There's No Place Like Home

Not for me.

I haven't said a word aloud in the past twelve hours. There's no reason to, no other person here. Scratch that--there's a cat, whom I've been petting and occasionally been calling "...baby..." but other than that, it's thoughts barely thought before being tapped out of a keyword. These moments are my most truthful, like word associations--but to actions and thoughts, not necessarily other words.

These are the moments I've missed, couldn't account for or witness in friends. Of course I couldn't; how can I experience living alone when I'm with others? How do I experience stasis, the feeling of "now what?" I'm such a joiner--all my favorite things involve other people. I gave up on life--it became so hopeless for ten minutes when everybody I wanted to hang with was either occupied or weird with me.

It has to be present in my mind that no matter how much tension I garner or accrue from and with other people, those same somebodies are my happiness, my ports in the storms I seem to run across everyday. It's the same people who grate on me who think I'm great. Biggest supporters are easily the biggest enemies. Caring, being "in to it" is the hardest quality to invoke in someone, and often those feelings don't die, just transform and express themselves in different ways. The enmity I may feel for Ex's used to be love, and may still be love, only I'm not allowed to explicitly love that person so I have to find another way to show them attention--and enmity is social norm.

I can't make this. I can't make a room into a home. I never learned, and I don't know if I will. I feel like I'm being forced into writing with my other hand. I hate how Monica made me feel pitiful--I've felt it before, being told I lacked a personal quality that I didn't know was important to have, let alone know was important. Homebuilding, I have no idea where to start, even though I think it, like parenting or being a good friend should be intuitive. You either have it or not.

But that is defeatist. That is an absolute mindset, purposely giving myself no options. I don't want to look it up in a book because that's admitting the truth: I don't know what to do. I only how to cover my own ass, and in that, I only do it half as well. I think for my life to continue forward I have learn to live right with my left hand, to be well-versed in the reverse of what I've been living. I have to be open to building a home with someone else and not shell up and find refuge in ignorance. I can't be afraid to be the guy whose afraid.

Maybe... I'll get a cat.

So This Is It, Right?

I'm cat-sitting again. This rented out, full bath, kitchenette, no pet studio-bedroom. This could all be mine.

I think at this point I'm supposed to consider the name of my blog and how it relates to my choice in domiciles. Do I really want to move out? Do I have to? Is it self-imposed?

I Googled "wanting what you got" and found lots of links AC/DC and Christian Q & A sites. The balance that I'm seeking, the answer that is, is whether I've done enough searching--for now, anyway--have I found enough for my current life to enjoy, to not be restless. It's always good to wonder, but at some point a person has to appreciate the friendships, accolades, and opportunities that he or she has worked thus far to achieve.

Searching without seeing is like driving while eating.

The room that I've earned--and I do say earned, even though I didn't build it or seek it out--is larger than this in downtown San Jose. I don't look for handouts, and I think everything happens for a reason. It might be too early to tell, but I think this'll be a good thing. I'm not smiling yet (it's too early) but I've worked for this break. It's a small concession, so I'll keep working hard, and maybe more breaks, or concessions, will come my way.

Time to earn more karma.

Freaks & Geeks, It's Not

It takes a promo and maybe 15 minutes for me to see all I need to see of Swingtown. Of all the retro shows, it is so classily done. Not just an homage or a comedic review, Swingtown hits its zeitgeist spot on because its home network caters almost exclusively to that demographic: 50 year old and up middle-Americans. I love how the show I love the most on the network I connect with the least is about a show about loving, being open; liberals. I love the shows the network promotes during the break: Flashpoint, a drama showcasing a city's law enforcement "heroes" -- it's SWAT team/snipers. The other show, Eleventh Hour is a horror (terror) scifi mash-up.

All of the shows CBS wants you to watch late at night are the shows that par on other networks. Whatever CBS, you're not fooling anybody. Act your age.

You're Happy and You Know It

Today's attitude is solitude, and I'm finding it in the crowd. I look like a cross between Koresh and Jerusalem, bald-headed, dog-tagged, and Adama-rimmed, tapping away on a machine that'll go dead 60 seconds after my last tap. At a wedding the best way to blend in is to stand out; the same is true for DMV's and here, the public library.

