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Mark David Chapman
Let's try this again. 100 words are really not very many at all. Note to self not to tackle any major topics or tell any stories. Since word economy has never been my strong suit, and since I'm unwilling to use a delete key because every mark I make on this grateful planet is a special unique snowflake I will have to just stick to slogans and Tourette's like emissions. Today's is that I need to get a new copy of my mailbox key but my social anxiety disorder makes asking my super for it almost prohibitive. Wish me luck!
Having my purse stolen has been a boon for my popularity. Perhaps it was my extremely drunken response to the event (total panic) that is yielding me the concern, but everything can be replaced with some similar version. I've repurchased my phone and will get a new iPod soon. My insurance is covering the replacement costs. Still sympathetic sentiments pour in. It's not like I broke my leg. I'm surprised how many people seem to give a damn about my trials. It's probably all lip service. What else is there to say? "Good. You deserve it bitch." That seems unlikely.
Panicked to the point of physical tremors. I'm not sure what I'm so flustered about. The sensation is a pretty familiar one: believing if you could just stop time and the possibility of any incoming demands or changes to information, and neatly prioritize everything that has to be done in an orderly fashion, then maybe everything would be okay. Until then, the slightest piece of new information will send me into a tailspin of panic without any evaluation of the new data. It's the rapidly changing landscape that I struggle with. I should study glaciers; they move at my pace.
It is with a certain sandwich authority that I can confidently declare, the best sandwich in the world is the Chicken Madness served at Weismiller's grill in the Georgetown neighborhood of Northwest Washington, DC. The aptly named chicken madness is two grilled chicken breasts that are diced with bacon, cheese, tomatoes, green and red peppers. Seasonings are added to taste. This diced concoction is pressed on the grill for another few minutes, ensuring the flavors are well meshed. I recommend you order it "extra, extra spicy"and pair it with a can of Canada Dry Ginger Ale: Perfect lunch experience.
If I drew a Venn diagram of the vast sea of humanity, I would draw a tiny circle to indicate the people I love. Another tiny circle would represent the people who love me. These circles would not intersect. There would not even be a point of tangency. People can move from one circle to another, but they cannot exist in both simultaneously. I would plot myself as a point between these circles, but much closer to those I have affections for. I think this is a manner of collection, once I have your vote I have it. Mission Accomplished.
The Grand Canyon is so beautiful; remarkably, wonderfully, beautiful. Based on my one data point, I recommend going in March when the air is cool enough to be comfortable on a strenuous hike into the canyon and the crowds are manageable to the point that you can still be filled with wonder and awe at the immense beauty of the landscape. It's a fruitless task to attempt describing the visuals, but it cannot be overstated. For me, it was gorgeous enough to make me consider changing my life right then to try and be there and see it more often.
What is such a big deal about the fact that I moved to Dallas, TX from Cherry Hill, NJ in 6th Grade? I left the Catholic school I had been in since first grade. In Dallas I attended a pubic school and did not fit in socially very well. We had no back yard in the house in Texas. That was also when I really got serious about gymnastics. We moved out of the house we had shared with my sister. She was a Freshman in college that year and did not come Ãƒâ€šÃ¢â‚¬Ëœhome' to Texas much after we moved.
Last night was about finding out things can be better than you expect. The fishhead casserole was the best thing I've had in a long time. The crispy pork intestine was also delicious. Admittedly, I'm no lover of the springy, cold, albino duck web, but it was worth a shot and you can't win them all. Though, as Ilmi pointed out, the reason is always pretense, I just want an excuse to be in a group, with a group being. We need an activity, but the activity is second to the larger activity of being together and sharing an experience.
Barring an amputation or a surprise visit from my Mother, this week will do down as one of the best weeks of all time. There was the grand canyon, the maiden voyage for the Gastronauts (www.gastronuats.com for photos) and an improbable delivery of tickets to the Big East Tournament just minutes before the huge overtime Syracuse upset of UCON and the down-to-the-wire victory by my Hoyas over Marquette. I just got my tax refund and it is more than I was expecting. Weekend looks promising with a 15K race and pick-up planned for Sunday. I must be doing something right.
Stall choosing etiquette should be automatic, but some people seem to make poor choices, so I must spell it out for everyone. If there are 5 stalls, number one being closest to the sinks & door, the optimal order choice is: 5 then 1 then 3. 5 is the obvious first choice as the furthest from the sinks with the bonus privacy of an external wall. One follows as the furthest from 5. 3 is the only remaining choice that affords a buffer stall. If 5 is occupied and 2 is chosen next, then there is no good third stall.
