am back to feeling guilty about finding a woman I’ve never seen before attractive because as long as I continue to do so, I make it easier to allow worse offenses in society around me. Same as making rape jokes, while not explicitly endorsing rape as an act, implicitly allows rapists to be let off with only three months or voting for politicians who make rape victims pay for their own rape kits.

So what do I do? What the fuck do I do? How can I find my own happiness?

The problems in our culture make me want to die. How does one look at this and see an end? I am generally optimistic about humanities future, but the American Right has me feeling more and more hopeless. It never ends.

Now I’m rambling, and wasting your time, dear readers.

She is standing in 2.5″ heels, light leather brown, the kind that aren’t a point but a solid high-backed shoe. She’s wearing a skirt, or maybe a dress, white, with robin’s egg blue flowers print. It terminates a little above the knee, leaving her legs bare. She has her right hand on her lime green messenger bag, which drapes from one shoulder across her front right hip. The bag lays against a hot pink, short windbreaker, which is unclasped, showing an open ranger green cardigan and a ruffled white blouse underneath. A heart-shaped locket on a silver chain hangs from her neck. Her left hand holds an iPhone 3 in a molted green case against her tilted head, which is completely hairless. Light gray lines, thick to thin, have been applied to her eyebrows. She’s wearing mohagany lipstick, which matches the mohagany Elvis Costello-frames of her glasses. Her bald head is covered by a scarf in the same print as her skirt, white with baby blue floral designs. She is laughing into her phone as I pass, but I don’t catch her voice. She is white.

As I walk away from her, I’m overcome with feelings of sympathy, tension, attraction, warmth, and a striking need to say something to her, the same way I have and will again compliment someone on a t-shirt splashed with an image representing a musical group or television show or any other sub-specific interest I enjoy. A couple quick conversational ideas enter into my head. “We don’t know or mean anything to each other, but I think you are really brave.” “It’s awesome that you’re ” You’re what? What can I say to someone who (potentially (I don’t even know for certain she has (or had) cancer. How arrogant of me)) has experienced something so profound, so outside of what I, a cis white middle-class easy-life male, has experienced.

But as I’m walking through the Mercantile Center, the feeling, the urge to connect with her in any way, to commune, to impact and be impacted, stays with me. I buy Aprils pass, I buy a muffin from the coffee shop next door, because I forgot to eat lunch, and I head back towards the doors near the bus stops. She is still waiting, still on her phone, still laughing.

These abstract emotional desires are real, the same way a computer manipulating electricity to display words on a screen such as the one I am using right now is real, but are the urges more than their empty trading of chemical charges? Hard to say.
The base elements that make up my body flow and fire, leaving a reaction to these outside stimuli (structured by memetic logic and reinforcement) that society (itself a memetic construction of a highly abstract nature) labels a “Decision.” I reach a No as I recross the street.

I keep her laughing form in my periphery until her bus arrives, she boards, and disappears from view.

I’m not religious anymore. I would describe myself as a fierce atheist, and I believe heavily in the ideas of humanism, transhumanism, and socialism. But sometimes, a prayer is the only way to describe a rush of goodwill one has for another, which is quite annoying. I’ve discussed this problem with Julie, and she says that regardless of what one calls it, the intentions are good enough that the term used doesn’t matter. I don’t necessarily agree, because I believe that words, while not innately containing any meaning or power, can be associated cuturally in ways that make them representations of social patterns that influence others, especially in ways I personally find positive or negative, negative in this case.

But I do imagine a life of happiness for her. Just for a moment.

I hope that’s enough.

p.s. This post has been written entirely on my phone over the five hours, four bus rides, and three store stops I’ve made since seeing her enter her bus. I’ve stopped multiple times, so that hopefully will explain any disjointed contained within. My apologies to you who read this.

tl;dr: Fuckin’ memes, how do they work?

Ashley is fucking awesome. I had forgotten, but really, people. Come on. She’s fucking awesome, always. She’s getting married, in May. Fucking awesome. I’m so happy for her. We chat about life, for both of us, her plans, my plans. Catch up, of course, but it’s always easy with her. Every sentence, I’m filled with a feeling of intense warmth and care for her. I miss working with her at Starbucks.

We part with love, and I head home. The rest of the day isn’t worth talking about.

