I came out here tonight so I could write, so I could write a personal entry about a particular girl and what happened to us last week. I wrote the entry. I kept her little notes and her little story about us framed in history with that earlier posting. Now I sit here for about an hour just thinking what else to write, what else would I need to say. I couldn’t think of anything. Nothing at all.

So I just sat and read earlier entries that I’ve written in the past month to take note of what I’ve written. I’ve written about many things, lots of things, some personal and others that aren’t. I thought I was going to go onto another personal diatribe about what is happening in my life right now. I don’t think I will. I don’t feel compelled to. I’m just going to write.

I sit here on this bridge, not as alone as I would like, typing away under this spotlight. It hurt my eyes, but I don’t care. I’m writing. I’m putting words down on the page, adding another entry, just writing to keep my brain working. Just writing.

I guess because it is fast approaching summer so early in the spring that more and more people are coming out to my little secret writing space to do their little work. Read, write, do homework, watching the traffic that float by like I’ve always loved to do. I’m just sitting here typing away, doing my best to ignore these people, but at times, I don’t think I can. They are invading my space. They are taking over my beloved quiet work area. I can’t have this anymore. It’s just too much but I can’t do anything about it.

So I just hunker down and write and write and write. I type words that string together and I read what I just wrote to know what it is that I’m thinking.

I don’t know what I’m thinking. Is it that single mother that I’m so obsessed with? Is it about the dinner I had on Friday night with a group of friends of mine, or is it about the poker night I had over the weekend. I lost a dollar by the way.

Gosh, it is only 8:38. I can’t believe it is so early. It felt like I’ve been here for a while now, and I have. I got here early tonight. Really early. So I sit here just typing away in my usual stream of consciousness, just typing away.

I think about all of the things that happened to me in the past couple of weeks. My bouts of socialness, my long talks with that friend of a friend. I’m just thinking and replaying things in my head.

I’ve been told something I’ve been told many times today by that single mother. I have nothing to be angry about. That is true. I really have nothing to be angry about. Nothing at all. I guess my sudden mood swings comes from my bouts of fatigue and lack of rest, even though I rest a lot. I find myself weird and strange, not able to control my feelings and emotions. But this past week and starting today has been a good time. Been happy and playful. It is always a good thing when I’m happy and playful.

I should just let things be. I should just let things go and let whatever happens happen. I shouldn’t care so much about these petty little issues in my life, my lack of experience, my singleness. I should care less. Let things happen when they happen. Just let things happen.

I’ll go on letting things happen as I am so use to letting things happen. I find myself enjoying being alone. I don’t feel inadequate that I’m not with someone. I actually enjoy being on my own, doing my own thing. I could do whatever I want, see whoever I want, go out with whoever I want, stay out as late as I want and I don’t have to compromise with anyone about these issues. I just do.

I’ve been writing seriously lately. Very serious. I just finished a new short script the other day. It is a 2nd draft of something that I wrote last August. I’ve changed many things, many things. Originally, I wrote the script Hermit Love as my first short that I will shoot, but then the reviews came in and the general consensus is that it sucks. So I rewrote it. It is drastically different. The only thing that stayed from the first draft is the characters’ names, the opening scene, and the story idea or theme.

Well, theme, story idea, I

My eyes struggle to focus on what use to be so clear in front of me. They can’t see what the signs say. They can’t make anything out. My visions worsens with each passing day. What happened?

It has begun; what I’ve dreaded for so long. The longing pain of unrequited attraction, the longing pain of infatuation, obsession. The longing pain. It has begun.

I’m not going to glorify this infatuation like I’ve always done before. There’s no glorification for any infatuation. There shouldn’t be. It’s just too painful to glorify and chrerish. This is all because of my sickness, my masochism.

The signs ahead of me were so clear. They were crystal, spelling out everything there was to know about the things to come, but now, they are just a blurry mess of words that I can barely make out. She always secretly liked his brother Edward. That’s what the sign says, but now, I can hardly make out the words.

The signs ahead of me are so open to interpretation now, I just don’t know how to approach them. I may have a clue as to what it is. Instead of me being with the single mother, I was only to think that I am ready to be with her and help parent her child. That was it. That was all there was to that sign. I’ve finally figured it out. I was too hopeful to believe that it was anything but. Where did this optimist come from? Where?

Now I sit here dreading the feelings I have for this beauty. Now I sit here wishing I was never this kind of person who falls for the unattainable. Why am I like this?