I attended a big, froofy work meeting yesterday. At the end of the day (moments before the open bar) was a motivational piece of video montage about great teams. There was footage of the miracle on ice, 9-11 fire & rescue and Himalayan climbers all spliced in with footage of consultants waving from their desks. I believe the intent (however misguided) was to imply that our 'team' is on par with these other teams. Obviously, the effect was to paint a stark contrast between meaningful accomplishments and sitting at your desk. The kicker was the soundtrack; Pink Floyd's Ãƒâ€šÃ¢â‚¬ËœComfortably Numb'.
God damn college basketball! It is all fixed and exists only to hurt me. It sucks me in with promise and opportunity and then it dashes my hopes. I tell myself I don't care but the tantalizing siren is too powerful and before I know it I'm and holding my breath with every free-throw. But no lead is safe, no comeback improbable and the NCAA Gods always conspire to render me a jaded, beaten soul. Given this eventuality, someone may as well benefit. Call Vegas now and bet on anyone playing Georgetown, Memphis or Kentucky in the round of 16.
I don't have any meaningful or significant connections in my life. My closest friends live in Chicago, Prague, DC, Chattanooga and Memphis and I e-mail them monthly. I mostly communicate with people to exchange music suggestions or make them listen to stories I think are funny. Any one of them is fully interchangeable. I dislike every member of my family and have contact with them only out of obligation. I have numerous acquaintances but am not closely invested in anyone. I can remember being more connected in the past, but I don't feel I have the capacity for it anymore.
I am such a snob. I only want to hang out with interesting people, but I do not have anything interesting to exchange with them. I want to talk about their interesting jobs and the interesting books they are reading and I do not have anything to add to the conversation. I do not have much to offer anyone since I'm so self-absorbed. I wonder if the acquaintances I have are really just collectors who want to have as many connections as possible in case they run for city council some day and want people to give to the campaign.
I worked from 9 AM to 11 PM yesterday. It was no fun. There was nothing critical going on. That was just the work load that was on the schedule yesterday. I was in meetings until about 7 PM and then I started the work that was due the next day, which took me about four hours. Today and every day in the future look about the same and I cannot imagine anything that would change this outlook. This makes me feel defeated, which is causing me to get up late and make the days rushed and even more unpleasant.
I am going to Rififi on Friday to ask Greg if I can be in his standup show. I think. I am scared. I don't see why he would say no. Then again, there's no reason for him to say yes. I think I have some things to say that are funny. Then again, it's quite possible I do not. More relevant: I hate to be looked at and will probably panic if I am given the opportunity since calling customer service causes my heart to pound. I am motivated to ask him because I think it might be fun.
So I am sad about my childhood. I wanted everything to be magic. I wanted my stuffed animals to be real. I wanted the Easter Bunny to be my friend. Stupid kid. I think my mother was so excited about magic she sucked me in. She would build up Santa Claus to be this huge deal and I was so wound up about this magical saint who was watching me and coming to visit me. What did I want that I didn't get? My memories range from the typical to the ideal childhood, yet reflection on it makes me cry.
Brutally bad day. Googling "best suicide method"is not much help. I am not going to escape this planet. I just need to entertain myself until this is over. I am so agonizingly lonely and so not interested in the people who reach out to me. While I sat home crying last night these people called: Jen, Tony, Joanna and Ben. I could have gone out to meet any of them, or gotten them to come to me, but I am uninterested in them and simultaneously suicidally lonely. Being alone by yourself is less painful than being alone with company.
I ran some quarters. Ouch. I was running 74s last season. That is barely fast enough. Today I ran 90s. Soooo Slooooow. It was sunny and nice out and then I came to work. I bought some DVDs and new headphones, the noise canceling kind. The problem with wanting to hasten your death is anything you do to get there makes the present worse too. Smoking might help kill me, but it would make me even slower in the meantime. It would be great if you could extract the good days out of the next 70 years and then die.
I've been accused of amusing myself; of keeping myself occupied with concerts and movies and ultimate and travel. The premise is that by filling my life up with fun, I am using all the oxygen so nothing with substance can develop. I'm not sure I can comprehend that. It's like telling someone who's blind that they're really missing a lot by not seeing. I can't imagine what else there would be beyond fun. I don't even have the vocabulary for it. I've never been exposed to anything more. This serves so inform me of something else my life is lacking.