Thursday 24: Wake up late, run/drive to work, chat with the construction gys working next door, eat a hotdog from the local and adorable hotdog vendor, Uncle Mike. Get home to a mess, become pissed off while watching the Wire, so I clean the desk, try setting up a second monitor. That doesn’t go too well, cuz I find out I need a special adapter. Purchased! for $2.93, and it’ll be here free shipping in three days. Holy fuck, the internet is awesome. Some excellent lines in the Wire. Like this back and forth:

McNulty: We’re good at this, Lester. In this town, we’re as good as it gets.
Freamon: Natural police.
McNulty: Fuck yes, natural police.
Freamon: Tell me something Jimmy, how exactly do you think it all ends?
McNulty: What do you mean?
Freamon: A parade? A gold watch? A shining Jimmy-McNulty-day moment, when you bring in a case so sweet that everyone gets together and says: “Oh shit, he was right all along. We should’a listened to the man”. Freamon: The job will not save you, Jimmy. It won’t make you whole, it won’t fill your ass up.
McNulty: I dont know, a good case-
Freamon: Ends. They all end. The handcuffs go click and it’s over, and the next morning it’s just you in the room with yourself.
McNulty: Until the next case.
Freamon: Boy, you need something outside of this here.
McNulty: Like what? Dollhouse miniatures?
Freamon: Hey, hey, hey. A life. A life, Jimmy. You know what that is? It’s the shit that happens while you’re waiting for moments that never come.

Friday, Feb 25: My notes say, “Work”, so I’m gonna assume I worked in the morning, then I worked at night. Oh fuck, yeah. Amanda tells me about her adventures at the bar. (The time difference means she calls me when she gets home at 3:45, and I’m only just thinking about bed, at 10:45.) She went out with her friends, to the pub, and being off in a new country, she decides to go adventurous! Two shots of Jager and the British equivalent of an apple-tini later, and she’s feeling a litle drunk. It’s actually fucking adorable. She calls me up, giggling her head off, unable to contain herself. Words don’t describe how cute it is.

I love her so goddamn much. I’m reminded by this story, but wow.

Saturday, February 26: Hang out, redditing and Eve-ing all day, till I work at 9:30. I get there at 9 pm, ready to work my face off, and they all look at me like I’m crazy. “Why are you here?” What do you mean? “You work in 30.” Oh. Duh. But I’m with cool cool people, so fuck it. I love them all. The night sucks, of course, and I have to close, so a bunch of hours later, I get out at 5:30. Rough rough rough.

Sunday, February 27: “wake up at” What does that even mean? Who knows. Alls I know, I woke up, did some shit, then went back to sleep.

Monday: Work in the morning, work in the afternoon/evening. Boring day. The days like this, they’re draining.

Tuesday, March 1: Fuck yes, March. At work, I remember I need to buy my bus pass, but for reasons I don’t remember, I don’t, today. At home, I find I’ve received in the mail the adapter needed for the second monitor. Having set that up, I try out Eve, and find it is glorious. Left monitor, glorious EVE full screen. Right monitor, so many windows: Firefox, iTunes, Teamspeak 3, Jabber, Evemon Skill planner, Eve Fitting Tool. I feel glorious by this configuration. So badass.

Wednesday: Doug calls me around noon, and I take the shift. After work, I remember I want to get my bus pass, so I call him back, asking to work at 6, not 5. He’s cool. I walk downtown to the Go Metro/SORTA business front, and buy my pass. I feel like a motherfucking champ as I walk out. I love public transportation. Feeling on top of the world, I wander over to the downtown Starbucks, using most of the gift card Mom gave us kids for V-day. I start walking back to the car, and decide to enter the library branch down here. Cool place, though a lot emptier than I expected, fro the size of the building. I wander around, pick up a China Meiville book I haven’t read yet, and leave, feeling good. Back to the car, home for changing, off to Tops for an easy night. Dougs in a good mood, as is everyone else. Quick work. I accidentally stay up till 12:15. Not the best idea.

