Exhausted, right now. Awfully sore in the arms too, as I was holding the gargantuous electric hedge trimmer with one arm yesterday at the places I couldn't reach on the bushes, and for some odd reason, my legs are sore. I stand in the kitchen mucking around with food too much, I suppose. Larkin's party was tonight, and it turned out to be another great success. I think that, despite showing a movie to hold it all together, the mob had a marvellous time with the party games and homemade sushi. For me, it was practically a spiritual experience. I was awfully lonely today before the festivities began, and knowing you're loved and invited is a comforting thought.
It might even be enough to get me through tomorrow--the EV1.net Houston Bowl at Reliant Stadium. Once again, I idiotically told Mr.Raddin I'd be able to come with the choir during the holidays to sing the national anthem. I always volunteer. My problem with it is that they only need two minutes of my voice, but they're taking ten hours of my time. For some reason, I guess it's expected that the kids will enjoy a nice football game in the sub-arctic temperatures and friendly, cheering atmosphere. Bastards. I can't leave. I have to ride the bus home, so I'm forced to stay and watch Team A tackle the shit out of Team B in a sport that's less amusing than American Gladiators until what, like, eight o'clock? I do not enjoy football. In fact, I do not enjoy activities of this type at all: supposedly happy gatherings where we're all supposed to feel noble and patriotic and sing for our beloved country, which I am in a constant disapproval of in the first place.
Nevertheless, I've got my duty to do. I rarely believe in the lyrics I sing, but of course, I'll sing them. Mr.Raddin can have my dedication, but he cannot have my hand over my heart, with me saying the pledge of allegiance.
You see, friends, I don't do choir to perform. I don't do it for the attention it gets me, nor for the joy it brings other people to hear me. There's no fame or recognition involved; it actually embarrasses me to sing in front of other people. I do it for myself. I know I'm good at it, damn good--I've made region choir for two years in a row now--but while I appreciate the compliments, they're not what drives me to stay in. I can't see myself in a career as some fat opera soloist. But maybe a chorister: the background that is everpresent, but unrecognized.
Tuesday, December 30, 2003
Saturday, December 20, 2003
In response to my previous post, someone responded to me on AIM:
platoismyhero: Yesterday in class this beast of a student knocked the clock off of the wall with his head. Upon remounting it to the wall, the minute and hour hands began to spin interminably. the incident made me ponder this post. The idea that time is merely a construction of our inferior human minds is fun to entertain but simply unfounded. The Mayans were perhaps the first to rationalize what humans have always known.
platoismyhero: They were able to create calenders, if you will, that infallibly predicted years, seasons, solstices, days, hours... Their ideas have been confirmed with our modern knowledge of space and orbits. EVERYTHING HAPPENS IN CYCLES! Seasons, days, mating, birth, love, life, death. Time is a mathematical measure of these very real cycles. Science. This is science, not fantasy. It didn't matter that the clock on that classroom wall was jumping days ahead! outside, our faithful Earth was still moving in its same, preditable path. science. reality.
Now, I'm not after the destruction of minutes and hours as we know it. In fact, I would tend to agree with this person here, if someone asked me what I think about the universe; the idea that time is an illusion is, well, difficult to even begin to comprehend. At this moment, I'm thinking about a lot of things, and my goal is not necessarily to believe in any of them. I don't think that truly accepting anything is wise. You know, within practical limitations, of course--I'm not going to start sleeping in until 1 PM every school day and claim that nothing matters because "time isn't real", or start trying to manifest hundred dollar bills with the power of my mind. I guess speculation into the realm of weird shit is just an unhealthy hobby of mine; I don't really mean to denounce established science with it, only remind people that just because Dr.Whatshisface from the Academy of People in White Coats says that the universe is made of matter doesn't mean we have to accept it--it just means we have to use that concept in the physical world that we deal with daily, not in whatever may lie beneath.
I actually think I just need to go to sleep.
platoismyhero: Yesterday in class this beast of a student knocked the clock off of the wall with his head. Upon remounting it to the wall, the minute and hour hands began to spin interminably. the incident made me ponder this post. The idea that time is merely a construction of our inferior human minds is fun to entertain but simply unfounded. The Mayans were perhaps the first to rationalize what humans have always known.
platoismyhero: They were able to create calenders, if you will, that infallibly predicted years, seasons, solstices, days, hours... Their ideas have been confirmed with our modern knowledge of space and orbits. EVERYTHING HAPPENS IN CYCLES! Seasons, days, mating, birth, love, life, death. Time is a mathematical measure of these very real cycles. Science. This is science, not fantasy. It didn't matter that the clock on that classroom wall was jumping days ahead! outside, our faithful Earth was still moving in its same, preditable path. science. reality.
Now, I'm not after the destruction of minutes and hours as we know it. In fact, I would tend to agree with this person here, if someone asked me what I think about the universe; the idea that time is an illusion is, well, difficult to even begin to comprehend. At this moment, I'm thinking about a lot of things, and my goal is not necessarily to believe in any of them. I don't think that truly accepting anything is wise. You know, within practical limitations, of course--I'm not going to start sleeping in until 1 PM every school day and claim that nothing matters because "time isn't real", or start trying to manifest hundred dollar bills with the power of my mind. I guess speculation into the realm of weird shit is just an unhealthy hobby of mine; I don't really mean to denounce established science with it, only remind people that just because Dr.Whatshisface from the Academy of People in White Coats says that the universe is made of matter doesn't mean we have to accept it--it just means we have to use that concept in the physical world that we deal with daily, not in whatever may lie beneath.
I actually think I just need to go to sleep.
Friday, December 19, 2003
My lack of new posts as of late isn't intentional; my parents forgot to pay the power bill, and for two days I studied by candle and propane light.
Finals week has been a subtle hell for me. The finals themselves were actually not nearly as challenging as I'd feared, but the fact that we had a full day of school on both Monday and Tuesday infuriated me. Monday, I slept through six periods, Tuesday, five and a half. The other days of the week, despite consisting of two periods per day, started at the same time as usual. I guess letting us moTHER FUCKING SLEEP IN HELL DIE JESUS for once would be too humane for the Klein Independant Suckers of Dicks. I feel so worn out, both physically and mentally, that I feel as if I'm fading into another reality, one farther back into my head, where I view the one you all are in from a distance, and interact through a series of complex controls.
But I am offered some relief. After the incredibly challenging choir final today, Larkin and I were able to spend a nice afternoon together. We went out for lunch, worked on her scholarship requirements, and watched a movie with Johnny Depp about LSD and, well, nothing. No plot; just Johnny Depp amusingly acting high all the time.
Speaking of frightening transitions from realities, an incredibly strange thing happened at Larkin's house this evening. While Larkin was boiling a pot of water to make tea, I had a strange premonition that Ari would be scalded by a spill while bending over, on the side of the counter closest to the fridge. Not two minutes later, she bent over to get a pan out of the cabinet at Larkin's feet, and Arielle let out a shriek of pain as the near-boiling liquid splashed onto her back--on the other side of the counter.
