April 1, 2002 (1:33pm): Yeah, I woke up way too late again. I woke up at 10:00am, like I planned, but I just couldn't get it together to get up and go to lunch. Ugh.
Strange. I just realized that it's April Fools' Day. Funny. That's a day that usually can be foreseen by days. Oh well.
So, yeah, I'm gonna go shower and stuff, make myself all pretty.
April 2, 2002 (8:19pm): The other night, I threatened an old man with physical violence. At least, I think it was an old man.
Okay, I've said how the guy in the apartment below mine always has the TV volume too loud. And I've said how I ask him to turn it down. Well, anyway, Sunday night I just fell asleep, around 3:00am, when the TV comes on and I could hear it perfectly well. It was Larry King Live, and the topic was, like, Milton Berle and Billy Wilder and how they died last week or whatever.
I got up, put my clothes on and went downstairs to the old guy's door. I knocked politely, then forcefully, then I just pounded on the fucking thing, all for about ten minutes. The apartment got quiet. The TV went off, then I could hear someone shuffling around.
I got really pissed. First, I went down there to ask him nicely, and he just ignores me. Second, he's the one being a dick, and I don't care how old you are, if you're consciously being a dick, you got some shit coming to you.
So... I slammed my fists into the door and shouted, "YOU TURN THAT TV DOWN OR I'M GONNA KICK YOUR FUCKING ASS!!!" I waited for half a second; no response. I went back upstairs.
The TV stayed off for the rest of the night, and I haven't really heard it since. The moral: I'm an asshole, but at least I can take care of elderly jerks.
April 3, 2002 (12:14am): Tonight is so nice, I can't express how guilty I feel about not going outside and doing something.
I would, though, if I really had somewhere to go. I mean, vague wandering isn't much fun, especially at this time of night. At least, not when you're alone. If I had somewhere to go, someone to meet, more pointedly, I'd be thrilled beyond expression. But I don't. So I'm not quite as enthused. Hrm.
April 3, 2002 (3:15am): This loneliness business isn't fleeting. I started picking up on that a few months, but I've been putting it off. But I just lied down to sleep and it hit me: There's no one around.
Usually, people are tickled to think they can do whatever they want and not have it know. But that gets tired very quickly. I just want people to know, now.
April 3, 2002 (10:00pm): Well, Naomi's off for Japan for six months. I'm off for...home. This sucks.
April 4, 2002 (8:36pm): I got a headache from sitting in the library all afternoon, reading magazines. Something about the chairs there just don't sit well with me.
Anyway, I didn't eat much at lunch or dinner, so I'm starving. Hmm... I just ate, like, apple sauce and cottage cheese (college cheese, rather). And some ham. Bah.
Okay, I'm gonna redo my do-to list, then make a CD of MP3s for Randall's good-music-deprived ass. Hee hee.
April 6, 2002 (3:15am): How little I did today:
Well, first I woke up around 1:00pm. Watched the rest of Mr. Smith Goes To Washington. Went to dinner. Ate said dinner. Painted the rock (put a big big "BNGJ" on it, the meaning of which you'll never heard from me).
Started watching Wayne's World in Don's room, till Shawn and Ann showed up. Went to Dairy Queen. Went to Dairy Mart, bought some very very cheap wine. Went back to my place, watched BASEketball and most of High Fidelity. Didn't get drunk at all.
Went to Eat'n Park, had breakfast at 1:00am. Headed for home, but stopped at a strip club for fun. It wasn't open. Got home, resorted to boredom.
Eh. A trivial day, but for me, a full one. All things considered.
So.
April 6, 2002 (8:32pm): Okay. So it's about time to buckle down and pack and go home and see what's to be done for five months. Hrm.
I don't accel at such things.
But first, a shower. Then food. Then messing about for four and a half months. Then moving back.
April 7, 2002 (3:06pm): Today is Sunday. History will show that I am not often fond of Sundays. Today is no exception.
But at least it's bright and warm.
Just sitting here listening to Bob Dylan's Love & Theft. It's really the first time I've listened to Dylan since I saw the concert in February.
April 8, 2002 (8:30pm): So... What is up?
Well, no one will paint the rock again, so I have to keep on waiting. I wanna paint that damn rock again! I don't know why. It's just fun, and everyone will see whatever I put up there.
I'm gonna read the comics I bought a while ago.
April 10, 2002 (7:56pm): I woke up at 6:00am this morning and got ready for breakfast. Then I and Randall painted the rock. Put "RAR!" on it.
Three hours later someone else painted over it. Damn. So now there's a game of wait-and-see 'cause Xi Rho Zeta wants to paint the rock, but know we're gonna do so again. Who's gonna paint it first? Hmm.
Anyway, it's my last day here, so I'll wait till 9:00pm or so and just go on up. Fuck it. It's fun to paint the rock, so who cares.
I haven't packed a damn thing, and I have to leave in the morning. Wowee. Well, c'mon, I don't have any boxes, now do I? I can't put things in boxes unless I have boxes in which to put them, eh? Right. So the morning will suck ass.
