Talking with Jon made me arrive at a mini-ephiphany...its really a disadvantage to be well-liked. Or rather, to have qualities about you that are commonly appreciated, maybe in a superficial manner.

Let's take for instance, my favorite example, the girl who's "too pretty" for her own good. Over her lifetime, she'll doubtlessly meet a lot of people who genuinely like and appreciate her, but also meet people whose reaction to her is based largely off her appearance. She'll know a lot of people who are nice to her, but only a few of those will genuinely like her, or only a few who aren't interested in using her to their advantage. And she's left with having to sort out the confusion, figuring out whom she can really trust. Sometimes she'll end up pushing away all her friends, people she should trust. It can be a sad lonely life to be a pretty girl.

I mean, this applies much more broadly, the gifted athlete, the budding musician, the creative artist, the generous lover, or my personal favorite, the genius computer programmer, heheh. Even as simple as the high school student that gets a car before everyone else. Suddenly, he's got more "friends" than he knows what to do with.

Everyone desires to be seen and well received, yet that desire is also tempered with this fear of being deceived and used. I think past experience plays a large role with that balance, and determines how much you trust those people whose intentions are not easily known. Meet one too many people who are only out to use you, and suddenly even your friends start to look suspicious. I mean honestly, even friends "use" each other, but hopefully, its a symbiotic relationship. Mutual giving and taking that doesn't require a balance sheet at the end of the day.

Like I was saying to Jon, if someone clever really wants to hurt you, they try to be friendly with you when they don't really care. That's how your mind gets messed with, and that's how you start to question who you can really trust.

Luckily for me, I don't really trust people in general, I can see dem bastid freeloaders coming from a mile away and that's as close as they get. Or maybe, that's the point, I don't really let people get close to me at all, so I've already lost before its even began, on that much more valuable and personal level.

[ esca | 11:03 AM | ]

 

I wish there was such thing as an emotional whitewash, a total and complete cleansing of your system back to its original pristine state. Or even just to pretend, because sometimes pretending is better than nothing...

I ended up thinking a lot about her yesterday, brought up in a conversation with a mutal friend. Figures, considering my presently less than fully functioning emotional state. I mean, why not? I like to run marathons with sprained ankles too. Always I'm told I have the inability to let go of the past and that I'm defining the very bars that I think hold me. Always I'm told that somethings don't have answers that make sense, or have reasons that carry validity. That means very little when my anger sears white, and my sadness bleeds midnight, and when my frustration reaches its limits and turns inward upon itself. My storm has a desire to run its course and I'm too tired to hold it back anymore.

Anger, fear, aggression, the dark side are they. When once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny.

Do other people do this too? I try to hold myself together, I try to hold myself sane, piece milling contradictory emotions and feelings together. If the world was not meant to be black and white but grey, can I build myself in that very image? Ripped and torn, patched and plugged, a jagged blend that reveals upon closer inspection that very black and white that refuses to mix.

That for every piece of sadness in my life I associate unrelated happy thoughts. For every shred of loneliness I feel, I think of warm faces. For every down there must be an up, for every battle there must be a victory. Spin spin thy tangled web. I'm afraid sometimes now, I've left myself without anything pure of my own to enjoy, that raw uncompromised pure emotion.

The world is not black and white. I know, but if I try harder I can make everything white.

Is it necessary to completely crash before rising again? But I've crashed before, so many times. Like a horrendous nightmare that plays over and over again. Yet perhaps I haven't really been willing to completely go free, as I can still vividly remember the time and setting for when I knew absolute bliss and joy. Its my most prized and secret memory layered inside the inner walls of my consciousness. Like crack addict, I'm constantly in search of that first hit, never willing to let go, never believing that hope is gone. Its a feeling that if I could go back to for just a moment, I would lie down and then sleep forever...because I'd want that moment to be my last. Like salmon on their final run.

[ esca | 11:44 AM | ]

 

The Superbowl was in San Diego last weekend, meaning that San Diego was ten times as touristy as possible. Mostly this equated to noise and crowdedness but otherwise everything seemed the same. Here's some of the more interesting of the Superbowl adventures.

While packing seven people into a car and driving in a maze-like pathway in a vain attempt to traverse downtown san diego, we were accosted by random drunk guy who says to our driver, "I want to go home with you." Driver quickly speeds off, crossing intersection somewhat dangerously.