It's another "holographic model of the universe" thing; if you can think of an alternate reality, it has the chance to become one. Perhaps my subconscious mind was playing for me a holographic vision of one possible future reality, or perhaps I simply imagined the act taking place, and it coincidentially did, with a few details altered, such as the side of the counter Ari was burned on. Is time just a delicate fabric created and manipulated by our collective subconscious? God. This sort of shit is becoming noticeable to me more and more after I think about it, and believe it. The incident, of course, startled me, but I almost instantly remembered my recent vision and hypothesized the meaning of it all. The idea that the thing I'd envisioned happening later as a result (or according to a precognition, or fortune telling, whatever) didn't seem at all illogical to me.
Finals week has been a subtle hell for me. The finals themselves were actually not nearly as challenging as I'd feared, but the fact that we had a full day of school on both Monday and Tuesday infuriated me. Monday, I slept through six periods, Tuesday, five and a half. The other days of the week, despite consisting of two periods per day, started at the same time as usual. I guess letting us moTHER FUCKING SLEEP IN HELL DIE JESUS for once would be too humane for the Klein Independant Suckers of Dicks. I feel so worn out, both physically and mentally, that I feel as if I'm fading into another reality, one farther back into my head, where I view the one you all are in from a distance, and interact through a series of complex controls.
But I am offered some relief. After the incredibly challenging choir final today, Larkin and I were able to spend a nice afternoon together. We went out for lunch, worked on her scholarship requirements, and watched a movie with Johnny Depp about LSD and, well, nothing. No plot; just Johnny Depp amusingly acting high all the time.
Speaking of frightening transitions from realities, an incredibly strange thing happened at Larkin's house this evening. While Larkin was boiling a pot of water to make tea, I had a strange premonition that Ari would be scalded by a spill while bending over, on the side of the counter closest to the fridge. Not two minutes later, she bent over to get a pan out of the cabinet at Larkin's feet, and Arielle let out a shriek of pain as the near-boiling liquid splashed onto her back--on the other side of the counter.
It's another "holographic model of the universe" thing; if you can think of an alternate reality, it has the chance to become one. Perhaps my subconscious mind was playing for me a holographic vision of one possible future reality, or perhaps I simply imagined the act taking place, and it coincidentially did, with a few details altered, such as the side of the counter Ari was burned on. Is time just a delicate fabric created and manipulated by our collective subconscious? God. This sort of shit is becoming noticeable to me more and more after I think about it, and believe it. The incident, of course, startled me, but I almost instantly remembered my recent vision and hypothesized the meaning of it all. The idea that the thing I'd envisioned happening later as a result (or according to a precognition, or fortune telling, whatever) didn't seem at all illogical to me.
Sunday, December 14, 2003
I said a few posts earlier that I'd explain the idea that the world is just a construct of our minds. It's not a bad theory, when you consider that everything we experience is just a translation of our senses. I've been really philisophical and speculatory lately, due in part to my finishing Talbot's The Holographic Universe. It's actually even gotten me a little depressed, or, perhaps, it's made me go a little crazy. I think I'm feeling good enough now that I can dig the blog entry I wrote out of my coat pocket to finally put in here.
The other day, I walked up the stairs to the Fine Arts building as I usually do, but a strange thing happened to me. I noticed a girl in a wheelchair to my left who, despite otherwise normal appearance, possessed no head. I was shocked, but after a few blinks, the head reappeared, once again blocking my view of the bicks behind it.
After a reality (which I will get to later) check, I recalled from my recent studies that both eyes have a blind spot where the optic nerve connects to the eye. Since there are no light receptors in these areas, one might wonder why the hell we don't just have two spots of blackness in our range of vision. Look at this website: (I originally drew my own test, but 50megs.com suck and won't let me link to it)
Blind Spot Test!
The colored test, in which you see color where your blind spot makes the black dot disappear, is your brain's fault. It doesn't really know what's there, but it makes up what it thinks is there. Everything you see is filtered through a couple different parts of your brain before it really gets to your visual cortex. The headless girl phenomenon I witnessed was, I hypothesize, a result of this blind spot and my brain's inability to "guess" the appearance of the girl's head. I was also incredibly tired, and the low blood sugar probably limited my brain's ability to work all that well. What makes it more interesting is that I could see through the head to a detailed wall of bricks past the girl's body.
Not only this, but the reliability of all the senses leads me to ask this: what is reality? If reality to us is what we can see, touch, taste, smell, and hear, and even believe in, then what is the entire universe but a false construct of our mind, the unknown and the infinite cosmos translated by our brains into a masquerade of the tangible, of matter, space, and even time? Who's to say time isn't an illusion to keep reality to a level we can deal with? It's certainly a better explanation for the creation of the universe. The idea that a "big bang" happened or that God was just "always there" just doesn't do it for me, and shouldn't satisfy anyone, because the infinity of time is so incomprehensible. I can't accept a theory that doesn't eliminate that paradox for me.
Where did it all begin? Quit looking at electrons, big bangs, superstring theory and Jehovah. It's too linear. If Michael Talbot has taught me anything, it's that our model of the universe--of reality--is insufficient. We pathetically either try to explain it too rigidly or leave it up to our divine daddy, but both methods are just time/space/matter theories to appeal to the only thing we can truly understand, which is the physical, human ant farm we exist in today.
The other day, I walked up the stairs to the Fine Arts building as I usually do, but a strange thing happened to me. I noticed a girl in a wheelchair to my left who, despite otherwise normal appearance, possessed no head. I was shocked, but after a few blinks, the head reappeared, once again blocking my view of the bicks behind it.
After a reality (which I will get to later) check, I recalled from my recent studies that both eyes have a blind spot where the optic nerve connects to the eye. Since there are no light receptors in these areas, one might wonder why the hell we don't just have two spots of blackness in our range of vision. Look at this website: (I originally drew my own test, but 50megs.com suck and won't let me link to it)
Blind Spot Test!
The colored test, in which you see color where your blind spot makes the black dot disappear, is your brain's fault. It doesn't really know what's there, but it makes up what it thinks is there. Everything you see is filtered through a couple different parts of your brain before it really gets to your visual cortex. The headless girl phenomenon I witnessed was, I hypothesize, a result of this blind spot and my brain's inability to "guess" the appearance of the girl's head. I was also incredibly tired, and the low blood sugar probably limited my brain's ability to work all that well. What makes it more interesting is that I could see through the head to a detailed wall of bricks past the girl's body.
Not only this, but the reliability of all the senses leads me to ask this: what is reality? If reality to us is what we can see, touch, taste, smell, and hear, and even believe in, then what is the entire universe but a false construct of our mind, the unknown and the infinite cosmos translated by our brains into a masquerade of the tangible, of matter, space, and even time? Who's to say time isn't an illusion to keep reality to a level we can deal with? It's certainly a better explanation for the creation of the universe. The idea that a "big bang" happened or that God was just "always there" just doesn't do it for me, and shouldn't satisfy anyone, because the infinity of time is so incomprehensible. I can't accept a theory that doesn't eliminate that paradox for me.
Where did it all begin? Quit looking at electrons, big bangs, superstring theory and Jehovah. It's too linear. If Michael Talbot has taught me anything, it's that our model of the universe--of reality--is insufficient. We pathetically either try to explain it too rigidly or leave it up to our divine daddy, but both methods are just time/space/matter theories to appeal to the only thing we can truly understand, which is the physical, human ant farm we exist in today.
