Blogging is hard.
Its like shopping, or like...downloading music or something --> my mind goes blank when I open up the browser.
I had some witty format and biblical allusions prepared for new years resolutions. All have fled my mind.
Diving in
Presenting 2011:
Get hot. Stay hot.
Get published; In a real magazine.
Get a girlfriend. Keep her.
Graduate. From college.
Get a job. Or an internship doing something phenominal.
Enjoy every day.
Meet someone new every day. Enjoy the meeting, don't expect them to remember me.
Get back into music, have a healthy relationship with it.
Log on to Facebook less, chat on my mobile more. (anytime if you are a Verizon subscriber...or after 7 p.m. when minutes are free, RIGHT Max?)
Read.
Breathe.
Smile.
Maintain a Positive Outlook; despite Oprah--the Anti-Christ--launching her new network.
Be informed on politics.
Find an expressive artistic outlet: Paint, Guitar, Photography,
Have a 94% win ratio for Freecell (i'm CLOSE with 91% over 600+ games)
Return to Ohio. Watch a Bucks game.
Compliment people sincerely, judiciously.
Buy. Clothes. Less.
Conversant in Espaniol y Francais, plus American Sign?
Jump out or off of something. Survive.
Write more. Think more.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Monday, August 2, 2010
Trix are for...Me
There is a bear trap that I continually step into here among the Loganiteish women.
Its the "Forlorn-Friend-Forever" line that snaps shut on my foot, which is already in my mouth. When it goes down, its like a crown of shame I have to wrest and pry off my dome.
Let me lay it out for you: I like to complain to anyone who will listen (or read...GOTCHA sucker). Recently people are assuming that I am either 1) In a serious, healthy relationship or 2) a homosexual. When I unload my thoughts on the matter, **usually to a "Female Friend" or homosexual male** and ask for their help in finding my soul mate, they get a betrayed and hurt look on their face..."I guess we'll always just be friends? I wish boys would see me as more than just a friend"
There is no sympathy...but it is also fairly difficult to backpedal from that point as well. I am not going to provide a false sense of hope with hollow reassurances--> It just wouldn't be right. Saying, "Sorry, i'm not interested in you" seems a slice too harsh at such a moment, so the silence engulfs and assures the hopeful devotee that they will vary likely never have a chance to cuddle up to this man-sandwich.
I don't get why all these yokels are getting fly chicas left and right. Andrew Erickson pointed out the damaged logic while he saw announcement after announcement of mismatched couples. Her=Gorgeous ... Him=Gargoyle.
I feel that I have a decent view of the world: If I want my wife to enjoy doing "manly" things with me, I will need to find grounds for compromise...thus my wildly eccentric erotic exploits. Yes I wax my legs, and Yes she eats ribs and rolls in the mud with me. We ride motorcycles without helmets...to go shopping and get our nails beautified. I wear jewelry and gaudy accoutrement to call attention to myself, but we both get naked as nightingales and get elemental. The balance between primal and pompous poise...that's me baby!
SOO, reconnecting to my main vein of thought. I apologize that I'm not interested in you, BUT...using the understanding that I do have of economics i'll break it down to its bones: the ratio of my assets to yours doesn't seem to reconcile to a mutually beneficial arrangement.
CURRENTLY: I am young, attractive, fit, intelligent, stable (mentally, financially, and such and so forth) ***all of these subject to change at any time due to unforeseeable forces of nature***
You---->Are not. IF you could provide a means (MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY) to buy me clothes, and tuition, and freedom...I would readily trade you my time and body heat.
Until further notice: you WILL continue to be my 'friend'
Its the "Forlorn-Friend-Forever" line that snaps shut on my foot, which is already in my mouth. When it goes down, its like a crown of shame I have to wrest and pry off my dome.
