I'm finding it increasingly hard to be alone, or as it were, being alone is becoming increasingly hard on my spirits, leaving me a sad mopey child wandering from room to room with my laptop in hand.

Solution: Hang out

Issues: No car, no money, and few people who I can/want to hang out with.

mood: sad music: Country Disappeared by Wilco

4 AM we meet again...

mood: sleepy

To be fair, the title is a little drastic, but it is four in the morning, and I am still not asleep. Perhaps my new computer is to blame, but for the sake of a nicely sized entry, I'll assume that it is something. So, Insomnia: I've been having trouble sleeping lately, as I'm sure that you may have gathered, and this is somewhat an odd occurrence. For those of you who know me fairly well, I'm a sleepy kid. Not as sleepy as some, but I like my bed, and right now I'm about five hours off schedule, and this is a wholly ungodly hour for me. I just don't know what it is, honestly. I don't want to get into bed, I know, because for the first time in years I'm not able to go to sleep right away, and I hate that feeling you get when you just lay there for upwards of fifteen minutes just thinking. Or, in my case, trying not to.

I'd suppose that it was a combination of things if I had to guess. I'm an adult now, and that is a fact that has been weighing heavily on me these last few weeks. There is a certain weight  that comes, isn't there? There is the job, the money, and the being acceptable as a person to others, friends, and in my case, mostly family. That is not to say that I'm not an acceptable person. Some may say otherwise, but mostly I assume that I'm at least an okay guy. I'm polite, but it isn't that. There is something more. In order to be an acceptable person in my family's eyes, I must first have a job. Understandable. Stressful, but very understandable. Of course I need a job, want a job, would die for a job. After all, in order to be an acceptable person by my standards I must hold a job. This is, however, hard, as you all know, so I won't go into it. I will, however, throw a simple ad out there for anyone with the dough and desire: my body is now up for rent. Fifty dollars an hour or best offer. Call me. Tell your friends.

The second bit of this whole concept of being an "acceptable" person is a bit less black and white. As you all know, I've been grappling with the idea of CHOOSING a parent to live with. The choice is, luckily enough, not all that hard. I would live with my mom, because that is where you guys are, and that is where the rest of my life is, but sadly telling the higher ups of such a decision is kind of.. hard. If only my dad and stepmom didn't, you know, love me, it would be a lot easier. It is odd, my stepmom, often described on this very blog as being fairly shrewish, is the one that it would seem is taking the most offense to me living with my mother. I don't know what it is, but suddenly I am her son to some extent, and she is, well, being a mother the best of her abilities (which are, admittedly, still lacking) for the first time that I've lived here. It is strange, and very hard. She is, now, a bit of a monkey wrench. One that I'm very happy for. It is.. sad. But, moving on, dad knows now that I want to be with you kids, and has accepted that it isn't because I don't love him, and I'm very happy to announce that I shall be up north more permanently with any luck.

Yet there is still more to this "acceptable" theory of mine. This thing which has plagued my mind and, I believe, has partially caused the insomnia. The last part is, of course, being a happy kid, but the aforementioned things combined with what would appear to be a looming expiration date on my current social life, and trying desperately to secure the funds needed to go to school next fall. The first bit is quite possibly the most pressing matter in my mind. I will for the sake of your sanity not go into my relationships with my friends in this post, but instead briefly touch on my affair of the heart. I, sadly, in little more than two months time will be over seven hundred miles away from my lovely girlfriend, and will have no way to see her in person until winter break. Air fare is much too much, and a train for the sake of argument would take about half of a day to arrive, and that is more trip than a weekend would allow. Thousands of things are bouncing around my head at this point. How it will work, how somehow it won't, how I don't believe in long distance, how after one and one forth years have only made me grow fonder of this, this angel who loves me more than I deserve. At this point I don't know what I'm going to do about "us." All that I do know, to repeat myself, is that I'm in love, still, and, like earlier about my parents, it would be much easier if I wasn't.

Now it is closer to five, and I'm still awake. The sun will rise soon, and here I will be to greet it, tired, cranky, and plagued. I suppose that if I'm still standing I'll watch it rocket up over the mountains, but I don't suppose that it will have a great effect at this point. Anyway, thanks for reading, and goodnight morning.

location: Norway mood: sleepy music: A Sentence Of Sorts In Kongsvinger by Of Montreal

Really. Year in and year out I've always dreaded the close of school. I don't much understand the need/want for this type of break. This is, I'll assume, in part because half of my time is spent in york, and I have a tough time finding my way up to my friends in the camp hill area, but aside from that, I'm still not a major fan. I don't enjoy long and listless days. They are good to have every now and then, but they, it seems to me, are a building block of the summer mindset.
I know, what a weird kid. Doesn't like summer?! Crazy, but true. It sucks. I like hanging out with my friends, but a great majority of the time I find myself alone. This is because I lack some social skills, and I lack the drive to get out there and do shit. The only person that I've hung out with since summer began nearly two weeks ago was my girlfriend, and if you count it, the kids at Becky's party. Sadly, aside from "hanging out" I have nothing else to do but look for a job or two. The latter is full of darkness, pitfalls, and noes.