Wednesday, December 10, 2003
Ah, physics. Rappacini's Daughter was pleasant in English--there is a girl who is literally poisonous--and the incredibly challenging trivia game in History yielded another 106 for a major grade. The physics test has allowed me a respectable 79, and I've an 86 on the Egg Drop lab. I've got an 84 in there right now, which makes me quite content, though the notion of a final exam in the class is unnerving
I wonder if everyone has gone through a stage in their lives which is full of indifference and, well outright exhaustion. I feel so damn... tired. Not just physically, but mentally, too. I'm tired of thinking about shit I have to do or turn in or work on or worry about or rehearse for. Things like homework and chamber choir keep me from what I'd really like to be doing, which is one of a few things: being with Larkin, or just sitting around, playing dumb computer games while pondering the meaning of the universe, or playing with Sterling's bass guitar, and being with Larkin.
One of the few things I take pleasure in right now (or have time to) is my short writings; these blog posts help me muchly to pour out my conscious mind into a beaker to study. Sure, I had fun at chamber last night, and I'm level four or whatever in Gunbound, but it's like I'm on this incredibly new conquest for knowledge, insight, or just a conquest for finding time to speculate and think. I mean, I've been a philisophical whore in the past, but these days a hug from Lark and asking oeople their opinion on things, or rather, having it told to me, is one of the few reliefs for me. I've probably been reading The Holographic Universe too much and I likely really need this Christmas holiday, but hell, if our short time here is for anything, shouldn't it be for thinking?
Fuck being a construction worker or a politician--or if you are, and deal with petty human issues all the time, still set aside a moment or two to ponder the meaning of it all! That's why I say it's foolish to adopt an established doctrine at this age, or perhaps at any age! Age plays no role, only amount of thought given. There are too many things to think about (if you're not stupid) to live by a set of rules or ideas someone else made up. Take some of your precious time to think about it first. Don't live by a 2000 year-old translation of a holy text; live by your own holy text.
I'm working on one. Just because I don't believe in your god or any god doesn't mean I believe rigidly that I'm going to cease to exist completely when I die, or that there is no charity or goodness in the world, no soul, no spirituality. I'm still thinking about it.
I wonder if everyone has gone through a stage in their lives which is full of indifference and, well outright exhaustion. I feel so damn... tired. Not just physically, but mentally, too. I'm tired of thinking about shit I have to do or turn in or work on or worry about or rehearse for. Things like homework and chamber choir keep me from what I'd really like to be doing, which is one of a few things: being with Larkin, or just sitting around, playing dumb computer games while pondering the meaning of the universe, or playing with Sterling's bass guitar, and being with Larkin.
One of the few things I take pleasure in right now (or have time to) is my short writings; these blog posts help me muchly to pour out my conscious mind into a beaker to study. Sure, I had fun at chamber last night, and I'm level four or whatever in Gunbound, but it's like I'm on this incredibly new conquest for knowledge, insight, or just a conquest for finding time to speculate and think. I mean, I've been a philisophical whore in the past, but these days a hug from Lark and asking oeople their opinion on things, or rather, having it told to me, is one of the few reliefs for me. I've probably been reading The Holographic Universe too much and I likely really need this Christmas holiday, but hell, if our short time here is for anything, shouldn't it be for thinking?
Fuck being a construction worker or a politician--or if you are, and deal with petty human issues all the time, still set aside a moment or two to ponder the meaning of it all! That's why I say it's foolish to adopt an established doctrine at this age, or perhaps at any age! Age plays no role, only amount of thought given. There are too many things to think about (if you're not stupid) to live by a set of rules or ideas someone else made up. Take some of your precious time to think about it first. Don't live by a 2000 year-old translation of a holy text; live by your own holy text.
I'm working on one. Just because I don't believe in your god or any god doesn't mean I believe rigidly that I'm going to cease to exist completely when I die, or that there is no charity or goodness in the world, no soul, no spirituality. I'm still thinking about it.
Yet another harsh awakening. The alarm doesn't go off, but I wake up at the exact time it's supposed to anyway; a sign that I'm definitely going to way too much school. I don't know what we're doing in English today, but I'm not ready for it. The trivia game in Mr.Turks' class will be the most boring thing in existence. Mrs.Durio will give us our tests back and I will get a D. In choir, I will enjoy singing, even become enlightened by it, but never truly find comfort in being one bright and on tune voice in the very heart of raspy football players. In Algebra, I will read a book whilst Mrs.Jenkins pretends to teach people, occasionally answering questions about systems of functions without even looking up. Unless we have a test today.
I need a holiday.
I need a holiday.
Tuesday, December 09, 2003
On Doctrines
As I lounge back after a very cruel physics test, my mind strays once again into its maddening habit of trying to contemplate the universe. What I need, as Robert Knapp said today in English, is a rainstorm to sit and think in.
The other day, Allison Scace asked me what, as an atheist, I think about death. Now, I've never been terribly prodigious at explaining things to people very well in person, whether it's the awkwardness of the topic, or Alex Pankonien interjecting an "I think John's thinking there might be something more" when I'm Goddamned trying to think, but I realize my inability to very well discuss my beliefs (or blatant lack of them, as I am known for) is because I simply have not thought about them enough yet. I'm sixteen years old. Myself, and anyone else my age lacks the wisdom and experience to set their beliefs, paths, or moral principles in stone. We are just beginning to live: to adopt a doctrine now is foolish, which is one reason I stand without any such thing except my own unwritten code of honor (which is another thing I still need time to think about, but involves not being a complete asshole, and, you know, opening doors for people).
Perhaps that is what I criticize religionists so harshly for--raising their children from toddler to teen with divine notions and commandments and judgement in their heads, seemingly exploiting childrens' young gullability just to pass on their way of life, without letting them mature and decide on their own. Six-year olds don't know who Christ or God or Allah is--they simply say they believe in him when asked, because they have no knowledge of anything else. Growing up in Chicago and around here, I always answered an indifferent "yes" to people who asked me if I believed in God, because, well, that was what everyone said. I just thought it was the norm, the default; and really, it was, and still is. It wasn't until later that I had this Godism concept explained to me a little more thoroughly (or, rather, I learned about it myself, trying to digest Genesis and the ideas of my devout buddies); and while I really did give it a chance, I never was able to believe in any of it. The only thing I'm completely sure of today is what I don't believe.
Ms.Scace, of course, asked me my views on death, which led me to write this post. I don't know what I believe; only what I don't. Reincarnation sounds nice. Even the concept of becoming nothingness according to a set of mechanical laws is more comforting to me than harsh, holy judgement. At least I'd know what I'm in for. The American Romantics had a real good thing going with simply dying and giving your energy back to the earth, return what you've taken, and so on. It's quite noble. The holographic model of the universe is the most comforting to me, since I am awfully scientific and logical, yet emotionally sensitive, as it proposes the implicate connectivity of everything, the existence of the "soul" even if it is just a mound of energy, and most importantly, as it is not quite as linear as we humans are accustomed to; rather than acknowleding the existence of "parts" of the physical world such as time, space, and matter. It beats the shit out of wondering what came before those quacks' ultimately unsatisfying Big Bang, by saying that time is simply a construct of our minds to help us understand all of this, which is, of course, what everything is. Of course, I will have more on that in tomorrow's post.