It must be the challenge of it all. It must be. I am a man of logic and practicality. It makes better sense for me to fall for someone who is attainable and likes me instead of falling for the one who I can not have at the moment. What is wrong with me? What is wrong with me?

It got me down today. It got me really down today. It was the first day since I’ve met her. It brought me down. This is the moodiest I’ve been in a while. It was the weather I tell her. It was only partly true. She was the rest.

Now I sit here, loathing in self pity for the feelings I don’t want to feel. How familiar this thing is. How familiar this life is.

I could do something about it, but I don’t know if I really can.

I’ll just let whatever happen happen. I’ll just not think too much about it, take a step back and reevaluate things. I’ll just let things be and just not partake in the games that we usually play. I need to keep my distance. That is all I need to do. Keep my distance. Keep my distance.

There is just something about writing in the day that I just can’t do. I’m sitting here in The Java Man here at Hermosa Beach, CA waiting for the writing group to arrive, and yet, I am at a lost for words on what to write. Sure I’m writing right now, but it just doesn’t have that flow that I always have when I am there on the bridge at night. It just doesn’t feel the same.

Maybe it is just too bright out, or maybe there is just that there are too many people around. They are distracting me. The traffic, the two blondes over to the right or the two guys behind me. There are just so many factors and distractions that I just can’t focus on anything pertinent.

The Java Man seems to be a nice chill place to just come and write. If only there were better places in LA like this, maybe I would be there more often. Maybe not. I wonder how late do they open.

I’m just at a lost for words. My fingers are dancing with the same ferocity as they are use to during the guise of night. Nothing flows, nothing streams. Just bits and pieces of staccato thoughts here and there to get me through.

There is nothing to write about at the moment, nothing at all.

Well, tomorrow will be my birthday. Tomorrow I’ll be 26 and either tomorrow or the day after, I may have my yearly birthday writing. I wrote one last year, dammit, I’m gonna write another one this year. I don’t have any idea of what I’m going to write yet, but I’m sure it will be something. It sure will be something.

I don’t even remember the last time I had a heart to heart with this journal anymore. It just seems that more and more, my postings here have become less and less about me and more and more about the stream of conscious writing that I’ve grown so accustomed too. No, that’s a lie. There are still bits and pieces here that is me. Everything here is me. Everything.

I wait silently like a lone reed, swaying in the cool breeze, just waiting, waiting for the time to come when we can get together and do our business. Just waiting for the time when we would all arrive and just sit down and write, share our valued works and to share our selves with the group. I’m just waiting for the time.

In the mean time, I will just type, type my little diddy of whatever comes to mind. This is the most “stream of conscious” writing I’ve ever done. This is the one that has no purpose, no forethought. I’ve never done this before. Never.

I’m sure my other ramblings here have some forethought in it. It has some focus as to where I’m gonna go with it. The girl, time, life. This one is just pitting me against the elements of time, boredom, and just me trying to keep myself occupied until they are here.

I sit here, just typing away, typing away to the rhythmic staccatos of the keyboard. I’m looking at each pedestrian that pass by hoping that it is a member of the group. Just looking to see if it is a member of the group. Many pass, but none are them. None.

There is a haunting woman that hangs next to me. She seems naked but a tray of food that sits in front of her. Maybe it is food. It’s a yellow mass of shapes and swirls that sit in a red box. She gazes out at us all, ignoring the people in the background. She just gazes, ignoring all. She looks at us as we are the show and she is the audience. She voyeuristically sits there lifeless to us, thinking what strange people we are, just sitting here drinking coffee, writing, talking. We are wonders to her.

And I sit here, just thinking about her. Her long strands of sandy blonde. The crimson nature of her surroundings. What is it all about? What is it all about? The blue wall behind her, are they windows or are they hanging life that are doing what she’s doing, that is looking? What is it all about. Who are we to judge, who are we to know? We are not her creators. We are no one in particular. We are just who we are, sitting here, enjoying the atmosphere.

The people just lounge, talking enjoying themselves. Maybe they are looking at us too, observing her as she observes us, and they look at us to see what is so interesting that grasps her attention so much. What is it about us that is so fascinating? What is it?

They sit there all nameless and faceless. They seem to be having a great time, they same to be enjoying themselves. That is who they are, just nameless people with forgettable faces. They are like the pedestrians that walk by minute after minutes, and we try to find a face and a name to put to their swaying walk and bodies. But it never happens. We all are just passing strangers. Just passing strangers, walking by and ignoring everyone, as we should.