April 13, 2002 (8:04pm): I'm in agony...
Okay, it's not as bad as it was Thursday, the first evening I was here in Roane County. So you're not gonna get the full effect.
So, I'm supposedly here for the summer, right? To work, to "chill", whatever. Well, a few things lined up to piss me off at, like, a suicide bomber degree.
Obviously, I have no driver's license. It's pathetic, it fucking sucks, fuck you, I just don't have one. So I must rely on parental transportation.
Parental transportation that doesn't come through 'cause both automobiles are on the fritz. So no cool job in Chuckton; Elkview, at the furthest, hence, Movie Starz, which will only give me 20 hours a week. Bullshit! I can do that at school.
It's just... Alright, nevermind. Suffice it to say, right now, everything feels dead; numb, tiny, all that. And it's not getting better soon.
Bah! Bah it all to hell!
April 14, 2002 (8:17pm): What a fucked-up scene this is.
I'm sitting here in this ratty goldish chair, eating sunflower seeds, just staring at the ruddy white ceiling, right?
It's late dusk; icicle lights cast a yellowish tint to my cluttered room. Outside is a vast lush hillside, which I utterly despise. Some big stupid bastard of a deer is about eight feet past my window, munching on grass. I'm steeped in a gross self-loathing for not making my life what I might want it to be.
The plucky cheek of Herman's Hermits' "Mrs. Brown You've Got A Lovely Daughter" comes on and blows the whole mood.
April 15, 2002 (5:41pm): I feel very violent right now. I just feel something, I dunno, evil inside.
Go ahead and laugh; if you've come to know me in some degree you'll know that I usually deliver information such as that above in a humorous over-the-top manner. But no matter how it is given, it's true.
I like, need, to keep busy. I hate to know I'm wasting time. So when I think I'm getting nothing done, or more, when I stay where I don't want to be, I start to feel a vicious gnawing pang. And it's so overwhelming I begin to shut down. I hate everything and long to lash out; eventually, I turn it inward.
So... I've accomplished very little lately. More doors slam shut. There's an intense self-doubt, like a self-persecution.
Maybe it's 'cause I haven't lived up to standards I can't define.
At any rate, I'm very angry. And I don't like me when I'm angry.
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April 16, 2002 (6:19pm): Hardly a cloud in the sky today; sun pissing out a healthy 91F. I could get a sunburn if I weren't holed up with nothing to do and no one with whom to play frisbee. Too bad.
I wouldn't mind a sunburn.
I need to get out of here, need to go. Go go go.
April 17, 2002 (5:53pm): So... I think I might be working at some telephone survey place. Same place I worked about two and a half years ago. It's not so bad. How it came about, who the hell knows.
I've been reading too many comic books. But what else am I to do? I've got about 2,000 sitting right there in my bedroom. Sheesh.
April 18, 2002 (9:04pm): I should find something to do. Some kinda project or something, to keep me busy. But what?
Well, what blows my hair back? Music. Comics. Humanism (of late). But what? Damn my lack of imagination.
April 19, 2002 (4:01pm): Okay, my parents are just sitting in the living room, sleeping and snoring. For my money, there's nothing more repulsive.
It's a beautiful day outside! Nice and sunny, but not too hot. It's great! There's a thousand things to do! Instead, they're wasting the whole fucking day. It's their idea of the good life, not having to do anything.
Me, I'm miserable. I wish some friends were here, or I were somewhere else. This place is no fun.
Anyway... No. That's it.
April 21, 2002 (12:02am): You know why people want friends around? Or at least, why I want friends around?
'Cause when you want'em to, they'll tell you you don't suck. As it is, I don't have any friends around, so I'm left to wonder: Gee whiz. Maybe I do suck. And maybe it's 'cause I just said "gee whiz." The agony, huh?
Whatever.
I'm not sure what I want. But one thing is for sure: Whatever I get, I'll have worked damn hard for it. Er, damn hard by my standards. My standards being defined roughly as thus: Eh, what else am I gonna do?
"Golly, no, Mike, you don't suck."
Thank you, makeshift sock-puppet pal!
April 23, 2002 (3:04pm): Hrm... I can't wait for the day I can call in and tell everyone to go jump in a "sea of their own folly." As Kerouac would've said.
I'm in one of those rare moods in which I feel I could do just about anything I wanted. Now, I know very well that I can't, but, you know, feelings are stupid anyway. Which is prob'ly why we have no control over them. We'd just be boring old robots doing nothing in particular. Then we wouldn't feel sad.
April 24, 2002 (3:16pm): So I start training for this job thing tomorrow evening. The people there are so awful. Just, really. It's too bad, 'cause I know there are dozens of nicer, cleaner, more decent and upstanding types who have to work at McDonald's and Waldenbooks 'cause... Well, I dunno why. But they should work with me. I don't wanna work with those people.
