YES

this is where i want to be; right here. this is where i'm supposed to be. right here. i am right here. right now. like that song by fatboy slim, or that other song, by van halen, or some other white men with big hair during the eighties. the here and now. its a popular phrase, if i remember correctly.

the most recent fortune cookie i got said that a romantic mystery would enrich my life soon. terrifying, i know. romance sounds dangerous. but mystery is good. i always love a good puzzle to solve... but i also have eight billion things to do right now. too much. more to do. things to take care of; doctor appointments to make, insurance to sort out, travel plans, school in autumn, a job so i don't go broke. and i need to start doing some physical activity again. and writing. so much writing to do...

i want to write an essay on how modern life makes schizophrenics of us all. i know, i know, the idea isn't new, and i'm just trying to find an excuse for my own mpd (multiple personality disorder, for those not raised by psychologists...). but i want to write the paper anyway. because it bears repeating: modern life is so fracturing, its a wonder anyone can pull themselves together and get to work in the morning...

inspired by a freudian streak, and my own personal experience, i've come to my own conclusions about the human psyche. or at least my own human psyche, for i am certainly a human, and i certainly have a psyche. but i suddenly find myself unable to tackle it all right now. but i'll try, for you, because i love you so...

the psyche is currently a terribly fractured thing. modern society, with its jobs and bosses, its puritanical streak, its discomfort with sex, with feeling, with empathy, its call for conformity and "normal behaviour", fractures us all. there are too many things to be, for too many audiences that are unwilling to accept us as whole human beings. at work, one is not allowed to be anything but a smiling automaton. at home, family expects us to be wholesome and helpful. there are precious few situations that do not call on me to jettison something of myself or ignore an aspect of me. apparently this is a necessary part of joining the modern world. well fuck that...

my own mind has gone through a great many more schisms. with divorced parents, i am called upon to be something different to each; my mother, my father, my stepmother. no safety is to be found in my siblings, who find me embarassing and strange. but my own brain, which often is supposed to be a sacred, private space, is full of different people. so many aspects of my personality all clamoring for acceptance and expression. each is a full being, it seems. they are a resounding chorus, all reacting in their own singular ways to the situations i find myself in. and they take on voices. the part of me that is inspired by my father speaks in his voice, as the part inherited from my mother speaks in hers. my friends' voices are there, as well as the many mes that exist. it is a dizzying place, my skull.

now that my uncle is gone and i have some time of my own, i am questing for privacy. i don't wish to keep secrets, but i wish to have a part of my life belong only to me, and be mine to share or not share. it is difficult. so many people clamoring for time and attention; there are difficulties.

what manner of creature am i?

i seem to get in trouble for decisions i make. i have decided to not be sorry for how i feel or what i decide to do. this doesn't mean i am not a guilt-driven and obligated individual. but if i decide to sleep through an afternoon because i am tired and distressed, i don't want to feel sorry about it. of course there are other, more productive things i could do with my time, but my decisions are my own, and i have no desire to feel bad about them.

i don't see anything to be gained by feeling sad about my human needs and desires. food, sex, sleep, all of these are things i love talking about, and more importantly, taking part in. i am human. i am not perfect. but being perfect is not my job. my job is to be the best i can be. i desire to act morally, to continue to develop and listen to my spiritual self, and to be the best human i know how to be. i eat, i shit, i fuck. i get sick. i yell at people, and act surly. it is all part of existence. i do not want to feel bad about it.

feeling bad, and guilty, are fairly useless things. they more often seem to get in the way of moving forward rather than spur one on to higher pursuits. i don't believe in feeling bad about the things i do. i don't believe in feeling bad about me. i still have self esteem issues, and no grasp of reality, but i don't want to waste my time breaking myself down. there are enough people out there who will do that anyway. i'd rather fight them. i like fighting. it makes me feel alive and vital.

my sister and i are going to yoga tomorrow morning. she has a bad back, and might really benefit from yoga. i haven't done any physical activity in months. it should be good. but i might be hung over. but yoga tends to help with that. it should be a fun morning, that will be upon me all too soon.

i am me, and there will be no shame.

FINE!

all right... so its been a while. eighteen days, apparently... look, i update when i want to, when i feel like it, when i have time...

all right, the truth is that i got behind, and have been really busy, but mostly, i'll get here, and realize that i have so much to type, and the task is ridiculously daunting, and i'll give up and go have a lie down because i'm always tired from school nowadays. there you are. i'm tired and easily cowed. and drunk. leggo...

now... down to business. short updates followed by vignettes. that seems like a good plan to me. commence the attack...

i have been in summer school for almost a month now. two five-week summer sessions, physics all the way. i am kicking so much ass, it hurts. other people... HAH! yes. i am full of pride, for i have recieved a 104, another 104, and then a 108 on my tests, 108 being the highest grade possible. i am a friggin' genius, i beat my sister on each test (yes, we're in the same course... i love it), and i am proving my father wrong on a weekly basis. after i finish the first five week segment and have the highest average in the class, i'm planning on saying, "so dad, i heard that you thought i'd be riding rachel's coattails in this class. and i don't want to make a big deal out of it, but it made me angry. so this 'best in show' award is for you. you inspired me. now fuck off, you prick!" or something of the sort. haven't decided if i want to broach the subject yet, embarrased that i'm psychologically so unhealthy, but damn it feels good to kick ass in an academic setting. again. booyakasha!