The other day, Allison Scace asked me what, as an atheist, I think about death. Now, I've never been terribly prodigious at explaining things to people very well in person, whether it's the awkwardness of the topic, or Alex Pankonien interjecting an "I think John's thinking there might be something more" when I'm Goddamned trying to think, but I realize my inability to very well discuss my beliefs (or blatant lack of them, as I am known for) is because I simply have not thought about them enough yet. I'm sixteen years old. Myself, and anyone else my age lacks the wisdom and experience to set their beliefs, paths, or moral principles in stone. We are just beginning to live: to adopt a doctrine now is foolish, which is one reason I stand without any such thing except my own unwritten code of honor (which is another thing I still need time to think about, but involves not being a complete asshole, and, you know, opening doors for people).
Perhaps that is what I criticize religionists so harshly for--raising their children from toddler to teen with divine notions and commandments and judgement in their heads, seemingly exploiting childrens' young gullability just to pass on their way of life, without letting them mature and decide on their own. Six-year olds don't know who Christ or God or Allah is--they simply say they believe in him when asked, because they have no knowledge of anything else. Growing up in Chicago and around here, I always answered an indifferent "yes" to people who asked me if I believed in God, because, well, that was what everyone said. I just thought it was the norm, the default; and really, it was, and still is. It wasn't until later that I had this Godism concept explained to me a little more thoroughly (or, rather, I learned about it myself, trying to digest Genesis and the ideas of my devout buddies); and while I really did give it a chance, I never was able to believe in any of it. The only thing I'm completely sure of today is what I don't believe.
Ms.Scace, of course, asked me my views on death, which led me to write this post. I don't know what I believe; only what I don't. Reincarnation sounds nice. Even the concept of becoming nothingness according to a set of mechanical laws is more comforting to me than harsh, holy judgement. At least I'd know what I'm in for. The American Romantics had a real good thing going with simply dying and giving your energy back to the earth, return what you've taken, and so on. It's quite noble. The holographic model of the universe is the most comforting to me, since I am awfully scientific and logical, yet emotionally sensitive, as it proposes the implicate connectivity of everything, the existence of the "soul" even if it is just a mound of energy, and most importantly, as it is not quite as linear as we humans are accustomed to; rather than acknowleding the existence of "parts" of the physical world such as time, space, and matter. It beats the shit out of wondering what came before those quacks' ultimately unsatisfying Big Bang, by saying that time is simply a construct of our minds to help us understand all of this, which is, of course, what everything is. Of course, I will have more on that in tomorrow's post.
Sunday, December 07, 2003
A Moment of Silence, Please
“We will now start the day with a moment of silence.”
An echo of loud thuds, zippers, and electric pencil sharpeners can be heard across the Klein High campus. A few thousand students simultaneously drop their heads on their desk, while a few hundred more scribble away at old homework assignments, or write test answers on their palms. I boil in my own disagreement with this school district, and ponder the meaning of this moment in which no one is silent; at least not mentally.
I know exactly what those few words were intended to mean. Something along the lines of “We will start the morning with a minute of prayer and worship”, or perhaps “thanks to God”. Whilst the ACLU clutches the bleeding stab wounds to its heart, I picture a more indiscriminant “moment of spiritual reflection” and then a more fundamentalist “moment of glory to Christ” being proposed, and a legislative body making a compromise just to get the various religious and non-religious representatives out of its sight. But it’s quite obvious what the hidden meaning of the “reflective moment” is: an unnecessary and even unconstitutional attempt to mix a little too much church with state. I can’t be the only person who’s figured this out–much less the only one offended by it.
Not that anything will ever be done about it. The moment of silence was a silly idea in the first place, and the only reason it’s here to stay is that not enough people really even care about it. I guarantee that 75% of the student body or more simply sees the minute as some time off second period, a minute to sleep, or an opportunity to finish late homework. The day I actually see people getting out their Holy Bibles, Torahs and prayer mats, then the more liberal students of the school will be able to talk about separation of church and state.
The whole issue is similar to the part in the Pledge of Allegiance about this country being a nation “under God”. The few people that bother to say the pledge don’t even consciously think about it when they do anyway. The “allegiance” we pledge is about as valuable or honest as a Middle Eastern cease-fire. The oath has simply been drilled into our brains every morning from elementary school until now. It means nothing. The point is, the only people who ever say anything about any of these matters are the aggressive, reformist types like myself, which are very rare in a high school environment–especially at 8:45 AM.
Nevertheless, I question the nature of groups like Bearkats for Christ, Klein Islamic Thought, and the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. What drives people to bring these things into school if it’s obvious they’ll cause so much controversy? Legally, I could form Bearkats for Satan if I wanted to! Congress recognizes the Church of Satan, and I’m sure the ACLU would back me up. It’d be just as “unorthodox” as creating a club, according to some, “based on sexual activity”.
Is it just an American sense of unity that inspires us to establish moments of propagandistic holy sanctity in our ignorant academia? Perhaps it’s a result of massive tragedies such as 9-11. America gained an unmatched sense of pride, unity, little flags, and bumper stickers that eventually dissolved as crime rates went back up and people stopped wearing “God Bless America” T-shirts.
I don’t think God has blessed us if the only unified equality we experience in America is a result of national crisis and the systematic destruction of the Middle East. Perhaps we need that moment of prayer more than we thought.
An echo of loud thuds, zippers, and electric pencil sharpeners can be heard across the Klein High campus. A few thousand students simultaneously drop their heads on their desk, while a few hundred more scribble away at old homework assignments, or write test answers on their palms. I boil in my own disagreement with this school district, and ponder the meaning of this moment in which no one is silent; at least not mentally.
I know exactly what those few words were intended to mean. Something along the lines of “We will start the morning with a minute of prayer and worship”, or perhaps “thanks to God”. Whilst the ACLU clutches the bleeding stab wounds to its heart, I picture a more indiscriminant “moment of spiritual reflection” and then a more fundamentalist “moment of glory to Christ” being proposed, and a legislative body making a compromise just to get the various religious and non-religious representatives out of its sight. But it’s quite obvious what the hidden meaning of the “reflective moment” is: an unnecessary and even unconstitutional attempt to mix a little too much church with state. I can’t be the only person who’s figured this out–much less the only one offended by it.
Not that anything will ever be done about it. The moment of silence was a silly idea in the first place, and the only reason it’s here to stay is that not enough people really even care about it. I guarantee that 75% of the student body or more simply sees the minute as some time off second period, a minute to sleep, or an opportunity to finish late homework. The day I actually see people getting out their Holy Bibles, Torahs and prayer mats, then the more liberal students of the school will be able to talk about separation of church and state.
The whole issue is similar to the part in the Pledge of Allegiance about this country being a nation “under God”. The few people that bother to say the pledge don’t even consciously think about it when they do anyway. The “allegiance” we pledge is about as valuable or honest as a Middle Eastern cease-fire. The oath has simply been drilled into our brains every morning from elementary school until now. It means nothing. The point is, the only people who ever say anything about any of these matters are the aggressive, reformist types like myself, which are very rare in a high school environment–especially at 8:45 AM.
Nevertheless, I question the nature of groups like Bearkats for Christ, Klein Islamic Thought, and the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. What drives people to bring these things into school if it’s obvious they’ll cause so much controversy? Legally, I could form Bearkats for Satan if I wanted to! Congress recognizes the Church of Satan, and I’m sure the ACLU would back me up. It’d be just as “unorthodox” as creating a club, according to some, “based on sexual activity”.