ugh.. 

location: Dad's House mood: bitchy music: Epic by Faith No More

Trouble lurks around the corner... 

mood: anxious music: The Wanting Comes In Waves (Reprise)

 Columbia has officially accepted me as many of you know by now, and that is a genuine relief. The cost is.. well.. a very large number. My parents say that we'll find a way, and I trust that. I may be saddled with a nice chunk of debt, but that is what is supposed to happen. :D Yay debt. I don't care (now) all that matters is that I get to go to school. That makes me happy. I'm going to, perhaps, the best school for my arts, and they are even known to set up all of their graduates with jobs upon graduation.

It is going to be CRAZY. I'm going to have to work on a couple of shows a semester once it gets into full swing. At first they will be simple one acts, the ones that I don't do for (required) extracurricular activities, and it will grow to the point where I'll be spearheading full shows WHICH will have a week run either on campus, or one of the local theaters.

C(olumbia) C(ollege) C(hicago) has two wonderful theaters on campus, and both are, as I understand it, real working theaters. People all acrossed Chicago own season tickets, and the house is regularly full up. Can you imagine? I'm going from the Cedar Cliff auditorium where we get maybe a hundred people for two shows to a packed theater with a kick ass sound and lighting systems. I may even get to work in a theater with LEDs 0.0 that would be a treat. I nearly pisses my pants when I went to carlisle the other week and performed on their BACKUP stage (which had two rented LED specials, no striplights, killer sides, bays, and even backlights. Jesus.). It is like my dirtiest fantasy with my stage mistress has come true

On another note, this is my graduation present. *squeals with delight* My dad also got me a nice printer, and a nice case for said computer. There are a couple of little other things. Mom said something about a 12th season Dr. Who scarf (16 feet!). Ah, everything is working out. For the most part that is.


OH! and I'm going to a The Decemberists concert this Saturday! Ho-Shi- no t!

mood: ecstatic music: Loop Duplicate My Heart by Suburban Kids With Biblical Names

College. I'm actually fairly worried at this point. If my choice school doesn't accept me, then I'm, well, not going for at least a semester. This is what comes of procrastinating. Children, be warned: never do what Uncle Caleb just did 'thar.' It is irresponsible, and he'll probably be going (if he goes at all) with no financial aid for a year. (30k) Nice Job Uncle Caleb... (you dumb fuck).

Is it irrational to worry that a college with virtually open admissions will decline me? I actually cried over the thought, believe it or not, and I may again before this is all over. It is just.. really hard to face the world when you don't know what is going to happen next. Every single person that I know has asked me where I'm going to school at least twice because (and please excuse my modesty) I obviously have a bright future ahead of me. I'm accepting the friggin' thespian scholarship this week for crissakes. I'm supposed to have a special tassel, and get recognized at graduation. I had a chat with the Principal and his wife, and they said: " I hope that you're going into production."

God damnit. If I don't go to Chicago then I'll have wasted a year, and I might fall into the same trap that my parents did. My mom with a kid, and dad without the drive. What am I to do? I'm sorry, but I at least want to get somewhere, and have had the chance to live, to learn, to grow. I need Chicago. I need the city. I can't afford to be glued to central pa, not like this anyway.

I just.. I want the chance to chase my dreams. I'm not saying that they won't change. Who knows. I may one day want to live here forever, but I'll never know unless I shoot for the stars. I mean, it is one thing if a spacecraft headed for mars lands on mars, and, deciding that the polar ice caps are a bit too cold, and the ground is a bit too dusty, it returns to its home port. At least it made it to mars.

Shit son. If a letter of acceptance doesn't come in the mail, then I may as well have just been hit with a fatal blow.

I don't really.. want anyone to give me words of encouragement. Please. It is hard enough to face you all with this as it is. I'll just wait patiently on my doorstep for the mail lady every day, and hope. I trust that you all have my back regardless, because those are the kinds of friends that you are. Good ones. The best. It is enough for me to feel better to know that, honest. I'd really just rather hope at this point, and bringing up the subject, and telling me that you feel sorry kind of takes that hope away. I trust that you all understand. night all.

mood: crushed music: The Crane Wife Parts 1 and 2 in my head

So. Choir. What do I say? I don't know what I can say at this point. I kind of.. well.. I don't really know what to do. I auditioned for a trio today, having skipped a couple of lunches to practice with Beth. (Leaving me with one meal each day, because I don't eat breakfast) I didn't.. make it. The.. chamber singers got it.. Honestly, why have me try out? I suppose that it is a step up from having the solo that I was a shoe-in for cut from the program, but honestly? If I didn't have a decent chance then I wouldn't have skipped lunch to get a much needed step up on my game.

