beginning of many sure to come retrospectives

There is no way for me to express what this year exactly ‘was’. It was a large mess. A blob of uselessness. An unexpected situation after another unexpected situation – leaving me, leaving my soul, completely depleted, yet, completely craving more. It was something rare -- something almost infinite. It was a new life, and new freedom. There were chances (which are now erased -- run over by subway cars, sandwiched into steel, and forgotten, fully) and odd bouts of luck. It was a --

I just remembered the first day. My dreadful, dreadful first day, semi-recorded in a legal pad I purchased. (Along with a pack of Marlboro Red Cigarettes -- a soft pack -- both my first soft pack and my first pack of cigarettes purchased by myself.)

Thus far I've met no one. My form is relatively comfortable and I'm pretty pleased. I've been out and about running errands (this legal pad, cigarettes, Play it as it Lays) -- it's hard to imagine how I can be TIHS content without one of the more important aspects of college life.
I chose the non-bunk bed and feel calm. I didn't really think I'd feel this okay. I do hope I make at least one semi-friend later.
I'm going to read/relax for a lil.
I hope to write again later.

It's later. For all accounts and purposes today was a success. I'm not sure if I'd say that tomorrow, or even in 5 minutes ... but as of now: success. I had a better than expected time. (Which does not really say much)

Best time: dinner with John from Iowa.
Worst time: going to that insipid, dumb ice cream social and leaving after less than one minute.
Most annoying: smoking with those fucking idiots. Nicole. Austin. Fuck them.

I want Alex very badly. But I also want sleep. As such I'll participate in a little bit of both.

...

The emotions -- literally a flood of them -- that that entry triggers up cannot be captured fully. It was a hot day -- and I wanted to try -- all summer had been spent DREADING, FULLY, TOTALLY, COMPLETELY, DREADING that day. (August 22nd) -- And then, somehow, it arrived. And I was living on 13th Street -- a gorgeous block that is now, somehow, tainted (as is this entire city). I smoke many cigarettes -- alone and with random others. I had awful chit-chat. And then I left that place. I had listened to the entire Tha Carter III in some ... attempt?... at happiness. (In retrospect, and right now I recognize my love of Lil Wayne and all music as this: insincere attempts at normalcy. Music holds no truth for me.) There was, of course, the terrible job of unpacking -- and the terrors that had yet to come with my Asian roommates.
And then there was Marlton -- my heart truly does become weak at that word. The AMOUNT OF PAIN, EMOTIONAL, OVER-DRAMATIC -- that took place in this room! WEEPING MYSELF TO SLEEP. Feeling sick -- emotionally, and physically (both for varying reasons!) ... And Union Square, with Stidrill -- a friend that somehow, existed here -- a comfort brought from home. (Though less accessible than the comforts I had brought from home -- tainted now by the visions I have of them here, in this odd location..) And Alex -- the confusion of that transplanted into the jungle here.

(The dinner with the boy from Iowa proved to be absolutely useless -- no friendly 'hello's or exchanges afterward.) ...

I guess, really, this year was like any other -- friends gained, lost; phases of paralysis and bouts of certainty and drive; poetry and prose; all these contradictions and synonyms.
... and yet what do I have?

Why does this year feel different from every other?
Why is it that as this year closes I have a feeling that I am finally being released from one prison (this block, these avenues, this city) into another? (one of suburbia, THAT blcok, those streets, that town!) -- Is it all meant to be so uncomfortable? SO confusing?

My emotions tell me this:
collapse onto the floor, cry a little, bang your head
And then, at the very same time, I simply want to subdue this fretting with marijuana.

I am trapped and cracked.

I am ebbing towards ‘life’ and away from what is now just vivid memories of the people and town in which I lived. (Distinct memories -- seen as photographs now -- ice cream on the face, grass glowing, Forrest School t-shirt, and trees beside playgrounds.)

I fully regret everything.