Such a happy demeanor she has as she runs her long fingers through her blonde strings. There she is, another nameless soul to me. She talks to the phone, leaving a message for someone. Who? Her boyfriend, friend, family, who? Who knows? It’s none of my business. There she goes……

Isn’t it funny how sometimes some songs get stuck in your head and you remember it so clearly, that everytime you hear that song, it brings back certain memories about that song? Like, for instance, a certain moment that sticks out in your mind about that song, what you were doing, who you were with, so on and so forth.

I’ve been thinking about this lately, especially at work. There’s one particular song that would come on and it would just bring back a small memory that I have associated with that song. It wasn’t a memory of something big and momentous in my life, no, it was just a mundane memory. And for some reason, I associate the song to that.

The song is Natalie Imbruglia’s Wrong Impressions. This song came out something in 2001 or maybe even 2002. The memory that this song conjures up is a simple one. I’m in my car, my old car, the 1991 Honda Prelude. I’m just driving down Santa Monica Blvd, going to the Century City mall, most likely going there to catch a movie. The windows are down, the sun roof open, and I’m just driving. Of course the song has to be playing, if not, then why would this memory be associated with this song? Who knows.

The memory. Again, it’s a simple one. I’m just driving. Thinking back on it one day at work, it just seems that it was a happy memory for me. I don’t understand why it was such a happy memory for me, because around that time, I don’t think it was a happy time in my life. Well, maybe it was, and I just didn’t realize it. All I know that the feelings that I associate with this particular memory is a happy one.

I could see myself so clearly, just smiling my little smile, listening to the song, driving down Santa Monica Blvd with the wind blowing through my shaved hair. And it was a happy image, a happy memory. Maybe it was just me being on my own, not a care in the world, living the independent life that I’ve always wanted to live. I got a job that supports me and I’m on my own. Cut off from family as much as I could, not depending on them to survive. I’m doing it. I’ve become a separate entity from my parents, my brother, my family. I’m on my own, I’m myself.

Another similar memory is of Michelle Branch’s Washing Machine and Breathe. And these too are of memories of me driving, wind in my hair, not a care in the world. I’m just driving in my little Honda coupe, going to Fresno. I’m independent and I’m free. Driving, going where ever I please, doing whatever it is I want to do. Freedom.

Music has always been a big part of my life. It is everywhere and a part of everything that I do. I’m listening to music now as I type my little ditty here. I sing to myself classic tunes of yesteryear and also the mainstream popularity of today and also other tunes and other genres that are so common today. I sing, I hear, I listen. Tell you a little secret….Sometimes I dance too. Me dancing, a sight to see my friends, it’s a sight to see.

Music is just something I listen to, something to help me keep time, something to help me pass time, something to help me think. With each song, I’m sure, comes a different memory.

Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You from The Body Guard Soundtrack is a song that I will never forget. It is the song Amber and I danced to at our senior prom. I will always remember that night, I will always remember that dance, and I will always remember her.

It’s one of those memories that you never forget. It’s one of those things that you just look back on to see where have you been and to see where you are now. Amber, the love of my life, well, not actually, but she was my high school obsession. She was my high school crush, and most of all she was my friend. It was senior prom. I honestly don’t remember exactly why I went. Maybe it was during a ignorant time during the end of my high school career, thinking that I will be a little bit more social, so I went. I bought two tickets, but only needed one. I asked her out, but of course, she went stag. I went stag.

The night was on a boat. We cruised around the sound for a little bit. That was our prom. Now, me being the antisocial socially defunct guy at the prom, it wasn’t a really enjoyable affair. I was alone, not having a good time, and I was stuck on a boat. I had no where to go. I would go up and down, up and down, keeping myself occupied to pass the time faster. But unfortunately, it didn’t pass by fast. It was slow and torturous. Slow and torturous.

I don’t remember exactly what time it was, but I remember coming from the top level of the boat and going down to the next level to go to the bathroom. I walked through the door and there she was. Amber, in this lovely strapless black and white largely checkered dress (on a side note, which made her ass look big). Her hair, down and curly, a little pulled back. She was coming up the stairs. The bottom two floors were the dancing floors, but there she was.

