Brain Scan

8. I really miss the adventure and employ of my imagination offered in D&D campaigns.

9. Andrew has a posse of folks who, while gay AND men, are not my gay men posse. I miss being around people with dreams and aspirations, not jaded, snarky and drinkers.

10. I'm going to clean out my room and get rid of a lot of books. Having books is nice, but I don't know if I can really justify holding on to books tat have no meaning for me when my living space is at such a premium. Goodbye, Quran. Goodbye... well, glancing at my bookshelf, I see textbooks I never want to be without. This might be easier said than done.

Bullet points-

1. Marcus and I are fine. No exciting prospects or dangers of moving any closer (physically or emotionally). This disappoints me on some level, but minimizes one anxiety source.

2. I don't know if I'll ever not be sick on some level ever again. My possible bronchitis which took me out of work for a week (a couple days there just because I was still coughing and could afford not to infect other people--my mother disagreed) has faded into an occasional cough and a sore throat. I'm well past the 18 day threshold at this point. Also, if I don't take my antihistamines (suggested by poor Derek who hasn't actually witnessed any of my symptoms), I break out in itchy little bumps which swell up and break open, secreting a clear liquid. Isn't that fun? But it only happens on the parts of my body that come into contact with anything else. With the antihistamines, the bumps and itching are both fewer (the bumps, in my mind, likely because I'm not scratching and bringing the bumps to the surface).

3. My job is coming to an end. I have to say that I'm thankful for this experience because it gives me access some real professionals with pretty friggin' sweet resume clout for my professional references section of my scarce resume (which I need to polish up again--I haven't held to my commitment of finalizing one, let alone reviewing/updating it on the first of every month). Unfortunately, this doesn't really speak to my ability to hold a job for a long period of time AND puts me back on the streets, looking for work. It also gives me a deceptive expectation for what real professionals expect--I may have technically been working in an IT field in this instance, but neither of my bosses really know how to use the medium and I had a personal failure in giving them what they didn't know they needed (a database, for example, of all the statistics I've been accumulating, normalized and accessible through their blackberries). I'm increasingly distanced from KVCC and subsequently all the time and money I put into the stupid computer programming degree that will never happen--and this failure on my part to even crank out an access database speaks to my complete lack of interest in problem solving in this venue. Which is probably a good thing for my company's future IT folks 'cause if something is done simply but poorly it's a lot easier to unravel than something done elaborately and poorly.

4. Did I mention I need a new job and, if I can get over the anxiety of finding the new job, a new place to live (the latter is a personal desire, not a parental imperative)?

5. I need to write again. I also want to study music--every time I try to bare my soul through lyrics ala Disney, it comes out sounding like a bad manufactured song from the... well, hell, there hasn't been an era of music this bad. Something else I miss about Brandon is his musical aptitude. He, more than anyone else, seemed to offer me the chance to collaborate with an artist. I want to bring my soul to the forefront and live large and passionately and confidently. I also want to see that Fame remake.

6. My WoW raiding group was turned back over to its original leader last Wednesday as the bastard still hasn't found a job and if he's not going to , I might as well turn the anxiety over to him and find myself one. The only problem is that he seems to have decided to go in an entirely different direction--and I don't like it. I've got a new character on Nick's server and still have many friends and acquaintances scattered all over the realms of warcraft... and Dennis has been playing less and less reliably since his new roommate. My guild is genuinely a good guild, but I may end up withdrawing from WoW entirely due to Blizzard's lack of realm intermingling. Sorry, Blizz, but being able to create characters on multiple realms is not a solution to having friends on 50 different servers. I can't afford to get 49 alts to 80 and play with all of my friends in turn. Maybe I'll just dig out The Sims 2 and make all my friends do disturbingly uncharacteristic things with the help--that always cheers me up.

7. It occures to me that this was a numbered list and not bullet points. Deal. And be thankful I'm all out of bullets.

So I drove out to the Binder Park Zoo in Battle Creek to attend Project(!)'s zoo trip. In spite of intel gleamed from a third party that suggested that Brandon would not be in attendance, he was. In fact, only four people came... so that set the event up to be 25% awkward for me from the outset. The good news is, I didn't break down one bit! Jan, Barry, and Roger were all quite sociable and I managed to not address Brandon directly but once (I had discovered a bunch of eco-friendly socks, each labled. One read 100% soy, another 100% recycled cotton, another 100% recycled bottles, and one that said Giraffe. I had to share it with everyone.)