I have been told that I am very forgiving; maybe too forgiving. I just can't afford not to forgive anyone. There are not enough people around not to forgive. Forgiving and cowardly; afraid to ask for what I want. That's because I'm convinced I won't get it. So my needs are often unmet until I explode with some aberrant behavior. I keep forgetting that I want to write about my avoiding of sadness with amusement. I'm avoiding my avoidance. I'm not so sure that wallowing in sadness would help me. What is the end of sadness? What is the output?
There's almost nothing I control about my day at work. Consequently, I take a lot of pleasure out of choices that I can make, however trivial. One choice I make several times daily is what kind of tea I will have while I work. Lemon? Peppermint? Today they introduced a new flavor: Blueberry. I think my micro-economics teacher explained that choice is a value to consumers. Now I have X more utils of value because I can choose blueberry tea if I want. This might be the best thing that happens all week, unless I get hit by a bus.
I hate my job so much I don't just want to quit, I want to die. The message this place constantly reinforces is that nothing can be accomplished; nothing can be achieved no matter how hard you work. You should always work longer and longer hours, but no matter if you work 6 days a week from 8 AM to 10 PM you will not accomplish one goddamn thing. You will always feel rushed and behind and it will always be stressful and unpleasant. The real question is why I even try at all when faced with such certain futility.
Nothing is going on. All I want is to go to bed. I guess I will do that sooner or later. I guess I should work out or something. I don't want to do anything. Maybe I will watch a Netflix. That would be something. I haven't talked to anyone I like all week. Then again, maybe there is no one I like. I am so bored. And sick of this planet. It's very hard to imagine anything in the future being fun or interesting again. What matters? What is important to me? Maybe next week I can buy something.
Volunteering doesn't seem like it can make much of a difference. I worked at a resume fair for a job training center this weekend. I'm good at writing resumes and do some hiring, so it makes sense that I should be able to help with resume improvement. The real problem is that the resume is not the issue. The issue is the fact that you last held a job in 2004 and that was in a nail salon. I can add action verbs and key words until the cows come home and that will not affect the job you get.
Today is my niece's 8th birthday. I can remember mine 22 years ago. My mom asked me what kind of party I wanted. I said I didn't even want a party. I was pouting. I thought she would realize how sad I was and ask what was wrong. How could I possible not want a party? Instead she said, "That's great. I am relieved. I was dreading throwing a party." I was furious. I felt a birthday party was an entitlement, but now I couldn't go back on my request not to have a party. That was all my idea.
I can tell myself whatever I want, but my racing pulse and sweating palms are screaming the truth in their own way. I can say I don't care about him or anyone; that I don't need anyone and just want to be on my own. Then I meet him just to hang out and I flip out. He looked great. He was funny and perfect, like he always is. I could tell him I want to be with him, but then he'll be embarrassed and it'll be all weird and we won't even be able to hang out any more.
Why have I always loathed my mother and wished she was dead in only 100 words. Ha! All my memories of her are of hating her and her embarrassing me. I remember her being lost and making me late for a birthday party. She made us late for everything; she is simply not capable of organizing herself enough to be on time which was always humiliating. I hated her for cheering my name loudly at track events when I was lapped and was the only fool still running. I hate her for never letting anyone get a word in edgewise.
Within 6 hours I saw Willie Nelson at a live taping of the David Letterman show, Destroyer and Electric Magnolia led by Jason Molina. Jason didn't play to many Songs: Ohia tracks. It was a pretty good time. The guy from destroyer played about 6 more songs than I needed him to. Jason Molina was outfitted like a Montana militia man with some kind of frontier's man jacket and a black and white bandana that reminded me of a Palestinian head wrap. Letterman seemed robotic and sad and I think maybe anything on that scale and repetition cannot be good.
There's a real Catch-22 about the frame of mind that I approach my therapist with. If I have optimism that there may be some progress then I am so angry and disappointed with him for not making any progress that I just sabotage the sessions. In contrast, if I acknowledge that the process is a hopeless waste of time then I am flip and accusatory with him. Those sessions are also not helpful. Generally, it's doubtful that any good will come of this effort, or any thing, but admitting that everything is hopeless and committing to that worldview is exhausting.
On the whole, this weekend was a microcosm for my life. It wasn't great. Much of it was fairly unpleasant. I can't think of any thing that would improve it however. Now it's time to bid farewell to a month of in the life of me, in hundred word installments. I haven't accomplished much other than win a bet that I knew was easy money to win, but I'd never collect. I've also proven that my need for completion overrides my own preferences and any notion of logic. I feel validated that introspection only makes you self absorbed and whiney.
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