I suppose, though, that I'm never going to have a decent chance when there are people who exist that are higher up, that have had plenty of class time with Mr. Hoffman to practice with, and have even gotten the chance to perform the trio before, recently. I'm sorry. I understand that our choir isn't the best, but come on. EVEN if I don't have a chance let me THINK that I have one. Let ME go into the same room with my competition and sing my heart out looking them straight in the eye as I do.

That aside, after the audition when Mr. Hoffman told us that we could take a flying fuck at the moon he had me linger as the rest left, and said: "whow, Caleb, you really have improved a lot over these last few years. I was listening to you practice earlier, and was impressed. Thank you for taking it upon yourself to help out the concert choir this year. I hope that you continue singing well into college." I didn't know what to say. I'm sure that my disappointment was written on my face, and I didn't really want him to see that. I'm happy that he pulled me aside, really. It is some consolation knowing that he thinks that I'm a good singer after all of this time, but I'm not sure where to draw the line. What, after all, am I supposed to think after being told that I'm both not good enough, yet at the same time very good? I told him "thank you," as it was the polite thing, and I thanked him a little more, then walked on to class.

mood: contemplative music: Into The Blue by The Greencards

 Would you help me fight in the wallpaper when it draws in close to take my life? Or will it reign supreme for a hundred years after my death?

You decide.

mood: happy music: I Can't Help Myself (Sugar Pie Honey Bunch) by Four Tops

My mind and I have this game that we like to play. I am the happy young lad; everything is going my way, and my brain plays the buzzkill.

It goes something like this: I build a tower of blocks based off of what I convince myself is fact - things like love, hope and joy. You know, non-facts. Ideas. Opinions. The tower is a happy tower for the most part. It stands happily on the carpet of my living room where tottering children, pets and stray feet could haply knock it down, but by sheer will it does not waver. It stands tall, as ever, a towering figure almost as high as the lower cupboards on the entertainment center. It is a god as far as block towers are concerned, and it has complete power over me. I trust it. Forgetting, of course, that that means trust in myself, because I am the one who made this "all powerful" deity, and honest to goodness belief in these black, white and gray area "facts."

Enter mind with a sneer, unsettling chortle and eyes dead set on the horizon (or fireplace, whichever  comes first) past my own slightly leaning, but otherwise completely secure marble tower. Mind, naturally drawn in a line perpendicular to mine on perspective takes a first tentative step which may last for an hour, a day, a week, and initially simply shakes the foundation, but then mind hurls itself, pace ever increasing towards the horizon until the tower like the Roman Empire is at my feet.

Things like a  vision of myself, future, past and present fall as easily as thatch-roofed cities burn with a light and a breeze, but they do so for little to no reason other than the simple fact that they can, and I am left in the dust, my mind far removed from where everything did crumble. It, being the juggernaut that  it is, is far removed from this space watching me flail on central nervous system news with pop and a bag of chips knowing full well that I'm not a major fan of snack food.

And I, of course, must rebuild my towers with little to no instruction other than intuition: that bit in my genetic code that has suffered through constant evolution, yet remains still telling me that there are no blocks with "A," "B" and "C" scribed in colorful painted letters on their faces like I've seen on TV and in the lives of best friends, but instead they say these things: "love," "hope," "joy" - theories that beg but fail to become natural law time and time again.

______________________________________________________

Yet every time I see myself the victor dancing in the fire which burns and scars flesh. The fire my mind started because of this silly game that never stops because, you see, I have pessimism on my side, and I have learned that if you think something enough the opposite happens - contrary to popular belief. If I think that I have fallen, and repeat and repeat that in my head and suddenly pessimism is the snake that bites its own tail, and I am back where I started, and as in monopoly I have two hundred dollars in my pocket.

mood: discontent music: ... lost my ipod. x.x

I haven't heard the thunder in such a long time, but it is strange how very mood changing it was for me. I was so happy in the moments after that first boom that people for miles must have felt it. I'm so very happy that spring is finally here. It never really starts until the thunder comes along, and I am so happy that it has decided to finally grace us with its presence. I am, really, overjoyed. It is insane how happy I am at this very moment. You could tell me that I would die alone tomorrow, but here I'd be grinning. Thank you, thank you rain for bringing my thunder home. Welcome back.

mood: content music: The Crane Wife Pt 1 by The Decemberists (in my head)

First Thought:
I forgot to mention in my last post that last week Allison and I celebrated our one year anniversary. It is hard to believe that it has ONLY been a year, but I suppose when you take into account the few months prior to going "official" you'd get a bit less than a year and a half. Still, though, it seems like it has been much longer, and, I promise, not in a bad way.

I.. I really like that girl. She is wonderful. I love her, and we are oh-so-very happy. When we aren't, of course, those are simply times that were always going to happen anyway. I.. I'm very happy to say that nothing bad has happened to us in this year. We've had no fights, or, as it were, neither of us has ever raised their voice to the other, and that is something to be proud of, I think. We're very happy....... I'm sorry, I'm not very articulate, but I'm sure that you get the drift. I F'IN LOVE THAT GIRL.