The antihistamines I'm employing have my incessant itch down to an occasional annoyance instead of an all-out scratch-fest. Part of me thinks that I suffer from heat... itch... or something. It apparently results from being too warm. And sweaty. I was sweaty when this nonsense started back in December--and as I'm always cold, I take heat where I can get it in the winter months. I'm trying to take colder showers and wash my hands in colder water, but the job that I have now requires me to be in uncomfortable office-appropriate clothing 40 hours a week. The shoes that I wear are the most comfortable I've found (they were at a discount store for merchandise that didn't make it to Louisiana due to Katrina)--I don't look forward to the hunt for a similarly comfortable pair that also breathes.

The end.

blam_blazer asked me how I've been doing and I told him I'd answer him tomorrow. Which today is yesterday, you see? Anyhow. Here's my life.

Still working 40 hours a week doing a job that eats my soul for no benefits.

I think I've earned enough money so far to pay for my last two months in Kalamazoo--we'll see once my mother tallies up the bill.

I'm still dating Marcus who is still amazing.

I'm still trying to figure out how to get over Brandon. On most days, his name just passes through my head. I'll see a picture of him amongst all the other memories as my computer slideshows my pictures. It's when the name actually catches and I focus on it, or when I actually look at his face in my photo albums that I get overtaken. It's bizzare to me that It's been so long since I've seen or talked to him in person... and I still feel all twisted up inside. I thought, having parted on decent enough terms, that I'd eventually forget him. When we parted on poor terms, I certainly didn't. *sigh* I told him before that he'd just have to deal with me liking him, whatever that meant to him. Apparently this is me dealing with those same facts. Thoughts and memories of him are often the most moving part of my day, and I feel terrible about that--not because the sensation is terrible... but because those memories still make me feel more than anything since. I like Marcus, and he's everything I could want in a man save for the fact that he isn't Brandon.

Bleh. Why is it that every time I get onto the subject of Brandon, I start using his name every other sentence and ramble on about how much I care about him? I'm well past the point of repeating myself. I guess I just say it because it still holds true--but I could probably get away with saying less and still having my meaning conveyed. For instance:

I was looking at the Project(!) events and came across some photos of their ice skating event. All the pictures of people I knew had me feeling nostalgic--Barry was skating around in a scarf that was the epitome of the ice skating image (the boy watches too many movies). Then there was Brandon. Whoever took the picture, Brandon had looked directly into the camera and smiled. He was doing something else at the time--playing with his phone--so it wasn't one of those "say cheese" smiles. It's the one that made me fall for him in the first place.

See? That wasn't rambling and a rehash of stupid mush feelings--just the facts. I'll try to keep it to that in the future, should the subject be breached.

back to my check list of updates:

I itch. This is not mentioned in passing as one might narrate their lives by saying, "I just yawned, I must be tired!" This itch has been with me since December. I've seen the doctor a couple times about it and between blood work and a visual inspection, he gave me absolutely nothing. We vaguely ruled out fungus or bites and anything to do with the blood... figured it was allergies. Given that we've changed seasons and I still itch, we can eliminate the seasonal form. I've switched all of my soaps one or more times. I've tried creams, ointments, and I've even started trying that... tennactin spray? I'm not sure on the spelling. I don't think it's athlete's foot as it started on my arms... but throughout the day it takes its turn everywhere now. Sometimes it all gangs up on me at once and I'm nothing but... hives and whimpering. It doesn't seem to be one of those things that gets better over time. Without health insurance, I don't know that I can pursue it with any specialists. It wakes me up at night. It drains me even more than my job does--and that's saying something. Basically, if I wanted to focus on my absurdly stagnating career, loveless love life, heart wrenching lost life, and this infernal chronic torment of itching... my life is a living hell. Seriously. I almost feel bipolar I hit such extremes. When I find something I enjoy, I milk it for everything it's worth. Some small triumph at work becomes the world to me. Talking to friends, my memories, and these little victories keep me in good spirits, in spite of the more pragmatic critique of my life. And that's my update.

Now to get flowers for mother's day.

Happy birthday, buddy :) I sent a hug and/or a high-five via air mail--lemme know if you get it.

When Michael put the tip of his pen to paper, he hesitated. There wasn't anything to be said this way, and he knew it. There was nobody to write to and nobody to talk to. He withdrew his pen. Where it touched the page, a small dot remained. It reminded him of himself. The dot was small and alone--but from his vantage point above himself, Michael was composed. He could watch over the dot as he imagined God watched over him. The paper was pure, discounting the mark. There was nothing that could harm it or touch it. He felt his eyes swell--his focus on the dot had been broken by a passing thought.