No one trusts a smiling face, not a young one. The smile I reserve for customers isn't welcome here. It's a smile kids are taught to distrust, to automatically assume is a trick. I'm not looking for my cat or directions, I just want to say "hi" and keep you at ease... but I guess my actions are counterintuitive. To make everyone else feel normal I have to be distant. I have to not care. I have to want my own privacy, lay out my books and bag like I'm claiming territory. I'm supposed to log on and tune out. I have check MySpace and YouTube, and maybe if I'm unlucky enough, be the careless public pervert you want me to be--because that's familiar. That's the cliche.

I'm not allowed to smile for its own sake, or because I'm happy and can't help it. No, psychology, theatre, law, they all tell you that I want something. Can it be because I want you to smile too? Is that too pedestrian? Too predictable? Not interesting? Choices don't have to be interesting or extreme to be true.

Now these lips are parallel to the floor, my eyes question, and every action I take looks suspicion. Is that better?

The Sky Looks Under the Weather

"It looks like tornado weather." I've never seen a tornado, but I hear that it looks like what the sky looks like now. Green and pink, it reminds me of a Bubble Yum package stretched out into transparency, making our sun look like one of the suns on Tatooine. It portends bad times, which is befitting since today is a Friday the 13th.

The second week of Shady's tablework is done. Good. Many Shady regulars are SJSU alums, so it's hard not to associate one organization with the other. I'm reminded how I am not an alum, and how long it took me just to get to State. It's been a long road; sometimes I liken my life to crossing a street. Instead of going across I went around the block, the REALLY long way. Pluses, minuses? I think it's easy for someone to have a goal and fulfill it. Maybe not the fulfilling part, but the direction part is easy. I like that sense of direction, but I don't think I've ever had it. I can keep an eye on what's in front of me, but the other one can only kind of make out the rest of the scenery. My life's been like driving without my glasses: all I see is color, size, and how fast it's coming at me. It sounds like rationalized justification, but my life has been one great excuse after another to see the world. Add my attraction all things "shiny" and I'm looking more like Mr. Magoo.

It's wonderful to know that there's other stuff going on in the world besides what I'm doing. It's really easy to become a self-absorbed, microcosm'd person. Funny how we can have resources to touch the world without ever leaving our front door, and how we can master what we expose ourselves to but just not clocking links. I love surprises, and man, I'd never know what was around the corner (let alone know that would enjoy it!) if I didn't fail at the thing that I thought I was good or wanted to be good at.

I've been running into people from high school with increased frequency. I'm approaching my 10 year reunion, and I can't help but think I'm going to be reminded of stuff that I purposely forgot. I've traveled a long way to get to where I am now--I think it's appropriate to revisit what I figuratively count as the beginning.

The New Place and Suck to Come

The place I'm looking at is 34' by 9.5'. It's wide, or if you turn 90 degrees, it's kind of long. From the three steps you take down through the private entrance, you're met by a basement room that's pleasantly cooler or warmer than the rest of the house. The farthest 20' by 9.5' is the bedroom. It's curtained off, has a bed, desk, and in-room closet. Soft diffused light amber light emanates from the wall. The foyer is 14' by 9.5', perfect for a parking your bike and slipping off your shoes. The tile flooring chills your soles, so I'd like to spread the small, tacky 80's art deco area rugs to cushion the feet, maybe ask around for some carpet samples, too. I'm looking to make the most of my space, so instead of furniture I want to have general purpose cubes. Made from milk crates, they could be used as seats or small tables.

There's a 9' by 9' bonus room that branches off the foyer. It's mostly going to be a kitchette--did I mention there's a mini fridge, microwave and hot plate? Sorry, no sink, counter, stove or oven. I wouldn't have much left over anyway since the room is half how much I make in a month. But there is a price for privacy. Given the frequency of horror stories (almost 1:1 with success stories) I'll live knowing that I'm paying to have the room all to myself.

It's the small things, though, that I hear I'll miss. One time purchases like a pot or silverware. One-off emergencies like needing a pair of dress slacks or changing a bulb. The staple bills: rent, utilities, food, and gas, those don't leave a lot of room for allotting to emergencies--and even if I do, it'll probably never be as close to reality as I'll need. 10% of my paycheck isn't enough of a safety net.