Is it just an American sense of unity that inspires us to establish moments of propagandistic holy sanctity in our ignorant academia? Perhaps it’s a result of massive tragedies such as 9-11. America gained an unmatched sense of pride, unity, little flags, and bumper stickers that eventually dissolved as crime rates went back up and people stopped wearing “God Bless America” T-shirts.
I don’t think God has blessed us if the only unified equality we experience in America is a result of national crisis and the systematic destruction of the Middle East. Perhaps we need that moment of prayer more than we thought.
Wednesday, December 03, 2003
While school was typically bland today, I was relieved to discover that my next year of it wouldn't have to be quite so difficult. If I take govt/econ in summer school, all I need next year to graduate is English IV, Speech, and, um, some other class that I forgot about. With the seven period day, that leaves me room for choir, and my new interest in the internship at the Marriot. If I make that, I'll be messing around with various cooking jobs for three periods a day instead of doing algebra or physics or world history. Dishwashing and watching peopld do stuff seems like a much better occupation than getting unfriendly looks from Mrs.Jenkins or listening to Mr.Turks lecture.
Although, I must admit, Mr.Turks is okay. I think he's a bit smarter than he'll let us know, after listening to opinions and lectures and learning that he actually knows what quantum physics is. He seemed interested in my book. I imagine he doesn't truly speak his mind a lot, for fear of rejection. Probably wants what anybody does-for people to understand him. Being intellectual makes that challenging, and in his community of football coach buddies, I estimate that he dumbs his vocabulary down a bit. He often uses some multisyllabic words and acts like he doesn't know the meaning. You know, either all that, or he's a dumbass who likes my papers. So I'll leave him off my hit list, and keep his droning assignments on there instead.
The most positive happening today occured after school, surprisingly enough, with Larkin. After the massive amounts of cooking I did during Thanksgiving, I'd come up with a sound idea earlier this week to cook for Larkin. So we went over to that labyrinth of a new HEB, I bought cans of artichoke hearts and whole pimentos, and a couple of portabella mushrooms, and then glided safely to a stop at my house, avoiding the large number of cops that've been lurking through my neighborhood recently.
After a bout of impressive-looking chopping moves, I sauteed the mixture of diced vegetables and fungi in a cast iron skillet with olive oil, saving the garlic for last. It's a damned innovative combination of stuff if I do say so myself-I got the idea for doing it with some rice when I realized, when I cooked the veggies the same way for the stuffing at Thanksgiving, that I would've rather eaten them by themselves. My dad came up with a sauce when he strolled by by simply watering down the remnants of the vegetables and oil in the skillet, and adding some chili garlic sauce and, intriguingly enough, honey. I think I outdid myself. In fact, I miss it now, as I pick at one of those microwavable pizzas (my father bought a hojillion of them when they were on sale at food town) that I'm eating because, well, I'm a skinny little bastard and I'm hungry, and I think I'm still trying to gain back the weight I lost when I was sick.
Probably will not type up anything in here tomorrow. I've got a chamber choir runout. I do Saturday, too. And Sunday. And next fucking Tuesday. And next Wednesday. And next Friday. God, the Christmas carols! It's like my mind is a legal document, the Christmas carols are the industrial-strength paper shredder, and in the trashcan my sanity's confetti is released into is a vat of chamber choir runouts, which are like a gallon of boric acid.
Although, I must admit, Mr.Turks is okay. I think he's a bit smarter than he'll let us know, after listening to opinions and lectures and learning that he actually knows what quantum physics is. He seemed interested in my book. I imagine he doesn't truly speak his mind a lot, for fear of rejection. Probably wants what anybody does-for people to understand him. Being intellectual makes that challenging, and in his community of football coach buddies, I estimate that he dumbs his vocabulary down a bit. He often uses some multisyllabic words and acts like he doesn't know the meaning. You know, either all that, or he's a dumbass who likes my papers. So I'll leave him off my hit list, and keep his droning assignments on there instead.
The most positive happening today occured after school, surprisingly enough, with Larkin. After the massive amounts of cooking I did during Thanksgiving, I'd come up with a sound idea earlier this week to cook for Larkin. So we went over to that labyrinth of a new HEB, I bought cans of artichoke hearts and whole pimentos, and a couple of portabella mushrooms, and then glided safely to a stop at my house, avoiding the large number of cops that've been lurking through my neighborhood recently.
After a bout of impressive-looking chopping moves, I sauteed the mixture of diced vegetables and fungi in a cast iron skillet with olive oil, saving the garlic for last. It's a damned innovative combination of stuff if I do say so myself-I got the idea for doing it with some rice when I realized, when I cooked the veggies the same way for the stuffing at Thanksgiving, that I would've rather eaten them by themselves. My dad came up with a sauce when he strolled by by simply watering down the remnants of the vegetables and oil in the skillet, and adding some chili garlic sauce and, intriguingly enough, honey. I think I outdid myself. In fact, I miss it now, as I pick at one of those microwavable pizzas (my father bought a hojillion of them when they were on sale at food town) that I'm eating because, well, I'm a skinny little bastard and I'm hungry, and I think I'm still trying to gain back the weight I lost when I was sick.
Probably will not type up anything in here tomorrow. I've got a chamber choir runout. I do Saturday, too. And Sunday. And next fucking Tuesday. And next Wednesday. And next Friday. God, the Christmas carols! It's like my mind is a legal document, the Christmas carols are the industrial-strength paper shredder, and in the trashcan my sanity's confetti is released into is a vat of chamber choir runouts, which are like a gallon of boric acid.
Monday, December 01, 2003
Hmm. I'm not doing too bad this week. I am tired as I always am, never "quite rested enough" for seven hours of plastic chairs and broken German, but I have my work done, and this week I might just have time to cook a nice meal for Larkin. That is, if I can get around annoying chamber choir runouts. Ah, Christmas. The time of Toys R' Us brawls between middle-aged mothers and four-dollar "festive" wine at randalls. Mmm. Tastes like Grape Nyquil.
Speaking of which, I'm interested in that Marriot internship they mentioned in the announcements the other day. I must see teh counselor about that- I think they're coming for course selection soon this week anyway, so that will be convenient.
IRON CHEF JOHANN
I could really go for some fresh baby octopus right now. Oh, man. I'm still ravenous, and still really weak. I don't think I realized how sick I was. I tried to do some exercise to start building my muscles back up and couldn't break 37 pushups. I feel like... like Bernie Kent. I guess pie will have to satisfy me now.
Mmm... Baby octopus pie...
Speaking of which, I'm interested in that Marriot internship they mentioned in the announcements the other day. I must see teh counselor about that- I think they're coming for course selection soon this week anyway, so that will be convenient.
IRON CHEF JOHANN
I could really go for some fresh baby octopus right now. Oh, man. I'm still ravenous, and still really weak. I don't think I realized how sick I was. I tried to do some exercise to start building my muscles back up and couldn't break 37 pushups. I feel like... like Bernie Kent. I guess pie will have to satisfy me now.
Mmm... Baby octopus pie...