I smiled the best smile that I could manage, given my episode of depression. She came up to me, grabbed my hand, turned around and just walked me down. She hasn’t said a word, not a word. She just dragged me down. I didn’t ask where we were going, I didn’t ask what she was doing, cause I knew. She pulled me to the middle of the dance floor, and there we danced. I Will Always Love You. She took off her heels to get more comfortable and we just danced. Slowly swaying to the rhythm of Whitney’s voice. I Will Always Love you.

I don’t know what she was trying to say or do, but all I know was that we danced. We just danced. Why she picked that song, why she went through all the effort to come find me, I don’t know. All I know was that we danced.

After the dance, I stayed with her for a couple of minutes, just trying to be social, but my usual self won out. I didn’t know what to say, what to do, and things just ended there. I bumped into other friends, talked for a bit, and then went up to the top floor where I was. Just looking out at the setting sun, watching the glimmer of light reflecting off of the sound. The light went out as the sun faded, and that was that.

Funny how you will always remember these memories.

The most recent memory is of Pink’s Just Like a Pill. It’s a good song, mainstream pop like any other, a song that I like a lot. It’s catchy. It was a few weeks ago actually, at Jill’s house warming party. I’m not exactly sure what I was doing at the time when it was on, maybe I was sitting inside on the stairs or maybe I was standing near the kitchen in conversation with some one. The girls, Drew included, were putting on songs to dance to. Just Like a Pill was the one that they put on. All I remember are the girls just jumping up and down, dancing, and singing at the top of their lungs to the chorus. Just dancing, laughing, singing, and having a good time.

The particular image that comes to mind is of Drew dancing, jumping up and down, singing at the top of her lungs. She looked so cute, just dancing there, laughing, smiling. But it will always be a memory and nothing more. Things will always be a memory. Just a memory.

How long do memories last. Will they fade in time as my brain cells gets fewer and fewer? Will there be more memories of this type? It’s a sad and longing memory this last one is. Just me, passive, sitting there, watching like an obsessed stalker. My how much I’ve changed huh?

But no, in all honesty, that’s life. Things just get stuck in your head for no rhyme and/or reason. They just get stuck. It is a imprint of a lost moment that you can never get back again.

People are like music too, they leave imprints, images, visions, memories, even dreams in your mind that you can’t get out of your head. You come up with a picture of the person, then another picture, another image and so on and so forth. Then you start to put a soundtrack to these images, a song that fit your sentiments, your moods, your emotions. Then you start to obsess and start to do this more and more often, and pretty soon these images become your life.

All of these things, these images, these people are of your past, yet, you remember them so clearly, you remember almost every detail. They haunt you like the living things you come across in your daily life. But you can’t do anything about them.

They are of the past and should stay in the past.

Why is it so hard to forget the things you want to forget? Why is it so hard to just leave these imprints behind in the past where they belong? Why?

I’ve been reading a book lately. It is a book about Wong Kar-Wai and his films. It is about analyzing his films, his themes and motifs. Time, memory, isolation, alienation. These are some of the main themes in almost all of his movies. Time and memory. He is fixated by time and memory. In particular in Ashes of Time. Near the end, there is a line that just rings true. It is somewhere along these veins. The more you try to forget something, the more you remember it. The more you try to remember something, the further away it becomes. It is so true.

I’m a guy who lives in the past, for I am a guy with a elephant’s memory. I’m a guy who can pull memories out of my mind like it is right in front of me. I spend much of my time focusing on these memories, well more so a long time ago, but not recently. But, the memories are still readily available. With each day, new memories are made to be filed away.

Tired.

I am tired. My body just screams for the bed that I sorely miss right now. It screams at the steal chair, the uncomfortable position, the drug that I’m taking. It screams for something more comfortable, something softer and warmer.

Each piercing scream gets louder and louder in my head. I ignore the pain and march on. I have to do this; I have to maintain this routine. If I deviate from the plan, I lose all focus. I can’t lose focus now. I have to focus on my work and nothing else. If not, pain will crawl slowly back into my life again. I can’t have that.

I come here night after night, typing away at this keyboard, writing my little stories about secret lives of other people. Last night it was Stormee, who “seize the day” and did what she must to get her guy. She was a brave soul, yet so tortured from alcohol. Was she thinking straight when she pretended to be passed out while her soul mate rapes her? To her, she was thinking straight; she was thinking clearly. She never thought so clearly in her life as she puts the plan in action. She needed her Christian that night. Stormee got her wish.