Anyway, I don't understand why this house is so damned cold. I mean, it's nearly 73F outside. Where the hell are these blustery drafts coming from? Geez!
April 26, 2002 (1:21pm): So that telephone survey job... Yeah. I'm not gonna be doing that. Here's what happened:
I don't know what's wrong with me. Anti-social? Irresponsible? Immature? Whatever. But I adamantly refuse to do anything that I don't really want to do. Now, if I were to listen to most everyone else, I'd get some pat cliche answer like, "Life isn't fair, a job's a job, it's not forever, blah blah blah." But they're all fucking idiots, then aren't they? Maybe I know something they don't, not vice-versa like they'd have me believe.
Dammit. Nevermind.
Anyway, I showed up for the training around 3:45pm. There was a motley group of losers bitching about their welfare or deadbeat husbands or some other damn thing. Ick. I just settled back in a corner somewhere and glared at them all in turn.
I'm not sure why I did it. I mean, maybe it was the ridiculous schedule (5-11PM, Saturday-Tuesday and Thursday); maybe I just didn't like the people or the general feel of over-regulatory bullshit. But halfway through the sexual harassment disclaimer I placed all the disclosure paperwork on the table, stumbled to my feet, and made for the door. The instructor stopped me and asked, "Hey, what, uh... You can use the restroom on break." I said, "Dude, I'm leaving." Says he, "What do you mean?" I, in classic arrogant self-absorbed fashion, said, "I will fucking go off my head trying to pretend this job doesn't suck ass. Piss off." I went upstairs and found the lady in charge of personnel. She was across the bay (the area with all the people on the phones), so I tactly and charmingly shouted, "HEY! HEY! I QUIT! YEAH! QUIT!"
Very mature, eh? Okay, no, it was rude and terrible for someone who's usually more reserved. But it was fun. That was around 4:40pm or so.
So I walked out onto the sidewalk and started crosstown. It felt nice. Being in town, that is. I really do miss it when I'm at school. See, when I'm walking down a street, the sun is shining and kicking up off the pavement. It's warm, and I just feel like a different face in that light. Walking down a street, flanked by tall, tall buildings, it's easy to lose yourself in it all. That's the greatest appeal of cities, for me.
I made my way across the blocks and wound up outside the library. I just sat down on the steps, like I used to do. And I was there for a while, just looking around. It was rush-hour time, so there were lots of faces going by. People going home, going out to dinner, going here, going there. But I had nowhere to go.
April 28, 2002 (10:54pm): I've been knackered all damn day. Trumped at every last turn. I can't believe it.
Okay, first I woke up and got ready to go to Salem for the Spring Fling thingie. I get dressed, make sure I have my stuff, get in the car, and it starts raining. Well, whatever. It'd been raining all night, big deal. Just a trickle. It falls in buckets. Well, the equivalent of buckets, but in little drops. Shut up.
My mother and I get a few miles down the road and she freaks out 'cause a creek along the side is swelling a bit. I don't care, 'cause c'mon, it's just water. It's not like we're in a raft forging the mighty Mississip. Nevertheless, she wants to turn back. I said, "It's just some rain, I don't mind it." She didn't wanna get stuck up there if some monstrous flood should happen to obliterate every road in West Virginia.
So. She calls my dad and he says it'll be fine. So we get on the interstate, but there's an inch or two of water on the road. She freaks again, gets off at the first exit and turns the car back toward the house. GOD. DAMN.
So, I'm pissed, but I cannot let it show 'cause she's nice enough not to give me shit when I do stuff to bug others. So, I'm gonna miss the fun. Again, like last year. And I'll miss seeing Van again before she goes off somewhere. And I'll not be able to give Bobby the key to my apartment (which he'll need to live there for a while), so I'll have to mail it to him. And I'll not get the alcohol outta my place, which I really really really want now. And I'll not get the Freedom Force demo from Randall, which I wanna play like crazy (I'll prob'ly just buy the whole damn thing, 40 bucks).
Eh... So I get home, and I'm steamed, but I think, "Hell, the day's a waste, but at least there's a TNG marathon on. Six hours! Whee!" Uh. No. Around noon the fucking electricity goes off. And stays off. For nine hours. WHAT THE HELL AM I GONNA DO IN THIS HOUSE FOR NINE HOURS!
I read comics. Lots of comics. Spider-Man, mostly. "Identity Crisis", and a lot of one-off issues. And I finished that Beatles biography that was complete shit. It was so censored by the band and families it said nothing and glossed over what it did say. Gaw!
Then I got a Pop Tart. It didn't have icing! Dammit!
So yeah, today has sucked in every way conceivable (if you have a poor imagination, like me).
April 30, 2002 (9:32pm): So today's the last day of the month. Big deal. I can't remember what I did the first day of the month, other than it being April Fools Day, of course.
So whatever, my stomach hurts. It's sensitve to touch. Hrm. Maybe it's from sitting on the floor for so long. Maybe it's something, the only thing, I ate. I don't know. I just...don't...know...!!!
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