Let me lay it out for you: I like to complain to anyone who will listen (or read...GOTCHA sucker). Recently people are assuming that I am either 1) In a serious, healthy relationship or 2) a homosexual. When I unload my thoughts on the matter, **usually to a "Female Friend" or homosexual male** and ask for their help in finding my soul mate, they get a betrayed and hurt look on their face..."I guess we'll always just be friends? I wish boys would see me as more than just a friend"
There is no sympathy...but it is also fairly difficult to backpedal from that point as well. I am not going to provide a false sense of hope with hollow reassurances--> It just wouldn't be right. Saying, "Sorry, i'm not interested in you" seems a slice too harsh at such a moment, so the silence engulfs and assures the hopeful devotee that they will vary likely never have a chance to cuddle up to this man-sandwich.
I don't get why all these yokels are getting fly chicas left and right. Andrew Erickson pointed out the damaged logic while he saw announcement after announcement of mismatched couples. Her=Gorgeous ... Him=Gargoyle.
I feel that I have a decent view of the world: If I want my wife to enjoy doing "manly" things with me, I will need to find grounds for compromise...thus my wildly eccentric erotic exploits. Yes I wax my legs, and Yes she eats ribs and rolls in the mud with me. We ride motorcycles without helmets...to go shopping and get our nails beautified. I wear jewelry and gaudy accoutrement to call attention to myself, but we both get naked as nightingales and get elemental. The balance between primal and pompous poise...that's me baby!
SOO, reconnecting to my main vein of thought. I apologize that I'm not interested in you, BUT...using the understanding that I do have of economics i'll break it down to its bones: the ratio of my assets to yours doesn't seem to reconcile to a mutually beneficial arrangement.
CURRENTLY: I am young, attractive, fit, intelligent, stable (mentally, financially, and such and so forth) ***all of these subject to change at any time due to unforeseeable forces of nature***
You---->Are not. IF you could provide a means (MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY) to buy me clothes, and tuition, and freedom...I would readily trade you my time and body heat.
Until further notice: you WILL continue to be my 'friend'
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Significance?
I'm glad. Its summer. It seems like in the summer I cannot get down. I made a rash decision this week...like I usually do. I moved out of the fraternity house and in with David M. Stewart. Its an environment conducive to more sedate and "senile" evenings at home. The decor seems to invite it.
I would like to lay out my impetuous action, for my own understanding. I needed space. I felt like I was choking with 20 other people all around me, all the time. I was cramped in the bottom bunk--which was HOT and sticky. There was no where to sit, there was no where to be alone. No escape.
Kramer is adorable, but my general attitude was reflected in his behavior, and I knew that he detested that. He needs space, he needs time alone. I was willing to give him room to make his own decisions and be open to the benefits of making stupid mistakes. He feels I am too critical; I don't mean to be. I just have high expectations and hold him in extremely high regard. He's a great person...and it bugs me when he doesn't see that.
This space seems more permanent. Its seems more tangible and warm and receptive. I think my cramped wings and Kramer's will expand and stretch and be of more use now that we have room.
I love my father. He is the best. He patterns his life after the Celestial, and does swell at allowing us to make our own mistakes and mis-steps, while offering unconditional reassurance that everything will work out...it just takes longer when you are stupid. Long sentence--even longer thought. Its thin and stretch across my paradigm. He has created so much of my reality. I trust him, and honor and value his opinion above all else. He just knows what is really going on in the world. I respect that about him.
That's all i guess
I would like to lay out my impetuous action, for my own understanding. I needed space. I felt like I was choking with 20 other people all around me, all the time. I was cramped in the bottom bunk--which was HOT and sticky. There was no where to sit, there was no where to be alone. No escape.
Kramer is adorable, but my general attitude was reflected in his behavior, and I knew that he detested that. He needs space, he needs time alone. I was willing to give him room to make his own decisions and be open to the benefits of making stupid mistakes. He feels I am too critical; I don't mean to be. I just have high expectations and hold him in extremely high regard. He's a great person...and it bugs me when he doesn't see that.