Closing his eyes, Michael placed the pen upon the desk, drew a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. He ran his hands through his hair--it had gotten much longer than he'd intended--and stopped, pressing his hands to his head as though without them it might roll right off his shoulders. He should be so lucky. Eyes closed, the pictures flickered over his eyelids slowly--the memory that failed him so often projecting each image crisply against the organic movie screen.

Pieces of paper were strewn about him from months of... he didn't really know what. He only knew the months had passed as the season had changed. That very day, with the leaves green and the flowers budding outside his window, he had spoken to on one of the many friends he had left behind. He remembered being so happy there. He remembered the charm of nooks that he doubted anyone else had seen since the pass of the last paint brush. Scents and images and the feel of the sun. He had felt himself growing stronger and bolder. He had felt the change in seasons.

Little by little, over the months he couldn't quite recall, the photos he'd kept had been touched upon, their images memorized and analyzed until their charm was familiar, expected, and unmoving. The subject of these images warmed him still, but he had begun to accept their place in the drawer of his memory. The man in the images was still and unchanging, as all photos are. His memories, he had accepted, were of a past that would never come again. He had raised his arms to the spring sun, turned his face to it's warmth, and felt his limbs strengthen and thaw.

The images he saw now, however, were not his old friends. They had been discovered just moments earlier--evidence of a life that was still being lived, but without him. The warmth he had captured in his memories was there, but they weren't his memories that had captured it. Though the sun had escaped the cold winter's grasps, it was sickly and cold compared to the light of the other man's face, a face that radiated with the heat of a life he had once held so dear and in it's presence, Michael had withered as would a wet leaf from a flame.

He opened his eyes and blinked away imagined tears. His eyes still swollen, he gave one last glance to the paper before him and its one spot denizen before snatching it up, crumpling it, and throwing it violently across the room. It would have to make its own way out of this mess. It would have to make it alone.

Had a dream last night that I'd met up with Brandon. It was vivid in that I remembered every part of him down to his smile and quirky mannerisms. He was happy to see me, but apparently didn't know why I hadn't contacted him. I may have made some excuse, but I don't remember caring about anything but his smile.

Clearly I remembered everything about him except that he doesn't actually want me in his life like that. I thought I was done lying to myself about what I meant to him, but I only control so much.

Anyone else have dreams that were perfect the whole way through, but candidates for nightmares when reflected upon in the light of day?

This is me helping you:

http://www.comedycentral.com/tv_schedule/index.jhtml?seriesId=26001&forever=please

Find a time that works and GO :D

I don't post much these days so it's important for me to post something... important. And relevant. Watch Krod Mandoon and the Flaming Sword of Fire. Seriously, no joke, it's a must see.

FIND IT.

Saw Slumdog Millionaire. He's lucky she turned out to be such a looker.

Kissed Marcus. Thought of Brandon.

I'm still in love with the idea of him. If he'd reciprocate, I'd be in love with him.

Lots of good movies coming to the Main Art Theater in Royal Oak. Check 'em all out.

If it's any consolation, you're totally still present in my world view. :) Trying to figure out how to get out to Kalamazoo and see everyone I'd like to see... but this research gig isn't long enough to warrant vacation time and something tells me I'd need, oh, approximately a lifetime to finish all the things I'd like to do in Kalamazoo. I have to figure out whether I should consolodate my resources and adopt a light weight, minimalist, easy-to-travel vagabond-ish lifestyle, or if I need to really anchor myself to a place and draw the world into my sphere of influence.

Sleep now.

I've been interested in pictures, the big picture for a long time... then the small picture for a phase. Once or twice I thought I had them all in focus, but... the small picture is more compelling. That's where the humanity is. Stop 'n smell the roses, they say. I recommend smelling something you like the smell of--roses are an option, though with my broader phrasing, those allergice to said flora are no longer bound to what would undoubtedly be torture.

Anyhow.

Since I started working, I don't really have time for any pictures. There are no roses in my corner cubicle--only people talking behind my back. Literally. The damned work area is set up so that my back is facing the open door of my boss's office. If so compelled, she could lean forward a bit and look right over her desk, accross her office, out her door, into my cubicle, and see whatever it is I'm doing. It's very disconcerting. The small picture is crappy and the big picture is daydreaming. 40 hours a week into the void.