That's what my girlfriend says will make me depressed. Not having conveniences like being able to buy anything when I want to. I'll be a slave to my paycheck. Maybe I have some money saved up for a rainy day, but when the budget's tight, rainy days will probably come more often. I'll be under the same pressure of sticking to a routine as keeping a weekends-only relationship fresh.

Still, I want to stay true to my word: if you learn to deal with things the hard way, then everything else is easy. If I can manage to not scream my brains out in the first three months (assuming I get this place), then I think I'll be OK. Incidentally, the next three months involve me taking on another large chunk of work responsibilities and directing the fights for Shady Shakespeare. So yes, any night where I don't cry myself to sleep and curse my choices, that day will be considered good. But I don't like settling, so here's to great days.

Instructables Come Together

I was never a fan of DIY. Actually, I've always been a fan of DIY ("Do-It-Yourself"), but I never wanted to be caught reading or asking about it. It was always a fear of looking like I didn't know, that I was trying too hard to be somthing I wasn't, that prevented me from actually doing anything. (Fear, as you'll learn, is one of my defining features.) But we can't be something until we become it, and you can't know how to do something until you learn how.

It can become a little dangerous, though. I'm a recovering packrat, so what may start as one interweb bookmark on how to make my own laptop hoodie sleeve becomes a hoard of unsorted links that are filed as "someday." A person can be a packrat online with virtual stuff as much as in real life with tangible stuff. Just think of that friend with a thousand messages in his or her inbox, and you'll understand what I mean.

I've let go of certain things to make vacancy for stuff I want... or stuff I didn't know I wanted. A recurring theme in my life is the desire to be surprised. If my life played out the way I answered when I was eight, I would be a 26 year old lawyer or a doctor with no other goal in life than to make lots of money, be married, and support my parents. When I was 12 I wanted to be a plastic surgeon for all of the same reasons, except it was more lucrative.

Since last week I've given away a third of all my clothes and books. The clothes that made the cut were the stuff I looked good in, felt right, and that I've worn in the past six months. There isn't much of a difference between the seasons here, so I didn't have to set aside clothes I "might need." As for books, the six month rule still applied as well as another caveat: "Will I read it again? Do I want to read it again?" No more books on esoteric subjects, no one-offs recommended to me by half-interesting people, no books on the shelf for show. Everything is functional--or else, why else do I have it?

Other stuff I got rid of: all things Dungeons & Dragons. All holiday cards from family (I don't sit down and read them more than once) and pictures of people with whom I'm not currently friends. All in all, my life is laid out for all to see, which is the point of this here blog: bridging the gap between the various social groups I'm currently apart of, and make them all a part of me, and allow them to see each other. Hi mom hi dad, these are my work friends. Friends, meet my girlfriend. Girlfriend, meet my nice ex-girlfriend.

Let's begin at negative one.

I am:
•Adaptation.
•When Harry Met Sally
•Lost in Translation
•Annie Hall
•Die Hard
•Kill Bill
•Pulp Fiction
•Groundhog Day
•The Shawshank Redemption
•Eternal Sunshine
of the Spotless Mind

Well, I was, unto today. I don't have anything to amend that list with except to say "there I was." What you have in front of you is a map with a line that stretches out, and squeezes within itself like an earthworm on the move. "There I was" refers to the canyon leading to the spot of where I am now. There's an etched, hand-drawn line moving away from me. It's labeled "where I will be." The lines are light--tentative. It's just a guess.

I'm optimistic. I was raised to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. Now I just do my best and let the of rest of it run its coarse. I don't like optimism. There's a wary, lack of confidence, lazy quality to that attribute that I've never enjoyed. When I do my best I do as much as I can and forgot the rest; if I can't affect it I won't worry about it. Worry is the opposite of progress.

I don't know what I am just now, not totally. I sense a culmination of various pasts and parallel presents, but beyond that is ... chance.

This is what I want: one place to find me. Not "school me" or "work me," just ME. My identity has been divided into too many disparate parts, and all I want is that canyon to become canon and for "where I will be" to be thick with no apologies or fears. If there's anything I wish for my future, it's for it to continually surprise me.

I'm just too ignorant to be omniscient.