This space seems more permanent. Its seems more tangible and warm and receptive. I think my cramped wings and Kramer's will expand and stretch and be of more use now that we have room.
I love my father. He is the best. He patterns his life after the Celestial, and does swell at allowing us to make our own mistakes and mis-steps, while offering unconditional reassurance that everything will work out...it just takes longer when you are stupid. Long sentence--even longer thought. Its thin and stretch across my paradigm. He has created so much of my reality. I trust him, and honor and value his opinion above all else. He just knows what is really going on in the world. I respect that about him.
That's all i guess
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Nuthing two due, cept right fur ewe
I have noticed that Blogs are usually utilized for "BLOGGING" your guts to everyone. In my mind, the action follows the word...in the queen's english the term onomatopoeia is used. It is a catharsis through the fingertips, a purging; like a bulimic after a binge--BLOG BLOG BLOG as it splashes in the toilet.
Today i won't dump my violent poison. I want to express vague emotional responses and impersonal facts.
Some bridges should never be jumped off of.
Stealing steel, selling sails, shooting chutes, breathing breath, breading breadth
the pads of your feet is where you should walk, not on your toes
exploiting the blindspot is selfish
pushing too hard seems to be hollow
seeing the opposition aught to make you appreciate
Phantasm
Repudiate
Dogmatism
I guess this WAS a vomit session. If I let my mind wander, it will end up somewhere. I hate my Jcomm teacher for these reasons. And its not a constructive hate that I will appreciate later in life, she just fails as a professor; one who calls out hypocrisy only because "it takes one to know one". I guess I ended here because she "over-blogs" on her blogspot, "over-blogs" IN CLASS, in life. Vomit, vomit, vomit.
This also exposes my hypocrisy. How very odd. Glad we got that out there
Today i won't dump my violent poison. I want to express vague emotional responses and impersonal facts.
Some bridges should never be jumped off of.
Stealing steel, selling sails, shooting chutes, breathing breath, breading breadth
the pads of your feet is where you should walk, not on your toes
exploiting the blindspot is selfish
pushing too hard seems to be hollow
seeing the opposition aught to make you appreciate
Phantasm
Repudiate
Dogmatism
I guess this WAS a vomit session. If I let my mind wander, it will end up somewhere. I hate my Jcomm teacher for these reasons. And its not a constructive hate that I will appreciate later in life, she just fails as a professor; one who calls out hypocrisy only because "it takes one to know one". I guess I ended here because she "over-blogs" on her blogspot, "over-blogs" IN CLASS, in life. Vomit, vomit, vomit.
This also exposes my hypocrisy. How very odd. Glad we got that out there
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
AMERICAN WOMAN, STAY AWAY FROM ME
I actually don't know if this is an American, or worldwide epidemic...but from what I can see, its definitely a Utah thing.
I'm talking engagement pictures. This goes out mostly to Colby...who still has the power to stop the lunacy.
Jimmi-freakin-KNEE is all i've got to say from the beginning. I HATE the trend that follow engagement pictures. There is inevitably a picture of the happy couple skipping in blue jeans or rollicking in the freshly strewn hay. That's fine. SO you like the farm scene? I've got no qualm with that. ALTHOUGH I find it inconsistent when hair and make-up are over done and our bride has 8" heels. If you simply must look "FABULOUS when you feed the swine" At least throw on the overalls.
Since when did abandoned boxcars, dingy alleyways, and tractors become inseparably connected to matrimony? I sense that the pictures are framed to capture the "personality and essence" of the couple...but honestly, who are these kids trying to impress? I'm sure farmers across Idaho swipe tears from their dusty, sunken cheeks every time an envelope is licked containing a beautiful International Harvester; And vagabonds tip their bowlers when a engaged pair mount a caboose for a quick pic.
I feel respectable folk should've piped up much earlier to curb this epidemic.