Second Thought:
My mom has gotten more and more articulate with her swearing in the past couple of years. She is, currently, favoring "well, that sucks donkey dick."

Third Thought:
So, my step-mom and two brothers are going to Chicago next weekend leaving my dad, my sister, and myself at home. Just like old times, I suppose. I'm always happy to be with just my dad and my sister, because, in case you haven't gathered, I don't really like my step mom or non-half brother, Jordan. It is rare that we get to be the family that we used to, you know, and I really love times like that. Normally dad plans something special. I really do love my dad. This time he decided that we'd take a day-trip somewhere, originally, but then he suddenly decided that we should fly somewhere, and it quickly escalated to "let's go to disney for the weekend, and not tell chris because she will be angry. So, I humored him, thinking, as you would, that he was joking.
He wasn't. The weekend after next we have three plane tickets, and I'm getting off school monday, too. We're going to hit all of the best rides in the parks in two days, and that woman isn't going to know anything about it.
More on this story to come.

Final Thought:
I love that girl.

location: Home mood: confused music: Sleep - The Smiths

Today I recieved my birthday present from my mom in the mail - a pre-sale release of "The Hazards Of Love" by The Decemberists and a t-shirt featuring one of the characters in the narrative. At the first chance I got, I sat down on the couch and listened to the cd front to back  Unlike their previous cds (excluding the tain which is one song anyway) that you can start and stop after certain songs you have to listen to this one through the first time (all 58 wonderous minutes and 32 orgasmic seconds)  The Hazards Of Love is, more or less, a rock-opera - it is one complete story with each song acting as a chapter. They all transition, so it is a seamless listen!

The music is phenomenal, as is normally expected (at least by me) from The Decemberists, but The Hazards of Love really lets all of these wonderful musicians talents shine through. Chris Funk really shreds on his guitar, and that was something that I never really expected having listened to all of their other stuff which, for the most part, doesn't involve much of anything remotely close to heavy-guitar shredage, but Chris, for a lack of better phrase, ripped me a new one with his work on this CD. And, as always, the pianist, Jenny Conlee, does an excelent job, but even she takes it up yet another notch in this one, and the ever-present organ and harpsicord do everything possible to make this CD, in my opinion, The Decemberists best yet. Even Colin does more than he has before: singing, and percussion plus the electric, 12-sring acoustic, and acoustic guitars.

If I were you, I wouldn't pick this up expecting the previous Decemberists work. It varries quite a lot from their wonderful songs like On The Bus Mall while containing SOME similar elements, it really isn't the same thing. Of course, if you have listened to their other work, then you will expect the surprise. They do, after all, have a tendency to change their sound as it suits them, so as far as they are concerned surprise is on the docket, and this work is no different, because while it is all the same song and story it still maintains the excelent levels that all CDS should have. It isn't all just fast-paced - something that many artists ignore.

It is, all in all, wonderful, the story included. I will, however, not get into the story for fear of giving everything away, though it in itself is an integral part of what makes this work SO great. I hope that you all give it a listen soon.

Caleb out.

location: bed, listening mood: pleased music: Margaret in Captivity by The Decemberists

I'm not really sure how I feel about my life all around. Things have been going... well(?). I mean that in the sense that nothing is going badly, really. HMS Pinafore is reaching its end, and I'm fairly sure that I'm happy about that. I'm growing tired of not being picked for little bits, and big bits, and I'm also kind of tired of always being there and not getting much out of it. I'm finding it hard to really enjoy myself when I'm onstage like that. I'd like to think that I'm qualified for at least a little more than I'm getting. (Just a little) This whole "Stage Manager" business for this show is, more or less, a joke anyway, and I'm a little disheartened that I've been at every practice for longer than I've needed to be, and I've tried to do all that I can, sacrificing my time, to end up doing nothing, and not even getting my picture on the wall - where the stage managers have gotten their mugs posted beside the lead roles for years now. I've tried, really I have. Now, this isn't a big thing as I said. It is but a small pock mark on the face of my life right now. I shan't be too disheartened, I promise.

Also, on a similar note, spring play auditions are next week, and very few people are even going to try out for it. I'm not even sure that I have enough people. I AM excited to direct, don't get me wrong. I really can't wait to direct this shit play - really. It will be fun, and I have a bunch of ideas, but if no one is going to try out, then I don't really know what I can do at this point. I've been offering up free sex to anyone who tries out, but only a few (and you know who you are) have taken me up on my offer. We'll see how many people end up coming. I'm still working on a few. I just hope that this doesn't become a drag. I'd really like to put on a good show for those people who will be involved, and I suppose people not trying out will give a bunch of new actors a chance to shine. That is a plus.

