Now, a new week!
I'm listening to Last.Fm, listening to one of my favorite bands now (Ra Ra Riot!) and have just put down one of my favorite books (Lisey's Story, by Stephen King) and wondering about the future. We're all so concerned about the holidays, and by concerned I mean writing down our wishlists and giggling through magazines. I've scribbled down the random wishes I've gotten on a scrap piece of paper and it's hanging on the fridge at Mami and Papi's place, right next to Elena and Javier's, near all the rest.
This has been a phenomenally lazy weekend following my first week of work after the Navy. So far, I'm very happy with Echostar. All the rumors of how terrible a place it is to work must have been related to the DISH Customer Service part; the people I work with are for the most part snarkily happy and sarcastic and funny and they joke around with each other just the way I like -- not violently, not angrily, not maliciously, but in the same way I kid my sisters.
On Friday, I came home first and devoured my Chinese leftovers, waiting for someone else to come home. No one else arrived for what seemed like hours, and I was left to watch the Daily Show by myself until they did. Andreina, Justin, Jess and me then caught the late showing of the newest Harry Potter flick after I rushed over to M&P's place to refresh myself with the 6th movie. I loved the movies, both of them, and my romance with the series is somewhat reignited. At least, I'm remembering why I could have devoted so many years to that universe. On Saturday, I slept in late and read all day; today, I proceeded to do the same, leaving with Allie to walk around the mall a little and feel like the awkward anti-shopper. We got dinner and all met up for a family Sunday night and I'm back here, reading, listening to music, inspired to update this journal because of a line in my book.
I've always had a pretty endless and everlasting To Do list. The top priorities now are to finish those gosh-darn college applications -- CU, CSU, the BYUs, and cross-my-fingers for the Mines. It's almost December. I'll have to rush through those fun essays, which is no bueno, but maybe I'll include all those wonderful military evaluations which tell the world how Puritan a sailor I was all those years ago.
The priority that comes after all those college acronyms is to address to Carl that his behavior is UnAcCepTaBle, emphasis on all syllables. That he isn't the sort of dude I'm interested in, that I am less and less affected by his sadness and his mood swings and his poetic addresses. It's getting to be Bobby all over again -- the behavior I want, I crave, I need, from the corner I cringe away from. What can I say? I keep on hearing my explanation about why me and Austin didn't work echo over and over again: he likes HipHop, I like Indie Rock. It makes so much sense to me, why doesn't that mean much to anyone else? Why doesn't he see? Why didn't I see it at first? It's so obvious, just the sound of the relationship, that our clash would only be more garbage noise in this already vibrantly polluted place. I want someone to sing the second to my song and have our voices be harmonic, even in its fights and flights.
Jason Saab once came up to me at work with a revelation glowing in his voice and twinkling in his eyes. "I just realized that with all the billions of people there are in the world, if there's something I really can't stand in a girl, I don't have to put up with it," he told me, like a spiritual exercise. "I can just tell her we don't work and move on. There are so many other people, there's bound to be someone close enough to what I think is perfect that she will be perfect, at least to me."
"Of course, you're already unhappily married," I had to remind him, and there the memory of the conversation goes dim, the important part replayed. He was right, I had agreed with him, we had gone into one of our aimless, wandering talks where I surprised him by showing him a glimpse of actually having a decently deep mind and he showed me a sneak peak of how desperately frustrated a man he was.
When I was in Michigan for that wedding, when I was laying in my hotel bed alone after angrily leaving the ceremony, when I declared that I wanted to go and found myself in my room -- the clock turning just past one, my body wide awake, lonely and bitter, I went through the hundreds of FaceBook friends I'd accumulated through the years and I deleted almost every single one. I got rid of the clutter, so to say, keeping on the people I was related to and the friends who I kept in contact with personally, even in sparsely. I went from over 500 "friends" to less than 50, the majority being family members near and far. Lately, that number has crept up again as I refriended the ones who contacted me again, but the vast majority of people I've known and who have been a part of my life over the last six years are now gone. It makes me feel alone when I think about it to much, but then again I didn't plan on seeing any of those kids again anyway and they didn't really come close to knowing me -- but not in the dark and moody sort of way that Carl says it ("I don't let anyone close, no one really knows me, no one really gets me") but in the factual, technical, somewhat dry sort of way, an acknowledgement that somehow doesn't detract from the fun we had but is true. Andreina reminded me of it, and so does Allie, when they talk about their friends here and now. I suppose I should start making some more. There are those nice people at work. I just don't feel like being that social just now. Or they're not the type of people I want to be with because that's not the sort of person I want to become, the sedentary engineer. I want to be Veronica; I want to be Gir; I want to be Lisey; I want to be Scott, but not so loved by the darkness or such close friends with the long boy. I want to be the one who knows that Everything's Eventual, and SSID applies, and who can say shmuck while the Gunslinger paces by. And I need friends who'll understand all that. Like Jason says, with so many people out there, it's okay to be picky about some things and even friends can be that important.