A couple of months before, it was a Young Man who raped his good friend. He fed her a few drinks and took her upstairs. He had his way. Finished, he just left her there, passed out and none the wiser, scraps for the buzzards that were flying high above. He did it because he could, because he’s done it before, and because it was a friend. The opportunity presented itself, and being a guy of opportunity, he couldn’t pass up the chance.

How can things like this happen in life? How can something so vile and so wrong happen like it was nothing? How? It just can. That’s life. The Young Man raped his friend who he thought was passed out, but in reality, his friend just used him to get what she wanted, and that was to have him inside her. It was a ploy to get him into bed, because she knows he wouldn’t otherwise. That was all that mattered to her, that was all she needed.

Who is wrong in this situation? Stormee for pretending to be passed out so her friend, Christian, can take advantage of her? Or is it Christian, who took advantage of a drunk friend?

Who’s the bad guy? Or are there any bad guys in this scenario? Funny how things are just left up to people to judge what is right and what is wrong. Many people will see it one way, others will see it another. Many will agree and many will disagree. It’s kind of hard when both are acting on selfish motives. But in life, we all are acting on selfish motives. To some people, they have no problems with taking what they can get, no matter the cost. Others will never consider or even think of the possibility. They just admit defeat and move on.

Fiction. Flights of fantasy these two stories were. Just something I made up to entertain myself. It was something I wrote because I got an idea in my head and I needed to put it on paper. It was taken from an experience from my life. No, I never done anything of the sort, any thoughts of that nature never crossed my mind. No. It never happened. But in a way, I was accused of it. I made it into a story where it actually happened.

That was the story of the Young Man. It was his tale about a friend of his from highschool. He raped her, and that was that. No more, no less. Now the story of Stormee was a fabrication all together with no outside influence. I wrote it because I wanted a companion piece to the Young Man’s story. I wanted it from the woman’s perspective. How it was like to be raped? I don’t know. Instead of going through with her story about being raped, I had to come up with something different. Power. Will. Choice. Manipulation.

The woman had the power. Everything was her doing. She had the power over the man. The Young Man was weak, giving in to his nature, giving into his animal instincts, to his greed and selfishness. The woman showed control. The woman had the power throughout the relationship. All women do. She used him for her own gain. That was all that matters.

So again, who’s the bad guy here? Who is in the most wrong? The man or the woman? Who is to judge?

My social self is not a very pleasant one. I see myself in a certain light that is drastically different from how others see me. I see myself as the antisocial loner that alienates himself from others, and others see me as this social butterfly that jokes and laughs and makes conversations with people. These people who see me in this light are mostly people that I met from work.

Work people are different. I have to play nice, I have to interact, I have to socialize with them, so it takes away the pressure of socializing with them. Now, people that I meet at parties, that’s different. There are people that I connect with right off the bat and there are others that I don’t connect with at all and in my case the former is generally the case.

I am both, but I really do think that I am my own belief. I’m that social wallflower.

I can get to be that fun guy, but it all depends on the situation, the party, the people that I’m hanging out with and all importantly my mood of socializing, and my level of sobriety. If I’m not in the mood to socialize, I usually don’t go to the party, or if I am at the party and I’m not feeling the crowd, then I tend to keep to myself or find someone I know there and try to talk with them.

I find myself doing that this past weekend at a party that I went to.

I wasn’t feeling the crowd. It just wasn’t my crowd. It was my friend Jill’s house-warming bbq bash at her and her roommate’s, Leina, apartment. Nice apartment. If only I was richer.

Anywho, I went to the party, expecting just to be like her birthday party that I went to a few months ago. It wasn’t. First of all, I didn’t have enough to drink, and secondly, I was kind of freezing my ass off.

I didn’t feel comfortable. The guests were talking about things I know nothing about or cared much for. So, I was out of my element.

But I went anyways. It wasn’t until the very end when I actually enjoyed myself. It was just Jill and I, talking. Just talking about life, expectations, finding oneself and not compromising one’s interest and one’s personality for the greater good of the crowd or friends. Be yourself. One has to sacrifice many things to do what one’s heart desires. I did it, and so can she.

But back to the party, the wallflower in me. Walking in the door, I noticed a THE GIRL. She was there. I half expected it, but at the same time I thought she was somewhere else. But she was there.