I'm fairly happy as far as things go. I'm eighteen now, so I guess that is something. I can vote and sign my own late slips now. Whoo. Allison and I are doing very well, as always. Today is the day that we first held hands - if that means anything to you. It does to me, because today was the day that I decided that I was going to win her, and told her so. Four days from now is our on year. Oh, how time passes.

Thanks for listening.

mood: amused music: Flood Pt. 1 - The Acorn

The trouble with poetry,
writes former U.S. Poet Laureate Billy Collins,
is that it inspires more Poetry.
The poem I write after this, for example,
will appear in the dusk
of final words and meaning.
It will appear under the guise of our sun
traveling to the east.

The words...
well, the ones that I don't know yet
will be sung by a nightingale
tucking its children into their nests
after flying through the clouds
and over the mountains of
this poem to her destination.

Her song will hit the reverse button
on the cassette deck of the heavens.

Silhouetted figures' voices
will become chipmunked
as the sudden blaze
from the neighbor's house
slowly shrinks back
into the electrical socket.

Dinner prayers too will be undone -
the bullets from a frustrated teen
will fly back into the barrel
of daddy's hand gun,

and the pretty girl
who sits by her windowsill
bathed in the dying light
of a thousand moments,
will replaying as if to herself the kiss
at the door, replaying as I will,
come the last line
when this tape reaches its beginning
and clicks in its player.

Only, when I press play
the electrician may
come to the door,
an imbalanced kid may take his meds,
and the girl in question
may let the boy stay the night.

The sky will be set on fire
at this new beginning.

mood: artistic music: The Island - The Decemberists

 Today was a good day. It ended/is ending quite nicely. I won't tell you what happened, but I thought that you should know about how happy it made me. Whatever "it" was.

location: 2 hour delay!!! mood: in a good way. music: Too Marvelous for Words - Frank Sinatra

I'm thoroughly convinced that the last day
will be the second Friday of a month.
The night shift mothers will stumble home
and into their beds just as the sun rises
with their pay stubs in their hands.

Lunch packers everywhere will be delighted
to note that tonight is the night
to go order out and dive headlong
into something hot and fresh out of the oven.
Friday pizza leftovers are Sunday and Monday lunch.

The happy couples will take taxi cabs downtown
or into town to see a show or movie -
perhaps even take a walk down the dark streets
their emotions porposing through their night
and slowly towards its end: a bedroom, a kiss at the door.

And the students in their halls of knowledge
will tap their feet in time with seconds hand
of their classes' clocks, placed perhaps just
in their line of sight, or if they're lucky
in the very back of the room - out of sight. (out of mind)

I will be in my straight-backed chair, sitting in front
of a cluttered desk, sipping a gin and tonic
and yearning for a smoke - having quit the month
before last - while slowly scratching away with my
ballpoint pen - working on a poem called "El Morocco"
about that stuffed panda Humphry Bogart
once took to a night club in New York.

"Friday after next, the world is going to end."
Would you believe it if I told you, and you
could taste the highball tonic on my breath
as I grabbed you by the scruff of your neck
with last Friday's verse - this poem?

Books will stay the night in canvas bags.
Two weeks' pay will be directly deposited into hungry checking accounts.
The late showings will find an audience.
A slice of cheese will wait until Sunday.
And I will be caught unawares in my favorite chair.

A year ago today in the small hours of the morning I was sitting on the couch in a certain girl's house. There was a party going on, but I found it hard to pay attention to the party, and instead focused on the brown-eyed, brown-haired co-host. She had longer hair then. She was wearing a red shirt, a black vest, and if I'm not mistaken a pair of dark blue jeans. I may be wrong about that last bit - but one forgets such things as the years roll by. She was, needless to say, the apple of my eye, (Note: she was wearing red... it is a joke..) and she was far from being mine. I had "loved" her for about a year and a half at that point, and though my chances with her had gotten better in '07 they were far from where I wanted them to be. I thought. To quote last year's post: "I partied (if you can call it that) with the group, and it was a fairly nice time. I may not have said that I was having a good time at the time, but then I'm a jerk so what can you expect."

Fast forward to the small hours of this morning. I was sitting on the couch of a certain girl's house. This time there wasn't much of a party, but I found it hard to pay attention to the lack of people (or anything else for that matter), and instead focused on my brown-eyed, brown-haired host. Her hair had been cut a few times in the last year. She was wearing a black batman shirt with a yellow camisole underneath, and dark blue jeans. (Please excuse this break in the parallelism, I can't think of a joke.) I had, at this point, loved her for about two and a half years, and things between us had gotten much better in the past year. I know. To quote last year's post: "something must have changed."

Something had certainly changed. Same girl, same guy, same couch, same house, same reason for celebration, but there was a different look in both of our eyes for one, and for two we were situated on the couch completely differently. Our eyes were older. Our hearts were older. WE were older, we were in love, we were happy and we were on the same couch that we were on 366 days before, yet everything was different. The big, sloppy New Year's kiss while watching the fireworks from Negley Park is surely an indicator of that.