This has been a phenomenally lazy weekend following my first week of work after the Navy. So far, I'm very happy with Echostar. All the rumors of how terrible a place it is to work must have been related to the DISH Customer Service part; the people I work with are for the most part snarkily happy and sarcastic and funny and they joke around with each other just the way I like -- not violently, not angrily, not maliciously, but in the same way I kid my sisters.
On Friday, I came home first and devoured my Chinese leftovers, waiting for someone else to come home. No one else arrived for what seemed like hours, and I was left to watch the Daily Show by myself until they did. Andreina, Justin, Jess and me then caught the late showing of the newest Harry Potter flick after I rushed over to M&P's place to refresh myself with the 6th movie. I loved the movies, both of them, and my romance with the series is somewhat reignited. At least, I'm remembering why I could have devoted so many years to that universe. On Saturday, I slept in late and read all day; today, I proceeded to do the same, leaving with Allie to walk around the mall a little and feel like the awkward anti-shopper. We got dinner and all met up for a family Sunday night and I'm back here, reading, listening to music, inspired to update this journal because of a line in my book.
I've always had a pretty endless and everlasting To Do list. The top priorities now are to finish those gosh-darn college applications -- CU, CSU, the BYUs, and cross-my-fingers for the Mines. It's almost December. I'll have to rush through those fun essays, which is no bueno, but maybe I'll include all those wonderful military evaluations which tell the world how Puritan a sailor I was all those years ago.
The priority that comes after all those college acronyms is to address to Carl that his behavior is UnAcCepTaBle, emphasis on all syllables. That he isn't the sort of dude I'm interested in, that I am less and less affected by his sadness and his mood swings and his poetic addresses. It's getting to be Bobby all over again -- the behavior I want, I crave, I need, from the corner I cringe away from. What can I say? I keep on hearing my explanation about why me and Austin didn't work echo over and over again: he likes HipHop, I like Indie Rock. It makes so much sense to me, why doesn't that mean much to anyone else? Why doesn't he see? Why didn't I see it at first? It's so obvious, just the sound of the relationship, that our clash would only be more garbage noise in this already vibrantly polluted place. I want someone to sing the second to my song and have our voices be harmonic, even in its fights and flights.
Jason Saab once came up to me at work with a revelation glowing in his voice and twinkling in his eyes. "I just realized that with all the billions of people there are in the world, if there's something I really can't stand in a girl, I don't have to put up with it," he told me, like a spiritual exercise. "I can just tell her we don't work and move on. There are so many other people, there's bound to be someone close enough to what I think is perfect that she will be perfect, at least to me."
"Of course, you're already unhappily married," I had to remind him, and there the memory of the conversation goes dim, the important part replayed. He was right, I had agreed with him, we had gone into one of our aimless, wandering talks where I surprised him by showing him a glimpse of actually having a decently deep mind and he showed me a sneak peak of how desperately frustrated a man he was.
When I was in Michigan for that wedding, when I was laying in my hotel bed alone after angrily leaving the ceremony, when I declared that I wanted to go and found myself in my room -- the clock turning just past one, my body wide awake, lonely and bitter, I went through the hundreds of FaceBook friends I'd accumulated through the years and I deleted almost every single one. I got rid of the clutter, so to say, keeping on the people I was related to and the friends who I kept in contact with personally, even in sparsely. I went from over 500 "friends" to less than 50, the majority being family members near and far. Lately, that number has crept up again as I refriended the ones who contacted me again, but the vast majority of people I've known and who have been a part of my life over the last six years are now gone. It makes me feel alone when I think about it to much, but then again I didn't plan on seeing any of those kids again anyway and they didn't really come close to knowing me -- but not in the dark and moody sort of way that Carl says it ("I don't let anyone close, no one really knows me, no one really gets me") but in the factual, technical, somewhat dry sort of way, an acknowledgement that somehow doesn't detract from the fun we had but is true. Andreina reminded me of it, and so does Allie, when they talk about their friends here and now. I suppose I should start making some more. There are those nice people at work. I just don't feel like being that social just now. Or they're not the type of people I want to be with because that's not the sort of person I want to become, the sedentary engineer. I want to be Veronica; I want to be Gir; I want to be Lisey; I want to be Scott, but not so loved by the darkness or such close friends with the long boy. I want to be the one who knows that Everything's Eventual, and SSID applies, and who can say shmuck while the Gunslinger paces by. And I need friends who'll understand all that. Like Jason says, with so many people out there, it's okay to be picky about some things and even friends can be that important.