Thursday: I meant to take the bus this morning, but waking up too late, means I gotta drive the car. Annoying. When I get home, I nap until 7:45. At work, over reddit and through twitter, I’d chatted up another redditor, who’s also going to Bokfest, a German-drinking-thing this weekend. We chat and drink coffee over at Sitwells. Goes well. He’s a cool guy. Redditor, gamer, etc. Glad to know more of us in the area, though! Beyond Good And Evil, the classic gamecube game, has been released for the XBOX Arcade, so I pick that shit up. I play an hour of it, and know it’s going to be fucking awesome. I think Amanda would like it, though she might not like the “combat” parts, she’d love the camera aspect, and all of the dialog. Also, fuck yeah strong female protagonists. Let’s hope this one isn’t raped…

Friday, the fourth: I wake up bright and early at 6, which is awesome. Reddit until it’s time to head out, but see my bus pass before I can get to the stop, so ONCE AGAIN, I take the car, vowing this to be the last time. Fuck. With all this extra time, however, I stop over at the Starbucks next to Tops, and pick up a cream cheese danish and a coffee. Delish. At work, Uncle Mike isn’t around, cuz it’s Friday, but Rob sends me over to Coffee Emporioum to pick us both up coffee, which turns into my lunch.

On reddit, I read about mint.com, so of course I sign up for that shit in a second. The Android app is sexy as well, so after fucking with it for about an hour, I’ve got most parts figured out, though I need to organize my transaction names at home. Dad and I chat about the Wire. He’s nearing the end of Season 2, and loving it. I try very hard to not give anything away, cuz some shit goes down in the last seconds of that show. We break with talks of plans. Amanda calls, and I tell her about my plans. She’s happy for me. I love her. I don’t spend enough time telling you all AT GREAT LENGTH about her. I should, one of these days. See if I can parse an essence of her, into a series of disfigured electrical signals trapped between pieces of metal, constantly being made to do backflips forever. One of these days, I think.

I call Jason Nix up, after work, and he says he’ll pick me up for Bockfest tonight. We get down there wit his buddies, and drink a bit. I end up spending my time with Nix and his bandmate, whose name I’ve forgotten but who is fucking awesome. Just, a super cool, nice dude. I really dig him. We chat and drink and chat and drink until about 10:45, when they decide they want to hit up the main event down the street. As we walk over, I realize I’m done, so I break off, looking to catch the bus. Through some misjudgements on my part, and a bit of bad luck, I end up in between two stops as the first bus passes me, and then having to run my ass off back to a previous stop in time to catch the second, half way up the Clifton Ave hill. Thankfully, I find sleep easy when I get home.

Saturday: Holy fuck do I feel like shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. Hungover a bit, yeah, but also I wake up at 8:15 from the cat. Gross. I spend all day at home, doing whatever, probably eve and reddit, but not really feeling well. Work at 10, till close. The night sucks, full of shitty customers and annoying pizzas, but clean up goes pretty fast. As we’re working, towards the end, Jill and Katie start talking about drinking after work, so I jump into the conversations, and invite them over. When we get out, we hit up the local stop-n-go, I buy a six pack of Moerlein OTR, and we sit on my couch, drinking and listening to Earth and bullshitting about work. These people are really cool. I’m glad I work with them. I’m glad I know them.

(I’m slowly realizing how much like Grandpa Charles I am. Deep down, I’m really sentimental, and I really fucking care for people. Deeply. I mean, I’ve known these two women for 5 months, and we’ve never hung out outside of work, but this one time is enough to cement feelings of care for them. I don’t know. It’s weird. I have an urge to see them succeed in life, if that’s the right description. To be happy. Like the Raffi song, “The more we get together, the happier we’ll be. Cuz your friends are my friends, and my friends are your friends. The more we get together, the happier we’ll be.” Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Magnolia: “My name is Donny Smith, and I have a lot of love to give.”)

I get to bed at 830, cuz Amanda calls me the women leave. She’s off to have an adventure, wonderful love of mine. She feels bad to keep me up, but I demand conversation. I don’t even remember what we talked about, but I was so tired and a little tipsy that all I remember is the warm conversational glow.

Sunday 6: I wake up at 130, a little out of it. Hungry and lazy and feeling the wanderlust, I take the bus up to the Calhoun strip, and eat some potbellies. Delish sandwiches. Amanda calls as I leave, and we chat as I take the bus home. What’s funny about all of these conversations: I don’t ever really remember what’s said, but I know what was said was mildly important when it was spoken, and I cared enough when it was happening. Just weird, to think about. Endless mimetic referencing and reinforcement. I get home, play Eve, and go to bed.

I don’t know. Times are, when I feel them, changing, each one different than the last.

But I’ve work, and I’m late and naked, so.

Amanda, I love you. We can fix every problem.

Amanda and I talk again, before I put on more Season Two of The Wire. So very good. Then it’s Reddit and Eve until I go to sleep at 12:30. Every day, people. Every goddamn day is the same. I don’t notice when I’m experiencing them, but on looking back, the bile rises.