It is amazing, though. So much changed, yet by sheer chance much of our surroundings were the same.  (ignoring the fact that Mr. Brickell rearranged the family room two, three weeks ago) What trick of fate would have lead us there?  All I have to say is that last night was poetry, and last year by extension was poetry. The best poetry of my short life by far, and it is mostly thanks to a certain brown-eyed, brown-haired girl who has certainly made a mark on me.

I don't know what is to come next, and I'm not one for resolutions. So, here I am at the beginning of a year, and for the most part I am quite happy.

location: Dad's House mood: happy music: The Luckiest by Ben Folds

 My parents have been split up for quite a long time now. Going back and forth between houses has been a normal thing for me for many years now, and I've gotten quite used to it. It never really gave me much trouble until about two years when it started to interfere. My dad lives a good thirty minutes away from every one, as you al may know, and when I'm at his house I'm unable to be with every one. This was all well and good before I, you know, started getting friends, and started caring about wether or not I could hang out with said friends on a regular basis. I was quite happy for the time spent at his house because I could just rest - but I don't want that anymore.

I can't stand living here. I can't stand the days that I now spend alone without all of you, doing nothing. I can't stand bumming around in my pjs for three fucking days watching tv. I just can't do this anymore. I need you guys much more than I need a family who ignores what I care about, and yells at me for being on the computer - my only outlet. This isn't fair to me, and it never has been fair to me I just didn't care about it before. It was the constant week-on week-off thing that made me a social recluse in the first place (however many years ago that started). All my step-mom does is yell, and all my brothers do is fight with each other and get away with things that I never could have gotten away of.

I live nicely here, this is true. My dad has money, but that money has broken everything. I remember when it was just him my sister and me. We were such a happy little family, and as close as could be, but now that isn't something that matters. They don't let me pick out christmas presents for my brothers or them for crissakes! They pick out what they want for themselves and slap a label on it. All thought or facade of family has faded from this house (no longer a home), and that is the one thing that I would stay for.

I would stay here for family if there was one left. God, I love my dad as I've said here many times before, but I can't stay here. I need to be able to see my friends more regularly. I need to go to parties. I need to joke around. I need that stuff. I'm a senior now and I am unable to understand being really close to my friends, and I'm unable to have a grasp on this "hanging out" stuff. I'm not saying that I don't have a GRASP on such things, but I need more than what I'm currently equipped with.

I can't live here anymore. It comes down to that one five word sentence. That sentence that in the upcoming week I must tell my dad. I wish that there was another way, but I've lived like this for 14 years, and I've been unable to come up with one.

location: Dad's House mood: depressed music: I Can't Stay - The Killers

Soon we will be signed up for "Romantic Dance" lessons. I can't wait. I'm practically bursting.

location: Ballroom Break mood: cheerful music: I'm Sticking With You (Velvet Underground Cover) - The Decemberists

.

location: ? mood: ! music: .

Would I were the moon,
or perhaps the hall light,
anything, really,
that can help you
through the night.

I could be the hand
that you hold
when there is nothing else.

I could be the railing
that supports you
as you stumble down the steps.

The night pinwheels
before tired eyes;
the stairs creak;
the house its self
whines in the night,
and frightens you.

Yet, there is nothing
that I can do.

What could I be
other than me?

Wanting to be more,
but being confined to less,
unable to help
cast away your mortal coil.

mood: restless music: Each Coming Night - Iron and Wine

I'm tired of this game that Mr. Hoffman and I've been playing for about three years now. You know, the one where he says that I'm good, and tells me to tryout for things, but then when I do he doesn't give me anything. It wasn't much of a problem in the past, really, but this year he really got my hopes up, and I really am quite let down.  He told me that he wanted me to try out for the musical, in fact he has been asking me once every other week since the beginning of the school year, and I didn't get a call back. I have never gotten a call back for the musical, and that in itself is quite saddening, specially considering that the concert choir is so very bad, and this is my last chance to act in high school. I... I just don't understand.. when people come up to you after reading the call back list and tell you how very surprised (sometimes using choice words) they are that you didn't get anything then you know that it can't be just you. Right?
________________________________________________________

Now, the concert choir. There are about two guys other than myself that can sing(?) in the concert choir, and they can't sing all that well. Now, I'm not saying that I'm really good either, because I know that I mess up quite often; I understand this, but I really do carry our choir, and it isn't just the men, I carry many of the women too. I'm not a GOOD singer, but for better or for worse I am one of the few people that sing, and that has to be worth something. Doesn't it?

That being said, I'm part of a bad section, a section that constantly gets picked to sing by itself, a section that is getting dropped from certain songs and is being replaced by the chamber singer men. Now, I've worked my ass off these last four years, and this is really just too much for me. I am getting dropped. I am getting dropped because my section, not I, am not good enough for our choir. The chamber singers will gallop in and save the day that I've been working all year to fix, but now is all of my work for nothing then? What have I done? I've sung to the best of my ability, and I have (or at least I believe that I have) helped the choir stay on pitch many times. When they don't know the words, I have them memorized; when they forget their pitches I will hum so that they will get back on track, and I will tap along to the beats of the songs.