This Thanksgiving holiday has been, well, rather substandard. Monday and Tuesday I still didn't feel well. I didn't do a spectacular job of taking care of myself during my long sickness. I'm still pretty tired. I lost seven pounds, and at 11:30 on Sunday night, I'm still ravenous. I ate 23 pieces of nigiri and a bunch of Norwegian rolls last night with Larkin at Pepper Chino's. I ate too much during Thanksgiving. I woke up at 3 PM this morning and ate several muffins, a bagel, a gigantic apple, and a bunch of sausage. I sort of fucked myself up, and now I'm trying to gain the weight back so I don't look like that little stick guy from the Blair Witch Project. Christ. I've been healthier.
I suppose I ought to talk about it. People will ask me why my Thanksgiving sucked, and people like Rob will ask me why I told them to "tell Larkin I'm extraordinarily sorry and that I'm an asshole" if they saw her on AIM.
I've made promises this week that I couldn't keep. I'd say I'd be free, I'd be here to be the affectionate little thing I always am with Larkin, be free to walk around and go out for coffee and all that. I usually am, I sometimes aren't. I've got obligations, of course. Everyone does. But I felt (and still do) like a royal asshole when I basically stood up Larkin Dennis for Michael Potter, DJ Malone, and the Mormon LAN boys. Fucking hell.
Basically, Wednesday evening, I got home from mowing a big lawn with Sterling, and as my relatives were with me, dad was busy cooking, and things were generally hectic around the house as mom couldn't respond to whether or not Uncle David was coming over, I realized Larkin and I wouldn't be able to do much. Tired, thoughtless and confused, I foolishly hitched a ride to Bret Miller's LAN party.
That kinda sucked. I got there, played Counterstrike for several hours until that game stopped working, tried to fix my computer, and eventually gave up to watch others play Korean strategy games. I basically came, got pissed, drank a bunch of cream soda, and left at midnight. I didn't tell Larkin I'd be gone, and the whole time she lingered at home waiting for a response for me. I told her I'd be free.
Thursday was allright. I had a grand time cooking with my dad, throwing artichoke hearts, chopped pimentos, and portabella mushrooms in a saute pan, making dressing, roasting turkeys, and engaging in other very interesting culinary activities. Larkin came over around five, and we had a grand feast. My parents proclaimed how fond they were of Larkin, and she was delighted, we retired to playing Scrabble on the couch, which was fun, but ultimately unsatisfying as my Southern Baptist grandparents were directly in front of us the whole time, restricting any affectionate movement whatsoever. I promised my heart out I'd be there tomorrow, so we could really spend some quality time. I was pretty tired and sore from cooking and eating so much. I sent her home at about ten, stayed up too late playing EverQuest, which is fun, but, well, fuck EverQuest.
I woke up late, showered, and told Larkin I was free. I got an IM from Michael Potter before she came over begging me to come to his LAN. I received the invitation hesitantly, but for some hellish reason, I got all noble and decided I'd "go take care of my buddies" and bring them a network hub and an extra sarcastic bastard, since I always blow them off. I didn't really want to go. I ended up fixing peoples' computers, losing at an AoE2 game, playing some dumbshit Worms:Armageddon-style Korean multiplayer game the whole time while ignoring a bunch of loudass motherfuckers obsessed with Super Smash Brothers, retreating to the kitchen a lot to collect myself so I wouldn't have to stab anyone, and trying to snooze on the floor. I mean, it would've been okay for an hour or two, but not all Goddamned night. I phoned my mother in the morning and got home at 11 or so. I looked like shit: bloodshot eyes, dirty hair, lint-ridden trenchcoat, and the incredible desire to shower and not lift my computer up a flight of stairs in three trips.
In the car, my mom mentioned that Nelda Cochrane, my neighbor, called for the hojillionth time this month and needed her printer set up. I realized that she was probably pissed, really on edge with all those damn teenagers always partying at her house, and setting up for some office party that she wouldn't enjoy. I also had the thought capacity of a Klein football player at that moment, and decided to go fix her computer. How long could it take, right? A Basque-speaking ten year-old could set those things up, and it'd be an easy ten bucks. I'd forgotten about my solemn promise to Larkin and Allah that I'd be there tomorrow for her. She was extremely irritated that I went to THAT LAN and only told her three hours before, breaking my previous promise.
I went over to the neighbors', took the thing out of the box, plugged it in, and got really frustrated when the software for the stupid plastic piece of electronic donkey shit told me it would "take 15 to 45 minutes to install these drivers" and then I'd have to restart.
I barely tolerated that. I do not like computers. Luckily, I didn't have to make much small talk or be polite with the neighbors either: they were busy. When the thing finished, Nelda wanted me to show her how to use it. Well, fine. I expected that. I showed her that everything she would ever, EVER need was centralized in one piece of software, and that there were big icons with shiny names for her to fax things to her relatives. I looked at the clock on the computer and remembered my promise pretty quick. I also realized that again, I had not told my beautiful and intellectual underwear model of a girlfriend that I'd be working on these things.
Unfortunately, Nelda wanted me to make copies of a picture to test out the scanner, have me stand there while she tried out the fax machine, email a scanned photo to her friend, print the scanned photo, and all this shit that I played no vital role in whatsoever. I looked at the clock, it said 1:30, and I declared I had to go. FIRMLY. She paid my twenty bucks and I ran to my house, forgetting my coat. I ran back to get it, and then ran to my house. I IMed Larkin, telling her I'd shower and be right with her. She wasn't there at the moment, so I doused myself and missed a call from her. She wasn't happy.
After speaking with her briefly on AIM, I began to go into cardiac arrest, and walked outside immediately to wait for her. I'd hurt the thing I love more than spicy tuna rolls. I'd betrayed my greatest friend, my greatest ally and companion in this world of people wanting only to change me or take me for a social outcast with no desire for affection. I'd hurt her feelings, and it was like she'd already just abandoned me, left me out in the cold to die, alone in my freshman year, with no one to talk to but Thunker the Conquerer or my cat. Not only all that, I'd betrayed myself. I'd broken my code of honor and walked all over what I hold closest to my heart to get to some rich guy's house for a computer party. I felt like the biggest asshole in the world. I was ready to sprint into the barbed wire fence behind my house, throw myself in front of a Mack truck, start using all my knowledge of knives to sharpen one and drain some blood from myself so my heart wouldn't beat so fast, but not before begging forgiveness on my bloody knees.
When Larkin got here, I instinctively half smiled in front of her van as it pulled up, but she looked at me with pure indifference. The expression nearly tore the remaining composure I had from my feeble body like the husk from an ear of worm-eaten corn. She still slid into my arms, however slowly, and I began pouring out apologies. She feared the same thing as I did: some horrible breakup, some tragic episode of never speaking again, except awkwardly about the weather or how "things were going" every other week or so. We began to cry into each others shoulders as I assured her I meant nothing of the sort, that I loved her with all my heart, and that I couldn't lose her. I meant it. I couldn't lose her-I'd lose myself.
I said "began". As I started that, my mother came out with the phone. "It's Nelda. Something's still wrong with her computer."