(Where’d the new found excitement I had go? -- Probably was the weather -- Perhaps I’ll just leave Friday…)

How can I possibly retrieve some sort of power?
Regain some mental stability? (Where'd it all GO in the first place? & as I reflect on the past years of my life -- from middle school, through high school, till now I wonder if I've ever really had any.)
Is there still potential somewhere inside of me?

Part of me, a large part of me, yearns to exit out... sail away -- turn into a boat, and hope that the sun sets soon, and drift, casually (a toy boat stuck in the faux-ponds of Central Park) towards something finite (as finite as the horizon?)

... I do not want to see people any more. I do not want to hear people any more. I do not want very much any more.

I want to have reserves and power...

But, I guess (right now any way) I'm nothing but empty.

I am on the bottom bunk.

As Justin slowly moves out, I've started my grand take over of the room. I am now resting on the bottom bunk. My jackets are now where his were. And shoes are in a drawer. Overall, I'd say I'm pretty content with this. I'm very excited for when he clears off his desk!!

... Anyway, it is a Monday morning at 10:15. I, as I said before, am on the bottom bunk. I want to go running but know that I would not be able to (ehhh...) get through the walk it takes to get up to 14th street. YMCA tomorrow between class and class at 8?

This is pointless. I shouldn't even pretend that this is worthy of a read.

Alright.
So.
I got up at 6:45 to wake Layne up at 7.
I did it.
Then I showered.
And now it's 7:57 and I just want other people to be awake and useful.
AWAKE
AND
USEFUL.

Mess of an Entry

I need to edit my Ethical Will for my Death and Mourning class, and send it in by 10 am.

The paper I've written is about 3.1 pages -- and it needs to be 3-4 ... does 3.1 count as 3? Or is it simply too weak?

I wasn't exactly sure how to write about my values/ethics/what has lead me and helped me as a person. So, really, I have no clue if I'll be chosen to read again ... clearly, worse things have happened than not reading in class. All I want it is to impress people constantly and impress upon them how much better I iz than them. (Gawd! Egotistic Adam!)

But really!

It's not to be rude.

It's just to remind them.

I stole Pete's coat -- it's green-ish with green-ish fur. I really love it... makes me look tiny.

The problem I'm having with editing this paper is this: Justin is here.

I have a much harder time working when people are in the same room with me ... I guess the necessary footnote to that is: unless I'm incredibly absorbed in what I'm writing.

That having been said, I've noticed this: In my writing I critique whatever I'm critiquing + my style of writing + what I deem to be wrong with my point + I punch holes through my own arguments.

It's as if I've decided it's better for meeeee to respond to people's responses in my essay. Which is, of course, not a very good idea. It creates confusion and adds unnecessary parenthetical phrases etc.

Look... I'm going to try my damndest to fix that mess of an Ethical Will and then go running.

Sick

I'd like to recap this week in some way. But, really, it's just a blur of sickliness, travel, and anxiousness.

I did not plan on coming home this weekend -- and it seems that Fair Lawn didn't plan on having me. Instead of going out like I normally do, or basking in the quiet -- I've gone out and then been forced to endure the quiet back here.

And there were tinges of ... longing for NYC and the people and the noise and the fucked up-ness. But after seeing that video I just saw of friends ... Nope. None. All love lost.

I dread tomorrow because it means I'm back there and I'm back with those people and doing those same things we always do. (Which I don't mind, per se.)

Ugh.

Can't wait to talk to Meghan.

Not so sick no more!

Going to be over-productive!




PS ILU GWEN STEFANI

Writing this will not help me feel like I did anything today

I know that I've done absolutely nothing today -- and not in the fun way. Not the fun way where I can brag about it and say "hahaha! yeah yesterday I did noooooothing!" It's more depressing than that. It's like this: I woke up, knew Justin wasn't here, got a drink from Starbucks, bought cigarettes and water from Duane Reed, came here, felt sick, cleaned the room, did nothing, did more nothing -- I've only left the room to smoke cigarettes and give a miniature tour of the building.

It's not good.

Today is not good.

I keep planning on reading -- getting up and reading, but for some reason I am stuck at the computer not doing work. That's all. That's all there is right now.

Okay.