In my minds eye, a marriage should fault more on the "overly-formal, gaudy affair" side of things rather than the "gypsy-tramp rave" style that brings out the "FUN personality" of the gypsy-tramps being married. The invitation should set the tone for the evening...and from this moment until forever, if an invite portrays the couple in rolled up jeans and a fishing pole with Chuck Taylor Converse's, i'll ante up and raise them: straw hat up top and slingshot in the back pocket--NO one will "out-Huck Finn" me!!
I'm talking engagement pictures. This goes out mostly to Colby...who still has the power to stop the lunacy.
Jimmi-freakin-KNEE is all i've got to say from the beginning. I HATE the trend that follow engagement pictures. There is inevitably a picture of the happy couple skipping in blue jeans or rollicking in the freshly strewn hay. That's fine. SO you like the farm scene? I've got no qualm with that. ALTHOUGH I find it inconsistent when hair and make-up are over done and our bride has 8" heels. If you simply must look "FABULOUS when you feed the swine" At least throw on the overalls.
Since when did abandoned boxcars, dingy alleyways, and tractors become inseparably connected to matrimony? I sense that the pictures are framed to capture the "personality and essence" of the couple...but honestly, who are these kids trying to impress? I'm sure farmers across Idaho swipe tears from their dusty, sunken cheeks every time an envelope is licked containing a beautiful International Harvester; And vagabonds tip their bowlers when a engaged pair mount a caboose for a quick pic.
I feel respectable folk should've piped up much earlier to curb this epidemic.
In my minds eye, a marriage should fault more on the "overly-formal, gaudy affair" side of things rather than the "gypsy-tramp rave" style that brings out the "FUN personality" of the gypsy-tramps being married. The invitation should set the tone for the evening...and from this moment until forever, if an invite portrays the couple in rolled up jeans and a fishing pole with Chuck Taylor Converse's, i'll ante up and raise them: straw hat up top and slingshot in the back pocket--NO one will "out-Huck Finn" me!!
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Control
My institute teacher sparked introspection...comparing Lehi's family. What kind of family member am I? I wonder. I have been lead to believe that I am a good addition to the Max Dahl family. How would the family run without me? Differently.
From there he spoke more and I thought more. He mentioned the thought that we "never rise above the stature we carve out for ourselves while on our missions" or "today while you are at school". I haven't been in high spirits. I suspect that it is weather induced.
I wonder 'what did I do?' on my mission...what did I do before, what have I done since? Instinctively "nothing" comes to mind. I have been told that I am too harsh of a judge and jury when I inspect myself. Regardless, the verdict is still "guilty" whenever deliberation is complete. I haven't ever found a way to control completely, and I suppose that is what I really want.
I am unable to control others decisions, I am unable to control the consequences from my, or other people's decisions. Ultimately, I will never have control; it is impossible. God does not have complete control. We govern ourselves, if not so God ceases to be God. He can control many things, but He will not force me to do ANYTHING...
I cannot control what other people have, or like, or wear. My influence in verity revolves around me.
What have I done? For good or bad, for others or myself? What COULD I do...for anyone, other than to yield control?
Isn't that the plan? Is that not where happiness is rooted?
Message for the day: "Lighten Up"
From there he spoke more and I thought more. He mentioned the thought that we "never rise above the stature we carve out for ourselves while on our missions" or "today while you are at school". I haven't been in high spirits. I suspect that it is weather induced.
I wonder 'what did I do?' on my mission...what did I do before, what have I done since? Instinctively "nothing" comes to mind. I have been told that I am too harsh of a judge and jury when I inspect myself. Regardless, the verdict is still "guilty" whenever deliberation is complete. I haven't ever found a way to control completely, and I suppose that is what I really want.
I am unable to control others decisions, I am unable to control the consequences from my, or other people's decisions. Ultimately, I will never have control; it is impossible. God does not have complete control. We govern ourselves, if not so God ceases to be God. He can control many things, but He will not force me to do ANYTHING...
I cannot control what other people have, or like, or wear. My influence in verity revolves around me.