Larkin and I were still hysterical-she was asking me why I'd done all the things I had, broken my promises and all that, but for some Goddamned reason, I instinctively went over and grabbed the phone, nervously asking her what was wrong, clutching the seat of that ugly riding lawnmower in my driveway with my weakened forearm in an attempt to crush it as I looked frantically for an oppurtunity to SHUT HER THE FUCK UP so I could apologize to Larkin. This wasn't what I wanted. I knew I couldn't put my neighbor's printer or my silly little computer maintenance talents in front of what I'd spent my adolescent life trying to find. I'd sooner tear up the money the old woman had given me, and burn it atop my wretched body. I told her quickly that I had to go, something urgent had come up, and hung up in time to see Larkin backing out the driveway, fire in her eyes, flooring her van through my neighborhood and shouting in rage at me on her way out.
I threw the phone into the bushes. Mom came out and called me, and I snapped back with a "WHAT?" as I trembled with humiliation and sheer pain. I felt a physical fire in my veins, an acid seeping through me, and worry for what Larkin would do. I searched for a plan to remedy the situation, any plan, and realized I really, really had to find her. While thinking about what to do, I also realized I'd been standing in the driveway like a sculpture, eyes wet and lip trembling. I was waiting for her to come back, while Larry Morris stood staring at me, perplexed, gas-powered hedge trimmer in hands. She didn't return.
So I found the phone, took it inside, and told my parents I was going for a walk. Apparently my mom knew what I was doing and told me to call the Dennis household first, which I did, with no luck. Larkin wasn't home, and I told her mom to relay my apologies if she came back. I told my parents I'd walk around the block anyway, to collect myself.
I took off, walking at first, then jogging, then walking again because through all this, I was still tired, my eyes still bloodshot, and my heart isn't in good shape for jogging anyway-I've never been good at it. I walked as fast as humanly possible, striding down Louetta with an expression on my face that was probably pretty horrible. My mouth and lips were dried out, I was getting cold, and still feeling like sleep-deprived shit, but I didn't realize that, because I was too intent on getting to Larkin's house. She wasn't there when I arrived. I paced around her neighborhood, bottle of water from the Dennis household in my hand, waiting for her van to show up. I sat in a parking lot darting my head in both directions on Wimbledon Estates drive. I got some strange looks. She didn't show up, and after pondering how unpleasant my life would be if I lost her, I resolved to go back to her house and sit. I wouldn't give up. I was going to wait there until the same time the next day if I needed to, and the day after that. I had a seat in an armchair and changed positions a lot, sipped the water bottle several times a minute, mainly to try to keep from crying. It would've been an unpleasant ordeal in front of Ari, Liz, and Larkin's parents if they all gave me a group hug, or some shit.
To my unimaginable relief, Larkin's van showed up at the house, and I ran outside to be hugged by a beautiful little thing in a wool sweater. I really cannot express that joy in writing. My unconscious mind is an incredibly cruel device, and likes to come up with worst-case situations (i.e. Larkin driving off a cliff or getting killed in a wreck). I was so worried, and afraid of losing the thing that's changed my timid, insignificant life over the past eight months. The fact that she hugged me nearly made me die with happiness.
She took me upstairs and we exchanged kisses and forgiveness, and I nearly became a spiritual person as she once again took me in her arms and let me cry on her shoulder, and vice versa. We went out for a sushi dinner and came back to host a splendid movie night full of the usual sexual humor, gory movies, and a little more cuddling than usual.
So everything's back to normal. I'm still pretty shaken up, actually, physically (the walk over there didn't do me too well, so I slept 15 hours last night) and emotionally, but it's more of just being stirred up from the whole event than any pain. I still feel bad about what I did, and I resolve to always keep my promises, no matter how much it will suck to screw the Mormon LAN crew over. Probably not much. I will keep my priorities straight. Love is better than CounterStrike-I know that and always have, and from now on when I'd rather spend time with Larkin than go pretend to have fun clicking the mouse a lot with a virtual assault rifle, I will tell people rather than do something I don't want to, and I will expect people understand, or not give a shit. Either is good with me. Oh, and I didn't really mean to turn that into some English paper or narrative, but I wanted to tell the story, because it helps me find some closure with it, and it'll help me be a better person. I don't ever want to hurt anyone.
I love you, Larkin.
I suppose I ought to talk about it. People will ask me why my Thanksgiving sucked, and people like Rob will ask me why I told them to "tell Larkin I'm extraordinarily sorry and that I'm an asshole" if they saw her on AIM.
I've made promises this week that I couldn't keep. I'd say I'd be free, I'd be here to be the affectionate little thing I always am with Larkin, be free to walk around and go out for coffee and all that. I usually am, I sometimes aren't. I've got obligations, of course. Everyone does. But I felt (and still do) like a royal asshole when I basically stood up Larkin Dennis for Michael Potter, DJ Malone, and the Mormon LAN boys. Fucking hell.
Basically, Wednesday evening, I got home from mowing a big lawn with Sterling, and as my relatives were with me, dad was busy cooking, and things were generally hectic around the house as mom couldn't respond to whether or not Uncle David was coming over, I realized Larkin and I wouldn't be able to do much. Tired, thoughtless and confused, I foolishly hitched a ride to Bret Miller's LAN party.
That kinda sucked. I got there, played Counterstrike for several hours until that game stopped working, tried to fix my computer, and eventually gave up to watch others play Korean strategy games. I basically came, got pissed, drank a bunch of cream soda, and left at midnight. I didn't tell Larkin I'd be gone, and the whole time she lingered at home waiting for a response for me. I told her I'd be free.
Thursday was allright. I had a grand time cooking with my dad, throwing artichoke hearts, chopped pimentos, and portabella mushrooms in a saute pan, making dressing, roasting turkeys, and engaging in other very interesting culinary activities. Larkin came over around five, and we had a grand feast. My parents proclaimed how fond they were of Larkin, and she was delighted, we retired to playing Scrabble on the couch, which was fun, but ultimately unsatisfying as my Southern Baptist grandparents were directly in front of us the whole time, restricting any affectionate movement whatsoever. I promised my heart out I'd be there tomorrow, so we could really spend some quality time. I was pretty tired and sore from cooking and eating so much. I sent her home at about ten, stayed up too late playing EverQuest, which is fun, but, well, fuck EverQuest.
I woke up late, showered, and told Larkin I was free. I got an IM from Michael Potter before she came over begging me to come to his LAN. I received the invitation hesitantly, but for some hellish reason, I got all noble and decided I'd "go take care of my buddies" and bring them a network hub and an extra sarcastic bastard, since I always blow them off. I didn't really want to go. I ended up fixing peoples' computers, losing at an AoE2 game, playing some dumbshit Worms:Armageddon-style Korean multiplayer game the whole time while ignoring a bunch of loudass motherfuckers obsessed with Super Smash Brothers, retreating to the kitchen a lot to collect myself so I wouldn't have to stab anyone, and trying to snooze on the floor. I mean, it would've been okay for an hour or two, but not all Goddamned night. I phoned my mother in the morning and got home at 11 or so. I looked like shit: bloodshot eyes, dirty hair, lint-ridden trenchcoat, and the incredible desire to shower and not lift my computer up a flight of stairs in three trips.
In the car, my mom mentioned that Nelda Cochrane, my neighbor, called for the hojillionth time this month and needed her printer set up. I realized that she was probably pissed, really on edge with all those damn teenagers always partying at her house, and setting up for some office party that she wouldn't enjoy. I also had the thought capacity of a Klein football player at that moment, and decided to go fix her computer. How long could it take, right? A Basque-speaking ten year-old could set those things up, and it'd be an easy ten bucks. I'd forgotten about my solemn promise to Larkin and Allah that I'd be there tomorrow for her. She was extremely irritated that I went to THAT LAN and only told her three hours before, breaking my previous promise.