Last time we’ve met, I was smitten. Seduced by her girlish charms, her bouts of cuteness, her bad jokes, her adorable sense of attractiveness. She’s hot. We talked, we joked, we laughed. It was a great time had by all or so I believe.

She looked no different, dressed down more than last time, which makes her look even more attractive. But she is still she, her adorable self.

I don’t know what it was with me, but for the most part, I tried to make a connection with her again, but I wasn’t feeling it. Maybe it was just me being a wallflower or maybe it was her sensing my awkwardness around her that made her keep her distance; I’m not sure what it was, but I know for sure that we didn

Here we go again. I found Drew. Drew is now blipped back into my life. I find it funny that Jill said that she was going to move to New York and everything at the beginning of January, but I guess that didn’t happen. Time could have changed things, maybe, maybe not. I just find it funny that Drew is here in Los Angeles, still living in Long Beach, still working at the same ol’ place. Things never changed.

What happened? I knew deep inside that it was just a ploy. It was just a ploy. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but I don’t know. It just seems wrong you know? Why can’t she just tell me the truth that she’s not interested in me instead of giving me this bullshit that she’s moving to New York to be with the Corduroy suit guy? It’s just too far of a stretch to come up with something like that.

Well, I met Drew again over the weekend. I saw her at Jill’s housewarming bbq. It was an okay party I guess. I didn’t drink that much, which means I didn’t get drunk and didn’t loosen up. I didn’t like the crowd. I don’t know why, but I didn’t like the crowd.

I walked into the door and inside were the girls. Susan, Margo, and Jill kept on saying, “that’s Drew. It’s Drew.” I blew it off, pretended not to hear, not to care. Seeing her, it wasn’t a surprise, and I really didn’t care. The girls were dancing, so I went outside to the patio and chilled with the guys. Introduced myself, got a beer, and then chatted with Rob. It was all right.

Later, there she was, coming out the door and making her way to me. Cup in hand, she poured herself a sangria and we proceeded with the small talk. I told her what I’ve been up to and she told me the same. She’s still working at LACMA, living in Long Beach, and writing about the Metro. Things never changed.

Nothing came up about the trip to New York, nothing came up about anything at all. I didn’t know whether she was bored with me or whether I was just turned off by her, I’m not sure what it was, but things pretty much fizzled after that.

I tried to make conversation with her as the night progressed and I find her keeping her distance. A sign indeed. She’s not interested, and I should leave it at that.

We didn’t get to talk about anything pertinent or talk about anything at all. The night progressed, her ditzy intelligence came out, as expected. How funny how I found it so cute just months ago and now, I could careless about.

Don’t get me wrong, she’s still hot and as adorable as ever, but I don’t know. I don’t know her that well. Would love to get to know her better, but it just isn’t in the stars. We’re not star-crossed lovers, or lovers, or stars. We’re nothing but mere acquaintances; nothing more, nothing less.

The night progressed and the party ended. People left and I stayed. I stayed later than I wanted to, but it was all right. I got to talk to Jill, just about life, about finding one’s way and becoming more comfortable with oneself.

Leina, depressed, tired, and pessimistic, couldn’t keep our company as I told her to go to bed. She finally took a nap. Jill and I just talked and talked and then there was nothing more.

I went home, sober and sober.

I just went home.

I never thought that my still being a virgin would be a cool thing. I never met someone who thinks that still being a virgin at the age of 25, going on 26 in less than a month, would be a cool thing. I met that someone.

Whether she is pulling my leg or not, I’m not sure, but she thinks that it is cool that I am still one. I laugh, and tell her that it is pathetic, cause it really is. It really is.

She’s a sweet girl. A nice girl. A pretty girl. A girl that I could easily fall for. I have already started that process of falling for her. I’ve talked with her. I’ve flirted with her. I’ve even asked her out and gave her my number. We’ve only met for three weeks.

In these past three weeks I’ve gotten to know more about her than I did in three years time of my last infatuation. She’s an easy girl to talk to. Funny, cute, playful, and wise. A sweet girl, filled with the girlish charms that drives men crazy. She’s a great girl.

Unfortunately for me. She’s taken, as all great girls are. She’s taken.

During my days, I will spend my bored hours, my hours of not wanting to be there, talking with her, getting to know her, to help make the day go by faster.

The funniest thing that she’s ever told me or said about me is that I’m cocky. I’ve never thought I was cocky. Cocky is not me. I’m not full of myself, I don’t try to impress others so they would like me. I’ve never been that type of person. She thought me as cocky. Ha! I laugh at that thought. She laughed too cause of my reaction.