What have I done? For good or bad, for others or myself? What COULD I do...for anyone, other than to yield control?
Isn't that the plan? Is that not where happiness is rooted?
Message for the day: "Lighten Up"
Saturday, February 13, 2010
I don't think there's one word that can describe a mans life...XANADU!!
I think I know why I like Citizen Cane...its an American Hero tragedy, perhaps one I am destined to repeat. This story will be about Max Parker Dahl.
"Mr. Kane was a man who got everything he wanted and then lost it. Maybe Rosebud was something he couldn't get, or something he lost. Anyway, it wouldn't have explained anything... I don't think any word can explain a man's life. No, I guess Rosebud is just a... piece in a jigsaw puzzle... a missing piece"
Pieces of a jig-saw puzzle is all I am, a puzzle with a few missing pieces.
LOVE: Is it the a great phenomenon of human nature, or the nature of phenomenal human beings?
"That's all he ever wanted out of life... was love. That's the tragedy of Charles Foster Kane. You see, he just didn't have any to give."
Leland: "You don't care about anything except you. You just want to persuade people that you love 'em so much that they ought to love you back. Only you want love on your own terms. Something to be played your way, according to your rules."
Charles Foster Kane: "A toast, Jedediah: to Love on my own terms"
Susan: "Love! You don't love anybody! Me or anybody else! You want to be loved - that's all you want! I'm Charles Foster Kane. Whatever you want - just name it and it's yours! Only love me! Don't expect me to love you"
MY TERMS:
Somehow I always get what I want. Somehow I didn't start life with an inheritance that made me an indispensable playboy...but I want my Charles Foster Kane lifestyle, I'm aiming for a Bruce Wayne progeny to come along and do SOMETHING with what I've done.
I rarely set goals, because I feel empty when I fail. It sucks to fail. When I set goals, somehow they get accomplished:
Mission: Done, and done well
Meet a girl on the plane ride home, and kiss her: Done-but boy was it awkward
Make my father proud: For now, i'm gauging and projecting a "Mission Accomplished"
Approach a girl that makes me uncharacteristically nervous, and act normal: DONE DEAL
I devised a scheme on my mission, approach the fliest hunnie I saw at school...and talk to her-admit that she scared me, and ask to be her friend/get her number/hang out---whatever I could to overcome that repulsive instinct to sweat and stammer and laugh nervously. I wanted the confidence of Charles Foster Kane, and I'm on the warpath, releasing my primal scream into the mist of the Cache Valley inversion.
Last semester I saw a girl named Jessica. She made me nervous; more sweaty palmed than I had ever been. I saw her again and again, and every day I was more impressed and intimidated. One day I stopped her "I've noticed you around, what's your name?" "beautiful Jessica, the Diadem"(or so I heard it) I loved her confidence: her pixie haircut--shorter than my hair! her body language that said 'i'm comfortable with your affront', her nose ring, and a wit that matched mine (SPEED baby, SPEED) We talked about Guatemala and orphanages and earrings...when I saw her shift into the 'I need to leave so I make it to class on time' stance, I triumphed over my cowering tongue and willed it to ask "So, can I have your number??" the answer came hesitantly "i'm not single...does that matter?" ***"NOT AT ALL"***
I waited out last semester. I texted her intermittently, she continued to date the same boy. This semester I brushed into her intermittently, she has continued to date the same boy...but SOMEHOW once I set my goal, the fields of magnetism have pulled in my favor. "LOVE on my terms". Walking to class, she stopped me to ask "when are we going to hang out?"; and I croaked "whenever you call me..." It happened again two days later, "when?" 'Why didn't you call?' WHATEVER.