in other news, uncle jay has been visiting for the last ten days. i love the man to death. he's the italian catholic who married into my mother's very jewish, boca raton family. his wife was my maternal grandmother's kid sister. grandma bessie is dead now, and ant cyd (jay's wife) died about a year ago. but he's rallied well, truth be told, and he came to see us again. (my mom has always been a favorite of his. she married a goy as well, so the two couples could relate.)

jay, is like a tornado. he cannot sit still, and if he's not sitting still, you're not sitting still. during the past ten days, we have assembled countless shelving units, taken down screens and cleaned windows, he regrouted my mom's shower, repainted her bathroom and the dining room, organized countless amounts of everything, and in general has been driving us all crazy with his well-intentioned fixer-uppers. the house certainly needed it all, and more. but when you get home from six straight hours of school after not enough sleep, you want to take a nap, not learn how to best clean a filthy window. but jay doesn't take no for an answer. so you sigh, put on some crappy clothing, and pick up the cordless drill. i'm tired.

jay leaves tomorrow morning. i plan on getting home from school and sleeping for ages... with a brief break to get high with zach. i actually managed to get alot of my own shit done yesterday, as far as applying to schools, making moves to finalize plans with cousin judy (who will provide josh-housing when i move to nyc), etc... i'm trying to be more productive, so as not to get trapped in the tar pit that is texas. ever try accelerating in tar? not easy...

my new computer makes me so happy i could cry. nothing new to report, just that i love my little machine, am addicted to macs, and am ready to take the architecture world by storm. in a year or so. and after a few decades of practicing. it takes time man... god almighty, but it takes time...

i'm trying to think of other major developments, but i can't. problem. maybe nothing else has happened... i don't know right now.

do you ever get the urge to just read some critical race or gender or queer theory, just to remind yourself of what you are, what you're interested in, what you can do? i do... i won't bring the books to class, which provides ample time for reading, because it would make me look pretentious and... pretentious. i'm sorry, but pretension is a dirty, dirty thing. i'm a nerd, i'm a fag, i'm a crunchy little bastard who intellectualizes everything, but you find that out on your own. i don't have time to maintain an image. nor any interest in doing so. and my shit doesn't smell either...

truthfully, of late, the gastro-intestinal situation has been rather odiferous. i thought you should know...

all right. there will be anecdotes later. but i must end this now. vodka beckons. so said the drunkard...

off with you!

*EXPLOSION*

boom.

my brother is really clingy. he's uber-clingy. he's so clingy, it scares me. he's so clingy that, i'll notice blatant evidence of his clinginess and say, "damn! you're fucking clingy!"

not that there's anything wrong with being strongly emotionally bonded to other humans...

but god damn!

i'm housesitting again. not for the creepy rich people with the hyperactive labrador puppy, but for mom's friend and colleage marilyn. so once again, i'm sitting in a house in alamo heights, surrounded by evidence of wealth, in service to a hyperactive terrier (he's all right though) and his domain. the house feels safe, and i don't feel so desperately out of place, which is nice. something about 62 inch flat screen high-definition t.v. sets with digital cable gives me hives... the trappings of obscene wealth just make me feel itchy and anxious. marilyn's house has none of that rot. its a house. there is lovely art on the walls, and masses of books and cds. i have a foot of reading to do while i'm here, by which i mean, after ransacking the house for every book i want to read, they measure a full foot when stacked up. rock on.

i spent the day recovering from last night, when i found her alcohol cabinet and crawled into a bottle of bacardi limon. i saw mr and mrs. smith with kas, then we ate, then i meandered around the book store and came back here. and when i called mom this evening to tell her that i wasn't coming over today, she said zach was pissed with me. which isn't news, really, but hey... so i called him, and he was just irritated that he hadn't seen me today. which is fine, but really, as carl once said, "look, if i wanted a wife to nag my head off, i'd order one from russia!" it is ridiculous to me that he didn't bother calling my ass all day, and then he gets to be all wimpy and irritated that he hadn't seen me in twenty-four hours.

hey zach, stop being such a goddamned woman, eh?

he's a bitch. i don't care. and yes, i'm being sexist. i don't care.

i do care, actually, but its funny, so i'm leaving it.

i meant it was funny to me.

fuck off.

anyway, this entry is coming to you direct from *tada!* THE POWERBOOK! *applause* yes, it finally arrived. i'm very excited.

this entry sucks balls. i'm not sure exactly what i want to be writing about. i'm tired, and my brain is not working well.

look, i'll get back to you later. when i can formulate coherent thoughts.

maybe i could go to sleep... it is ten...

yes, i'm an old man. i don't care. fuck off.