Same car moments later, accosted by bling-bling black guy in extremely large motor home. Says he has a Laos girlfriend, asks if anyone wants to join him. Friendly girl in car offers to come up for Superbowl tickets. Same girl who mistakes at four seperates times, San Diego transit buses for "suped up hummers."

Big burly blackmen try to get fresh with smaller asian girls. I stand passively watching. Actually Timmy did his part to save Jen, only to incur a hateful look from the guy. I wonder what made him upset, the fact that someone pushed him, or the fact that a girl with a boyfriend didn't want to dance with him.

Tried to eat at Rock Bottom, decided against it as did not feel like paying 20 bucks Superbowl inflation just to go sit down. Stood outside waiting for ppl already inside to come out, and witnessed a steading stream of people wait in line to get in, and then promptly come out after learning of the 20 dollar cover charge.

Walked around the NFL experience and saw a booth that was selling replica action figures of Seau and Tomlinson. Limit one per customer for $25 bucks. Saw one guy outside the line with at least 15 of these sets who claimed some other guy at another booth was buying the sets for $100. Claim turned out to be bogus, but Jon and James are going to play the ebay inflation game now.

Got into the NFL experience and saw small crowd big venue concert(the Roots, Eve) and jacked up football specimens(Shanon Sharpe, Tony Gonzales, Jamal "Dirty Bird" Anderson, and Marcellus Wiley) for Free! How you ask??? James Wang is the da Man, a humble employee of the NFL itself, who perks include being able to provide so generously for his friends and family. I always dreamed of the day that I would have the connections to get free stuff life this...*sniff sniff.* I'm sooo happy.

[ esca | 11:24 AM | ]

 

I am sick.

I got a bloody nose last night, for the first time in years. My nose had been runny over the weekend and when I rubbed my nose I noticed blood, and then it started gushing. Bloody handprints on a white shirt and that crisp metallic smell...

I should try to take better care of myself. I think my overall health is pretty deficient right now. My latest dental checkup reported no cavities or serious problems, but received general criticism on my dental hygeine and a reminder to floss. I think I'm getting soft too. I laid bed-ridden all sunday in part due to a cold, but also due to the complete full body fatigue and soreness as a result of a mere half-day's worth of physical activity the prior day. I couldn't really even move, much less stay awake for the whole superbowl, and I'm still sore right now.

Getting called an old man by my father over my remarkable lack of stamina should be more than enough motivation to start exercising. I was literally done by the twelveth hole. Even Jen bitched me out, rightfully so, for having complained about being tired from standing around at the NFL exp, and from watching Eve and the Roots. She stands the whole time when she's at work...why am I such a pansy?

I don't eat right, I don't sleep well, and I don't exercise much, plus I let dangerous carcinogens into my body. Its like I don't care what happens to me, or I believe that I'm somehow invincible, or that I'm somehow special and the rules don't apply to me. Perhaps a little of everything. Why is everything such a struggle? I feel like I'm mired in quicksand, or running in slow motion trying to cross the highway. And everyone is speeding and driving 18-wheel semis.

[ esca | 10:27 AM | ]

 

I'm sad, or rather I'm blue. A rich navy blue that brims like a dark palette, a concentrated paste out of the tube. Like the sky at night, or the ocean at sea. The sort that gets mistaken for black by the unobservant yet actually clashes with it. Endless, motionless. Drop a rock into my consciousness and watch the ripples spread, plip plip.

I am not aware...

[ esca | 9:58 AM | ]

 

Supposedly, how you wake up is a good measure, of how you approach life. If you wake up cheerful and excited its a new day, you're a pretty cheery person, and you like life. If you struggle, can't get up, snooze repeatedly, that means you detest your miserable existence.

I struggle, can't get up, snooze repeatedly on end...

However, I also stay up really late, not wanting to go to bed. Does that mean in hindsight my days are actually fruitful and I wish to prolong the joy for as much time as possible? Unfortunately, I suspect its just that going to sleep brings me that much closer to having to wake up again.

[ esca | 8:55 AM | ]

 

The general wave of apathy that has overcome me now feels like a surging wave that both strangles and lulls me to sleep. It doesn't feel like anything matters any more, or if anything is even remotely significant, much like this algae pond of life around me has had the volume casually turned down.

Should I be angry? Should I be sad? OR from your perspective, should I be apolegetic? Or perhaps simply accepting of the fact that I'm not very good person, a walking container of faults and misgivings.

[ esca | 9:03 AM | ]