I called, we met for jazz and crepes at our gemstone of a venue. I was aloof, I hadn't set "my terms"; she was too flirtatious. I was still too reserved and screaming on the inside. She committed to a hug, I opted for a side hug--I still held "the terms and agreements" in my hands (whoever cares less holds the greatest power) she pointedly said (emphasized with an extended pointer finger) "We'll definitely hang out again, next time i'll pay: CALL me"
Two weeks of resistance, (on her end, not mine) we met for lunch today in the infamous SKYROOM. She was expecting the normal crew, but my regular homies bailed on me. It was just her and I...for a minute or two. (ENTER GRANT CUMMINGS) Another unexplained anomaly--how did I get to be close to Grant, and why was I NEVER in the same class with him, if we went to school for 13 years together??
The three of us had an enjoyable lunch. I had to lie outright to Sarah to be seated(but I hate her, and she shares mutual disdain rooted in 2004 lifeguarding experiences) APPARENTLY this Valentine's lunch was 'reservation only' ("Sarah, why WOULDN'T I call? I'm certain Andrew put all of our names down for today") It should've been the most trying and awkward experiences of my life: the coolest kid in school that I've NEVER talked to extensively, and the ONE girl on campus that makes me nervous. I felt reigned in like Phillipe the Clydesdale in the spooky forest in Beauty and the Beast "where have you taken us Phillipe?" My instincts were defunct, but I was spurred forward. I ate like a horse to cover how odd I acted...otherwise "my terms" would be surrendered...i'd rather die like Gen. Custard.
She texted me later: she is still completely committed to her boy, but strangely interested in me. She wanted to know what I wanted...
I just want to be loved by everyone, without having to make myself vulnerable by loving them. The irony stings, i'm listening to a song that poses "You've got to give a little love, give a little love, give a little love to get a little love" That 3:1 ratio is unacceptable to me, a Neo-"Kane"-enite. (Those Caanan days, where have they gone...where did they go?)
I want what HE wanted: success, prestige, a challenge, to be an HONEST politician, a man of values and integrity that says "no, thank you" to the pressures of the world...to do my own thing and be loved by everyone.
The message from Orson Wells remains: Rosebud can represent something I never achieved, or achieved and lost because of the choices I made. I fear I could lose people and chances to love them if I continue on my fools voyage for the praise and adoration of EVERYONE. It won't ever happen, but why not? Couldn't I try? I HAVE accomplished what I put my mind and soul into...the key is "what am I doing it for"
RIGHT?
"Mr. Kane was a man who got everything he wanted and then lost it. Maybe Rosebud was something he couldn't get, or something he lost. Anyway, it wouldn't have explained anything... I don't think any word can explain a man's life. No, I guess Rosebud is just a... piece in a jigsaw puzzle... a missing piece"
Pieces of a jig-saw puzzle is all I am, a puzzle with a few missing pieces.
LOVE: Is it the a great phenomenon of human nature, or the nature of phenomenal human beings?
"That's all he ever wanted out of life... was love. That's the tragedy of Charles Foster Kane. You see, he just didn't have any to give."
Leland: "You don't care about anything except you. You just want to persuade people that you love 'em so much that they ought to love you back. Only you want love on your own terms. Something to be played your way, according to your rules."
Charles Foster Kane: "A toast, Jedediah: to Love on my own terms"
Susan: "Love! You don't love anybody! Me or anybody else! You want to be loved - that's all you want! I'm Charles Foster Kane. Whatever you want - just name it and it's yours! Only love me! Don't expect me to love you"
MY TERMS:
Somehow I always get what I want. Somehow I didn't start life with an inheritance that made me an indispensable playboy...but I want my Charles Foster Kane lifestyle, I'm aiming for a Bruce Wayne progeny to come along and do SOMETHING with what I've done.
I rarely set goals, because I feel empty when I fail. It sucks to fail. When I set goals, somehow they get accomplished:
Mission: Done, and done well
Meet a girl on the plane ride home, and kiss her: Done-but boy was it awkward
Make my father proud: For now, i'm gauging and projecting a "Mission Accomplished"
Approach a girl that makes me uncharacteristically nervous, and act normal: DONE DEAL
I devised a scheme on my mission, approach the fliest hunnie I saw at school...and talk to her-admit that she scared me, and ask to be her friend/get her number/hang out---whatever I could to overcome that repulsive instinct to sweat and stammer and laugh nervously. I wanted the confidence of Charles Foster Kane, and I'm on the warpath, releasing my primal scream into the mist of the Cache Valley inversion.