At least it's not literally torture. It's mundane and boring, but it's not physically painful. A con point to my non-tortured work place: If it WERE torture, I'd be to deny all social norms and just rail against my situation with all my strength. Wouldn't have to wear a tie. Wouldn't have to keep from yelling at people who talk as though the phones they're using are simply a prop and the only way to truly communicate with other people is excessive volume. Just a thought.

I need to put things into perspective. I'm "putting my back into it" at work, but without the big picture and a corrisponding path, I'm lost. How good is the money that I'm making? What can I afford to do? What should I be trying to do? What risks should I take? If this is a temporary job, where do I go next? What do I need to do next? What can I afford? Are all bosses necessarily flakey or vendictive from here on in, or is that only until I become the boss? Then it'd just be me being flakey and vendictive.

Ponder ponder ponder.

In other news. I'm dating a fellow named Marcus. He's... quite a bit younger than me, but he has goals, is bright, is very sweet... and is just about everything I could want in a person, generally speaking. Unfortunately, as with Al, I now have a certain expectation of what my interest could feel like. A good relationship isn't cerebral, or physical. It's got to touch you unexpectedly (figuratively, of course). I'm compelled to let him know that I don't feel like our relationship is growing, but it seems hasty of me to break off something good. Perhaps the spark will appear. But at the very least, I have to let him know where I am. He's a good kid. I hope that he doesn't think as deeply about things and analyze them like I do, or the slightest rejection could send him crumbling. 'Course, he's never seemed jealous or angry or... anything but sweet. In other words, he seems solid. Perhaps there's hope.

In other news, my waward cousin brought her son, Christopher, over. He's six. While the adults talked about one another and about him--occasionally at him, I took it upon myself to talk with him. We drew, colored, and played imaginary roller coaster (his idea, I assure you.) I imaginary vomited when we imaginary went upside down. Once they get to this stage, where they talk, I don't know why people fail to talk with them. Kids are just people with less experience under their belts (and a blessed lack of hormones to muck things up)... it's as important not to talk down to them as it is not to talk down to anyone. Everyone wants some degree of attention and recognition, and Christopher was no different. Overall, the experience reminded me that I want to have children of my own some day. I can't help but feel that I could nurture them to be something great someday--whatever they set their dreams on. 'Course, I haven't had so much luck inspiring my peers, so perhaps I should lower my expectations.

now I sleep.

S'pose it's hypocritical to be anti-anti semitism and anti religion?

I was listening to NPR just a minute ago and they said, paraphrased, "By the way, 40-50 young men attacked a 50 year old man on a bike after tempers rose."

...!

Here's what I found on the subject:

http://www.mlive.com/news/kalamazoo/index.ssf/2009/02/4050_kalamazoo_teens_beat_cycl.html#more

January 24, 2009 – April 26, 2009
Comics, Heroes, and American Visual Culture
Hodge Gallery
Sponsored by Charles Stewart Mott Foundation

This exhibition presents more than 80 original drawings and paintings by some of the best known contributors to the comic book and comic strip genres. The exhibition traces the development of comic books and comic strips from the early 20th century to graphic novels from the late 1990s. These works were collected by Dan Howard, a former professor of art at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.

Howard donated the entire collection to the Sheldon Memorial Art Gallery in 1999, believing that comic art should be seen and appreciated within the context of art and art history, rather than simply being perceived as “popular” art. This exhibition has gained national attention in the media, and shows the influence of comic strips on American Culture.

The first person to congratulate me or derride me for "finally entering the workforce" is going to be immediately removed from my friends list. Just a warning.

Here's a quick update for everyone who doesn't live in my room.

I have a job. It's a temporary job, but I have one. Pays decently, but I already spent my first paycheck on a laptop for work. I'm doing market research for an automotive import/export company with interests in Europe, North Africa, and the Middle East. I haven't got a budget or a team to work with--it's just me gathering statistical data and creating spreadsheets. Full time, no benefits (Excluding the paycheck, of course). And that's what my life has become.

I'm still trying to find my next step in life--something that has become a lot more difficult now that I don't have time to think about these sorts of things, or anything at all, really. I'm really not dynamic enough to avoid withering and dying while working a full-time job. It's amazing, but I think I'm on my way to becoming... normal.

At least I'm getting paid.

They make me look like a cheap gigalo.

So, yeah. Kalamazoo decided it needed to reach their quota for sucking early this year and did it all in one city council meeting. The good news is that, as the quota has been reached, we can only get better form here.