Cocky? No. She used the wrong word. She even told me that she’s using the wrong word as she exclaimed that I’m cocky. No, she meant to say that I’m sure of myself.

Funny. I’ve been told that just last weekend, and now, this girl, who’ve I only met for three weeks tells me the same thing. I’ve changed. Like I said in my last entry, I’m a lot surer of myself.

Three weeks. Three weeks. That’s the quickest I’ve acted and connected with a girl. Considering it took me a long while to get up the courage to ask my last obsession out, this is moving fast for me.

I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never connected with a girl so fast before. Well, maybe I had and I didn’t notice. I don’t know. From the first day, I wasn’t afraid of joking with her, making fun of her. From the first day, I wasn’t afraid of causing trouble.

Is this the new me? How did I become this way? When did this start?

Did it start with the whole lesbian thing on New Year’s Eve or did it start before? My Thanksgiving break up in Washington? Jill’s party? When? Where was this courage, this confidence, this assertiveness when I needed it most in the oh so long days ago?

Did me getting out of my old job just gave me a clean slate to start new? Things just seem to fall into place ever since I’ve gotten out of there. Was that place so bad that it just blocked all of my positive energy, stunting my emotional growth? I’ve been told and I believed that place would suck my soul. I guess it really did.

So stagnant my life felt there. Every time I take a step forward, it just seems that I get pulled back ten steps. Look what I’ve accomplished since my leaving there.

I made a short film.

I wrote a play and will write another which will most likely be produced.

I started a script that I’m actually excited about.

I’ve made and connected with girls. Sure nothing has come out of it, but I’m making progress. Drew, the laundromat girl, the lesbian, and now the new girl.

This couldn’t happen any sooner? I guess not. I know I’ve written that I don’t believe in fate and destiny and everything, but I guess it has to happen when it happens, if not, then it wouldn’t happen.

This is the fastest that I’ve learned about a person in a long while. She told me many things that she said no one knows. I feel special.

Things are different about this one. Things are different about me and what is happening. Knowing me, I should be so deeply into this girl that I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Knowing me, she should be my world. Knowing me, she should be my obsession.

Like my last craving, she should encompass all that is me, but she’s not. I’ve gotten less and less obsessive. I can let go and just let things be. Sure it doesn’t seem to the dear reader that that is the case, cause I’m writing about her, but honestly, it is true. Things are different. Things are different indeed.

i don’t know what it is with me, but things are truly different. Maybe it is just my general apathy about things, or maybe my friend is right, that I’m just growing more and more callous, but I don’t think that is the case. I’m not emotionally hardened, well, atleast I don’t think I am.

So what is going to happen now? I don’t know. I’m not going to pry, I’m not going to do anything. Nothing at all. If it happens, it’ll happen. It it doesn’t, then it doesn’t, it never was meant to be.

* * *

Silence. All is silent but the soft tunes that pour out of the headphones. Nothing stirs around him. He sits in silence, thinking, reflecting on his life, typing it away to the muffled ballad that blares from his headphones. He sits alone.

The story of his life. The story of the world. The story of all.

* * *>

Things are finally getting back to how things were. Everything is the same and expected. No surprises. Friends will always be friends, enemies will always be enemies, people will always be people.

Things are finally back to where they are. I’m here again, sitting so alone in this lonely bridge typing away into this dark lonely internet void that I’ve become so familiar with and doing the thing that I’ve grown to love. Writing. I am writing again. I am clearing my thoughts. I am writing. Writing.

So many things cloud my mind, yet nothing seems to stick. Random thoughts just go through and through my mind and I pay it no attention. Different people come and go, different ideas come and go, life comes and go. Oh, there was just an old friend that just zipped through my conscience and zipped out again. That’s where things stand.

Everything just seems to be a distant memory to me. Everything just seems so out of reach, yet so close at the same time. I have managed to keep the necessary distance from things and people where to not get hurt if things go sour.

I have hardened my soul, as one of my friends put it. I am like molten lava that has cooled on the surface, but in the inside is still a molten boiling ooze of fire. I could explode at any minute. That’s what she told me. That’s what she said. I’m lava, hardened on the outside, yet still volatile.