So, I'm sorry, but saying that the MEN aren't good enough for the choir is one thing, but saying that I am not good enough.... I just can't handle that. If we suck, then at least let my voice carry over all of theirs so that the audience understands. I know that I'm not the best, but like I said I feel as though I've worked much too hard to be the one person in the choir who doesn't get what is owed to him. Most every man goofs off all class, so it is no wonder that we suck, but putting me out with the garbage? I.. I can't take it.

Oh, and there is a special women's choir for senior women. So, when they leave I am the ONLY ONE LEFT. Excuse my language, but WHAT THE FUCK! I understand that I can't fit into a women's choir but give me SOMETHING. I was to try out for a solo, but they dropped men from the song, so I'm out of that too. There is nothing left for me, and maybe I'm being self-centered, but I think that I deserve something. Don't I?
_________________________________________________

Now, Spring play. I'm directing. M quit, and there is no one who can take over the position. So, I am directing again. This in itself is fine. I mean, directing is, after all, what I aspire to do after all my schooling is done, but I had sort of wanted to act, because I like that too. I was sort of holding out for a part in the musical, and a part in the spring, but I'm not going to get either one because I'm not good at music (it would seem) and I'm too good at directing.
_________________________________________________

*sigh*
_________________________________________________

On a lighter note: Allison and I are very happy, and we are close to our nine months of official dating anniversary. I'm happy to say that in this whole time we have never had any major troubles, and neither one of us has ever had any reason to raise our voices. We are ever so happy. 

location: Meh. mood: sad music: O Valencia by The Decemberists

I ate quite a lot, but when it finally came time to eat the chocolate that I had been eagerly waiting for, I was much too full. Is it not sad, then, that chocolate is the one leftover that didn't make its way to my house? Hmmm.. How sad.

location: Somewhere... mood: blah music: Red Right Ankle (In Mah Head)

AH. So this is it.

location: The mid to late 30s mood: sleepy music: Ella

It is dark outside. I'm not completely sure why this one, simple fact has my mind in such a state. I know that we set our clocks back and it now gets darker an hour earlier, but this isn't it. It is just.. well.. it is dark outside. A few lights shine through the trees, but other than that it is completely dark. I.. I don't know how to feel about that.

location: My House mood: anxious music: None.. perhaps I should, though.

Life is a cold mistress.

location: nowhere nice mood: cold music: the clanking of dishes in the sink.

( Htm that doesn't want to work )

 
Hmm... I'll have to think about that.... ermm.. I don't feel like fixing the html.. so you'll all just have to deal. Basically it says that I'm a social democrat who scored high in the liberalism and the radical left catigories. Go me.



Grr.. I had something else to say, too. I'm not sure what it was.. damn.

I suppose that I'll leave you all with this, then: I hate my life. It sucks. Please, please let there be a deadly toxin this yummy chocolate bar. God, I don't want to live. I don't know why anyone loves me.

location: home. mood: amused music: something good.

1.
(Your hair is in my mouth.)
It got caught betwixt our lips,
and I bit yours
so here it lies on mine.
I don't much mind.

_________________________________________________________________

2.
The heavy rain is bringing all of the orange and yellow leaves down in sheets of fall - contrasting quite nicely with the april-shower gray sky.

_________________________________________________________________

3.
The mellophones blasted harmony, the trumpets the sad, sweet melody, and the band formed themselves into very large versions of all of those things that I tried to draw during a close pictionary game in 1999, but I had no ears for the music, and no eyes for the awkward larger-than-life depictions; I could only watch the girl in pigtails at the 50, and try to imagine what her counting off would sound like were I able to hear it.

_________________________________________________________________

4.
We put all of our cookies to cool on the brown Giant bag on the counter, and I was happy (oh so very happy) when you took the cookie that I wanted and in turn wiped the milk off my upper lip.

_________________________________________________________________

5.
The small, purple, baby long-neck dinosaur had always envied the the t-rex, because he rather liked the taste of stegosaurus, but daddy long-neck was an herbivore and didn’t approve of looked down upon meat-eaters.

_________________________________________________________________

6.
We never watched the pot, lest it not boil, but we watched it, when it was right to, for that very reason.

_________________________________________________________________

7.
I love you.

location: watching his girl dance mood: mellow music: Neutral Milk Hotel > Naomi

There are a thousand things that I'd like to talk about. There are also a thousand things that I wish to keep hidden. Some of them are the same. Some aren't.

But, I don't know that I'll talk about any of them.

In fact. I won't talk about anything other than the fact that there is something to talk about.

