He wrote because he ought.

Well now, my reading friends, I've decided I need to update, since it's been so long, but more importantly, because there's so much to say. Ah, but where to begin? Love, it seems, is the most complicated, most important part... But there's so much to write... So, what else?

I know-- college concerns: I must do better this marking period. Go to classes, study for tests, take it seriously, apply myself. Funny, I heard that all the time, throughout my scholastic career. In eigth grade I was recommended for the Start program, designed to help children who were not working to their potential. I declined, but took their insult as a granted challenge, and fought to be the best (and nearly did it, too)... for a little while, at least. Then I found things more interesting and immediately valuable -- work, girls, philosphy, religion, the meaning of life, love... As I wrote in a paper once, I had to "know why I ever had to do a damn thing before I did a damn thing." And that was all well and good, and certainly of more value to me, but I cannot forget that the things, those larger matters and goals I named in an earlier post, require that I excel, at all times, in this dull, barely relevant scholasitc setting. It's just, not gratifying, when held up against the weight of other current issues and problems assulting me. Somehow, paying the thirty huge, overdue bills I have, and finding some crimson balm to pour over this ailing love-battered heart, had more importance to me than remembering what was the temperature of air currents which clashes to form tornadoes, or how to solve those bloody mathematical equations. But, grades are what matter in the end, no matter how trivial they seem.

Ironically, one of the other concerns that easily overtake my attention to school is college itself-- where am I going to go next year? This is not to mention beyond next year, that's just too far away to figure out. But right now, I need to do that-- apply to the next school I want to go to. Which, it seems, is temple. My cousin, long lost as he was, has decided to go to Temple next year, and is getting an appartment with another of his cousins (on an 'unrelated' tangent, [dohoho] I wonder... what relation would that be to me? Second cousin?). Anyway, that highly increases my interest and motivation to attend Philly's Finest, as I just now decided to call Temple. So, immediately after that, I may just do that. The other option, though entirely less inviting on almost all aspects, (except for one, which actually is worth all the world, and I will tell you of later...) would be to stay here... The major reasons would be, 1) ease. I have alot of stuff to move. 2) the apartment. I have 'all that stuff' very well arranged and exactly how I want it. Actually, I don't quite yet, but even so, to move would just disrupt all that work... 3) Time. I'm highly considering studying abroad as early as second semester next year, so, it really doesn't make sense to get all settled in Philly and then move just six months later. 4) Ummm... reason number four is quite huge, and very much an element that relates to my other problems... yeah... the whole love side of things.

Heh, well.. at least the tip's done.

Wrong, actually. There's more. As far as my car is concerned, I need a muffler. Because... it doesn't have one. It did, but I have no idea what beaten road it bumpedy-bumped onto while I rode the whole of a combined six hours over and over again, from home to here to home again. THEN, once that's done, I need to finally inspect the car, so that it'll be --dare I say it-- completely legal! Haha! Anyway, it's serving its purpose well, and I am greatly pleased with its performance.

My job is giving me four nights a week to work, which I like. I try my hardest to make as many of them as I can, though I must admit, I hate that place. When there, I throw myself into my work, and am quickly becoming the fastest. You see, we 'pick' on a strict time schedual, as in, for each assinment, we have a target time, and when the assignment is done, Vocalect reads you your percentage. 100 percent is difficult to get, but is the goal. I earn 110-120 percent, on average. The highest I've ever earned was 430 percent. I hate that place, that horrible cold, the dumn uselessness of being a mule, so I want to leave as soon as possible. The only way to do that is wholey dedicate my motions to speed and perfection... It's also the only way I can avoid thinking about Adelia, and crying out in pain... the irony of that job is how many bloody idiots and ailses are named "Mike"... "Would Mike Lego please report to the shipping office?" says the speaker every ten minutes. "... "Aisle complete." says Vocalect, "Move to Aisle 'Mike-Beta'." ARGHHHH!! Thus, to maintain sanity, I must move as fast as possible, through myself into my work so much that I have no time to allow my mind to sink into its own questioning, painful empty depths... That, and the faster I go, the less I notice my numbing limbs. It is really a horrible place, but I need the money. I wish I could write for money instead, or just not even need to worry about money at all... *Sighs*... O, accomplished future, where art thou, and when dost thou come, and shalt it be sooner than my demise?

At work, I go so fast that I can take breaks as often and as long as I want, no problem. So, I do, and when I do, I just read, or work on Analagion. I don't take my breaks in the regular break room, with the hollering idiots that have nothing to talk about except how big there last deer kill was. Hunting's great, I'm sure, but not for me, not now, not with the world the way it is, not while the whole of men interested in it have nothing to say or think about. But then again, that really doesn't make it any different than anything else. Anyway, I take my breaks in the administration break room, since they have all already left for the day, and the conference room with the large windows that looks over the looming fields of growling trucks and frozen buildings all bathed in yellow and red as the sun sets away and sleeps while we cannot... I hang out there, where it's quite.

"Plus," says the other guy that was there only because he was injured, and worked odd jobs in the office until he healed enough for warehouse work, "the coffee's free."

There is an old woman that works there late, who gives me her leftover popcorn, even though I really don't want it. She finds it necessary to announce to everyone whatever it is she's doing. "Oh, I'm just walking over there, to get somethin'... Probably shouldn't, I'd just eat junk," she always says, "You see, my son-- he ate all that soup I made. But that's alright, I'll just get somethin' here. Probably shouldn't..." and so on. Luckily, the injured guy is there to talk with her.

She's nice, though.

Back to school: My Political Science Professor, Prof. Manning, refused to accept my paper. "Not Accepted" he scrawled all over the front page with unnecessary emphasis. Other places, he noted with all the airs of a dignified scholar, "Blah, Blah, Blah." and "Do not subject me to this rambling degression." and later, at the end, "I am so gald to have finished this tripe. Better luck on 'Take Two'!" Bastard. I had never been so insulted. Aparently my many words and unique approach to the topic... in addition to super over analyzing the topic with as much indepth inquires as possible scared him away. The minumum was 7 pages, I wrote 13. I understand, of course, that he has many other students and classes and little time... but even so. The way he disregarded it was, at the least, excesive. So, I rewrote it, and handed it back. One student there noted, as I read it aloud for peer support, since apparently no one got the grade they wanted, "Heh. His class seems easy, but hard to do. This class" which was referring to the boring Politics and Religion class, "seems very hard, but is easy to score for." And he's right.

Oh well. Now I know, be to the point, and by that, say nothing beyond what I must, and beyond the direct ordered appearance that he wants. Write for him, not for me. Fair thee well, O pride.



Further? My hair is returning, quickly, and going quite crazy. I am pleased, and it looks good, and I'm quickly refinding my confidence and ability to charm. I love to make women melt. I say that with only a bit of ego... heh heh. It's Samson's Nostolgia, I suppose... My muscles are growing, I attend the gym at a minumum of four nights a week, usually more. I haven't tanned for a while, it's embarrasing, overcoming the typical idea that only women tan, unless you're gay, which I'm not. Further, I'm not sure I agree with it... just sitting there, in a caplsol of artifical sun... so wearily depressing, that's what that is. But then, it's not as though the real one is usable now. I find, I think, that I have a strange need to be as physically perfect as I can... I base alot of value on that, more than I need, but that's another case study for another entry, because I now need to go to gym.

It's 9. It closes at 10. Gotta fly, adios all!