Do I see any truth in that? Do I? In a way, yes, but also, no. I have calmed down so much and have grown into a more comfortable skin. Albeit that skin has many flaws and much apathy in many things, it is a much better skin that helps me actually be free and liberated in many things, in many aspects of my life. I’m not afraid anymore.

What am I not afraid of? I’m not afraid of failure, I’m not afraid of getting hurt, I’m not afraid of making a fool out of myself. I’ve been there, I’ve done that. It’s old news. No harm in experiencing something that you’ve already experienced. No harm at all. Try experiencing something new, something different. Slowly I am. Slowly.

I’m a very laid back guy. I take things as they come. I never act on many things unless I absolutely am burning to act, but that rarely comes. When I act, I put everything I have into it. Everything. I’m acting more and more. I’m not that passive person that I use to be. A little more assertive I am. Just a tad.

I’m sure of my self. Very sure of my self. That’s another thing a friend of mine pointed out. I’m sure of myself. I know what I want. I know what I like, I know what I don’t like, I know what I want to do. I’m sure of many things. No more debating with myself to see how I would come out in the better light. If my thoughts are against the grain, so be it. If my actions or beliefs hurt other people, I’m sorry, but I won’t change it. I’ll stand by it. That’s me.

It’s been a long and arduous journey that I’ve been on these past few years. A growing experience, a learning experience. I’m living. It’s by no ways anywhere close to how many “normal” people live their lives, but I am living. I go out whenever I please. I act how I want, I do what I want, I live how I want.

I’m doing things that are comfortable to me, doing things that will make me joyful and smile. I’m doing things. I’m happy. I don’t write that that often, I don’t claim to be happy that often, but I think it is time for me to type it, to say it, to mean it. I am happy for me, for who I am, for what I’m doing, for me. I am happy.

My friend doesn’t see me that way. Sure I’ve grown and changed as she said. I’m not as volatile as I was, keeping my emotions skin deep until something sets me off in a joyful or angry or sad tantrum. Like she said, I’m surer of myself. Yet, she thinks I’m not happy. She thinks only “maybe” will I find happiness, only “maybe”.

Why only “maybe”? Simple. I have no love in my life. I don’t know love. I don’t love. I’m selfish. I don’t know love. I have no love in my life. God is love. GOD is LOVE. With love comes happiness. With God comes happiness. I need God in my life. I need God in my life.

She gave me some sermons to listen to. I’m listening but I’m not listening. It just doesn’t make sense. I still have the reservations in religion and religiosity. Even though she pegs her belief, her denomination, not as religiosity but faith, I still have reservations. It still seems like preaching to me.

Religion, faith, beliefs…these are all individual things. These are things that happen because of the individual. It is the individual that must find God. It is the individual that must have faith; it is the individual that must believe. It is a matter of one, not a collective.

Christianity is not a belief of the individual. It never worked that way. It never will. As long as there is a church, there will never be individuality. I’m not trying to bash Christianity and all Christians or anyone who believes in God, I’m not. Christianity will always be a group religion; it will always be a collective. Churches aren’t for the individual, but for the many patrons and believers of God.

I’m not one. Not one at all. I’m an individual. I have my own beliefs; I have my own way of thinking, and my own morals and ethics. They are mine and mine alone. Sure they do cross over and coincide with many Christian beliefs, but they are still mine to follow, my rules, my guidelines, my philosophy to follow. For me, the sense of spirituality is an individual thing, an alone process. It is up to you to find your direction in life. It is up to you, as the individual to find God. It is up to the individual. The individual must find God first before they can be fully accepted into the group.

I have not found God. I do not believe in God. Does he exist? Sure. He exists for many people, but not me.

I think this whole finding God business is the same as finding yourself. Finding your inner peace, reaching a state of Zen and enlightenment. We all do the same thing. You Christians and us individualists, Buddhists, Taoists, Muslims. We are all trying to find our inner peace; reach a state of enlightenment. The world would be a much better place if all of us find our inner peace, find our direction. Once we all do, the world will be a much better place. We all are doing the same thing, but it is our bigotry and our constantly forcing our beliefs and thoughts and our preachiness that gets in the way of everyone reaching the same thing.

We are all just trying to find peace. Once we do, we will just transcend this world and these petty problems. It will be a better place.

All I just want to say is to just let us find our own peace our own way. Whether it is in God or Allah or finding philosophies that matches with how we think or conceiving new philosophies that fit you individually. Just let things be. Let things be.

Religion, it has never been my fort