You can imagine the rest.

location: home mood: confused music: Fruit Bats

*sigh*

location: Somewhere I shouldn't be. mood: apathetic music: Kylie from Connecticut

Steph bought me some apple crisp. It was very enjoyable, and so was she.

location: lala land mood: sleepy music: Kings Of Leon

Today was one of those days. I woke up. I threw up. (It would appear that this thing isn't over, but I'm not about to go back to the doctor's anytime soon.) I went to class which really wasn't that bad. The classes themselves were fine, actually. After the classes I went to practice which was really the start of the bad bit.

You see, I ended up going to McDonalds before practice. I hadn't really felt good earlier in the day so I thought it was time for some "food." When I got back, though, that was when it started. I got back and Mrs. M was mad that I was late to my own practice. I told her that I hadn't really been feeling well and that I had needed something to eat, and she sympathized, but told me that she had sent everyone home because she didn't know what was going on. This was a lie. A few minutes later the cast all came in to surprise me. Normally this would have been fine, but I really did feel horrid so it didn't help.

After this Mrs. M took over my practice. She had good ideas (mostly) and experience that I could never match. All of my actors, most of them very good friends, even took better to her direction than mine. I just wanted to say "This is my fucking show," but it is theirs too. I want it to be the best thing that it can be, but I want it to be mine. Am I being selfish? I'd like to say that I've been working my goddamn ass off for my show, but I don't know that that is the case anymore. I just can't stand up for myself. It all came crashing down for me when Courtney said "I really like that Caleb isn't directing." I dont know that I can come back from that. The only really good thing that happened was when Fenske talked to me. She saw what was going on and didn't like it. I'm happy for that. One person wanted me, good or bad they wanted me to do what I wanted to do.

Needless to say, I didn't talk to her. I'm not that kind of guy, but that really fucked me over. I went to practice after that, almost cried in front of my friends, but they didn't notice, gladly. I got home and wanted tea, but it was bitter. I'd been wantin ice cream, but we didn't have any kind that I liked. I ended up making some, but I also ended up tiping it over on myself and a red stain on the blue couch. I made hot chocolate, but we only had WHITE hot chocolate, and I hate white chocolate. I watched love actually, but fell asleep at my favorite part, and my sister just painted up her face like a devil and made me jump.

I know that I shouldn't complain, but fuck, that just wasn't a good day.

location: ...... mood: cold music: Everything I try to do, nothing seems to turn out righ - the decemberists

Nuff said.

location: The playroom mood: content music: One Down by Ben Folds

 Yesterday was Allison and my 6 month anniversary. We didn't stress it, but I kind of feel bad that I didn't really remember it until the day after. It is true that we've never been the couple to jump up and down and say "we've made it" at each important benchmark, and for a while there we both though that LAST month had been our 6, but I still feel like I've messed up. I love this girl, you see. 

I know that she'll understand, perhaps she forgot about it as well. It isn't about that, though. I'm not in trouble, I've just passed up and excuse to celebrate her. I know that sounds a bit cliche, but that is how it is. I love this girl. I fucking love this girl, and if I'm not mistaken she loves me just as much. We're so happy sometimes it is insane. I just wish that I could've made that insanity into holy-mother-fucking-moses that's crazy is all.

location: Dad's House (GAH!) mood: discontent music: Drunk Girl by Something Corporate

I want to sleep, but not here and not now. Soon I will succumb to my heavy-lidded eyes' demands, but I swear that I won't like it. I only hope that I'm allowed to dream a dream of sleeping in a happier place at a happier time. Not here, not here.

location: where else? mood: sleepy music: Keeping Me Awake by Tarkio

The play is coming along quite well I'm happy to say. We are getting so much funding and backing that it is crazy. I've never known so many people to care about Cedar Cliff theater, and I'm right up there on the list of people who are running the show. Is this pride that I feel? I, who have rarely found anything to be proud of am now finding myself just that - proud.

I'm sure most of you aren't aware of what is going down at present, so I'll come right out and tell you all. After casting I appointed Kit who didn't get a part to be the producer, and what a producer he has been so far. He has done so much for us in just these last two weeks that it is crazy. For one, the Attorney General is coming to see the show, and is giving us financial backing. Quite a few of his friends have followed suit. For two, we have teamed up with the lady who runs the breast cancer awareness fund, and 2 dollars from every ticket will be going to their cause. This and so much more is either already in place or will be within the next two weeks. Can any of you imagine what this means? Cedar Cliff will be put on the map, and the theater program will finally start to get the attention that it deserves from the school district and from all over Central Pennsylvania.

This is big stuff, really it is, and I am the director. I am the guy who will orchestrate all that is to come. Kit deserves most of the credit, I will say that. He is the one who is making this all possible. Though, this play is my baby. This play is my first full production, and look at where it is already! I only hope that I don't end up letting everyone down.



There is more to come on this and other things. It is just not the right time of night for more. I needs the sleep. Kthx

location: Dreamland (with kirby) mood: accomplished music: Tournament of Hearts by The Weakerthans (In my head)