I went over to the neighbors', took the thing out of the box, plugged it in, and got really frustrated when the software for the stupid plastic piece of electronic donkey shit told me it would "take 15 to 45 minutes to install these drivers" and then I'd have to restart.
I barely tolerated that. I do not like computers. Luckily, I didn't have to make much small talk or be polite with the neighbors either: they were busy. When the thing finished, Nelda wanted me to show her how to use it. Well, fine. I expected that. I showed her that everything she would ever, EVER need was centralized in one piece of software, and that there were big icons with shiny names for her to fax things to her relatives. I looked at the clock on the computer and remembered my promise pretty quick. I also realized that again, I had not told my beautiful and intellectual underwear model of a girlfriend that I'd be working on these things.
Unfortunately, Nelda wanted me to make copies of a picture to test out the scanner, have me stand there while she tried out the fax machine, email a scanned photo to her friend, print the scanned photo, and all this shit that I played no vital role in whatsoever. I looked at the clock, it said 1:30, and I declared I had to go. FIRMLY. She paid my twenty bucks and I ran to my house, forgetting my coat. I ran back to get it, and then ran to my house. I IMed Larkin, telling her I'd shower and be right with her. She wasn't there at the moment, so I doused myself and missed a call from her. She wasn't happy.
After speaking with her briefly on AIM, I began to go into cardiac arrest, and walked outside immediately to wait for her. I'd hurt the thing I love more than spicy tuna rolls. I'd betrayed my greatest friend, my greatest ally and companion in this world of people wanting only to change me or take me for a social outcast with no desire for affection. I'd hurt her feelings, and it was like she'd already just abandoned me, left me out in the cold to die, alone in my freshman year, with no one to talk to but Thunker the Conquerer or my cat. Not only all that, I'd betrayed myself. I'd broken my code of honor and walked all over what I hold closest to my heart to get to some rich guy's house for a computer party. I felt like the biggest asshole in the world. I was ready to sprint into the barbed wire fence behind my house, throw myself in front of a Mack truck, start using all my knowledge of knives to sharpen one and drain some blood from myself so my heart wouldn't beat so fast, but not before begging forgiveness on my bloody knees.
When Larkin got here, I instinctively half smiled in front of her van as it pulled up, but she looked at me with pure indifference. The expression nearly tore the remaining composure I had from my feeble body like the husk from an ear of worm-eaten corn. She still slid into my arms, however slowly, and I began pouring out apologies. She feared the same thing as I did: some horrible breakup, some tragic episode of never speaking again, except awkwardly about the weather or how "things were going" every other week or so. We began to cry into each others shoulders as I assured her I meant nothing of the sort, that I loved her with all my heart, and that I couldn't lose her. I meant it. I couldn't lose her-I'd lose myself.
I said "began". As I started that, my mother came out with the phone. "It's Nelda. Something's still wrong with her computer."
Larkin and I were still hysterical-she was asking me why I'd done all the things I had, broken my promises and all that, but for some Goddamned reason, I instinctively went over and grabbed the phone, nervously asking her what was wrong, clutching the seat of that ugly riding lawnmower in my driveway with my weakened forearm in an attempt to crush it as I looked frantically for an oppurtunity to SHUT HER THE FUCK UP so I could apologize to Larkin. This wasn't what I wanted. I knew I couldn't put my neighbor's printer or my silly little computer maintenance talents in front of what I'd spent my adolescent life trying to find. I'd sooner tear up the money the old woman had given me, and burn it atop my wretched body. I told her quickly that I had to go, something urgent had come up, and hung up in time to see Larkin backing out the driveway, fire in her eyes, flooring her van through my neighborhood and shouting in rage at me on her way out.
I threw the phone into the bushes. Mom came out and called me, and I snapped back with a "WHAT?" as I trembled with humiliation and sheer pain. I felt a physical fire in my veins, an acid seeping through me, and worry for what Larkin would do. I searched for a plan to remedy the situation, any plan, and realized I really, really had to find her. While thinking about what to do, I also realized I'd been standing in the driveway like a sculpture, eyes wet and lip trembling. I was waiting for her to come back, while Larry Morris stood staring at me, perplexed, gas-powered hedge trimmer in hands. She didn't return.
So I found the phone, took it inside, and told my parents I was going for a walk. Apparently my mom knew what I was doing and told me to call the Dennis household first, which I did, with no luck. Larkin wasn't home, and I told her mom to relay my apologies if she came back. I told my parents I'd walk around the block anyway, to collect myself.
I took off, walking at first, then jogging, then walking again because through all this, I was still tired, my eyes still bloodshot, and my heart isn't in good shape for jogging anyway-I've never been good at it. I walked as fast as humanly possible, striding down Louetta with an expression on my face that was probably pretty horrible. My mouth and lips were dried out, I was getting cold, and still feeling like sleep-deprived shit, but I didn't realize that, because I was too intent on getting to Larkin's house. She wasn't there when I arrived. I paced around her neighborhood, bottle of water from the Dennis household in my hand, waiting for her van to show up. I sat in a parking lot darting my head in both directions on Wimbledon Estates drive. I got some strange looks. She didn't show up, and after pondering how unpleasant my life would be if I lost her, I resolved to go back to her house and sit. I wouldn't give up. I was going to wait there until the same time the next day if I needed to, and the day after that. I had a seat in an armchair and changed positions a lot, sipped the water bottle several times a minute, mainly to try to keep from crying. It would've been an unpleasant ordeal in front of Ari, Liz, and Larkin's parents if they all gave me a group hug, or some shit.
To my unimaginable relief, Larkin's van showed up at the house, and I ran outside to be hugged by a beautiful little thing in a wool sweater. I really cannot express that joy in writing. My unconscious mind is an incredibly cruel device, and likes to come up with worst-case situations (i.e. Larkin driving off a cliff or getting killed in a wreck). I was so worried, and afraid of losing the thing that's changed my timid, insignificant life over the past eight months. The fact that she hugged me nearly made me die with happiness.
She took me upstairs and we exchanged kisses and forgiveness, and I nearly became a spiritual person as she once again took me in her arms and let me cry on her shoulder, and vice versa. We went out for a sushi dinner and came back to host a splendid movie night full of the usual sexual humor, gory movies, and a little more cuddling than usual.
So everything's back to normal. I'm still pretty shaken up, actually, physically (the walk over there didn't do me too well, so I slept 15 hours last night) and emotionally, but it's more of just being stirred up from the whole event than any pain. I still feel bad about what I did, and I resolve to always keep my promises, no matter how much it will suck to screw the Mormon LAN crew over. Probably not much. I will keep my priorities straight. Love is better than CounterStrike-I know that and always have, and from now on when I'd rather spend time with Larkin than go pretend to have fun clicking the mouse a lot with a virtual assault rifle, I will tell people rather than do something I don't want to, and I will expect people understand, or not give a shit. Either is good with me. Oh, and I didn't really mean to turn that into some English paper or narrative, but I wanted to tell the story, because it helps me find some closure with it, and it'll help me be a better person. I don't ever want to hurt anyone.
I love you, Larkin.