Last semester I saw a girl named Jessica. She made me nervous; more sweaty palmed than I had ever been. I saw her again and again, and every day I was more impressed and intimidated. One day I stopped her "I've noticed you around, what's your name?" "beautiful Jessica, the Diadem"(or so I heard it) I loved her confidence: her pixie haircut--shorter than my hair! her body language that said 'i'm comfortable with your affront', her nose ring, and a wit that matched mine (SPEED baby, SPEED) We talked about Guatemala and orphanages and earrings...when I saw her shift into the 'I need to leave so I make it to class on time' stance, I triumphed over my cowering tongue and willed it to ask "So, can I have your number??" the answer came hesitantly "i'm not single...does that matter?" ***"NOT AT ALL"***
I waited out last semester. I texted her intermittently, she continued to date the same boy. This semester I brushed into her intermittently, she has continued to date the same boy...but SOMEHOW once I set my goal, the fields of magnetism have pulled in my favor. "LOVE on my terms". Walking to class, she stopped me to ask "when are we going to hang out?"; and I croaked "whenever you call me..." It happened again two days later, "when?" 'Why didn't you call?' WHATEVER.
I called, we met for jazz and crepes at our gemstone of a venue. I was aloof, I hadn't set "my terms"; she was too flirtatious. I was still too reserved and screaming on the inside. She committed to a hug, I opted for a side hug--I still held "the terms and agreements" in my hands (whoever cares less holds the greatest power) she pointedly said (emphasized with an extended pointer finger) "We'll definitely hang out again, next time i'll pay: CALL me"
Two weeks of resistance, (on her end, not mine) we met for lunch today in the infamous SKYROOM. She was expecting the normal crew, but my regular homies bailed on me. It was just her and I...for a minute or two. (ENTER GRANT CUMMINGS) Another unexplained anomaly--how did I get to be close to Grant, and why was I NEVER in the same class with him, if we went to school for 13 years together??
The three of us had an enjoyable lunch. I had to lie outright to Sarah to be seated(but I hate her, and she shares mutual disdain rooted in 2004 lifeguarding experiences) APPARENTLY this Valentine's lunch was 'reservation only' ("Sarah, why WOULDN'T I call? I'm certain Andrew put all of our names down for today") It should've been the most trying and awkward experiences of my life: the coolest kid in school that I've NEVER talked to extensively, and the ONE girl on campus that makes me nervous. I felt reigned in like Phillipe the Clydesdale in the spooky forest in Beauty and the Beast "where have you taken us Phillipe?" My instincts were defunct, but I was spurred forward. I ate like a horse to cover how odd I acted...otherwise "my terms" would be surrendered...i'd rather die like Gen. Custard.
She texted me later: she is still completely committed to her boy, but strangely interested in me. She wanted to know what I wanted...
I just want to be loved by everyone, without having to make myself vulnerable by loving them. The irony stings, i'm listening to a song that poses "You've got to give a little love, give a little love, give a little love to get a little love" That 3:1 ratio is unacceptable to me, a Neo-"Kane"-enite. (Those Caanan days, where have they gone...where did they go?)
I want what HE wanted: success, prestige, a challenge, to be an HONEST politician, a man of values and integrity that says "no, thank you" to the pressures of the world...to do my own thing and be loved by everyone.
The message from Orson Wells remains: Rosebud can represent something I never achieved, or achieved and lost because of the choices I made. I fear I could lose people and chances to love them if I continue on my fools voyage for the praise and adoration of EVERYONE. It won't ever happen, but why not? Couldn't I try? I HAVE accomplished what I put my mind and soul into...the key is "what am I doing it for"
RIGHT?
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