Ok ok ok so I'm blogging. I'm so very sorry that I haven't in so long. I don't really know what's come over me, but I've sort of lost interest. Which is quite a shame, especially if I stop blogging just because I lose interest for a little while. I like blogging, mostly. It's fun. Especially when I don't right long depressing entries.

So I've gone back to school. I got the heeblie jeeblies really bad on Thursday when I drove there by myself for the first time ever, got my books and parkingspace, saw all my teachers. But now I'm ok with classes, and all my heeblie jeeblies are now directed at the various clubs that I am rather responsible for.

First and foremost, I think I am president by default of the Fencing Club. I don't really want to be. I don't really care about the fencing club that much, and I'd rather put my time and energy into some other club, like Philosophy, Film, and GSA. So I'll have to email the sponsors and see what's going on with that, I guess.

Secondly, I am co-president of the Film Club, along with Chris. So I gotta talk with him and Dr Busonik about that and get that going up, a booth at the club fair Friday, coordination for the first showing, and so on.

I am vice president of the Philosophy Club. I'm not really sure what I'm doing for that, but dear Hannah seems to think I can handle the job. I guess I gotta get cracking on readings, and I'll be manning the booth on Friday.

I am probably responsible for the GSA. We didn't hold elections last year for some odd reason. I'll talk to Ms Klein about what the hell we're going to do with that, I guess. We'll need a call for members, since I don't have any idea how to organize anything.

And shit I'm president of the Film Club. What on EARTH am I going to do? Heavens to betsy, oh what a world what a world.

As for my classes, they seem very good indeed. English looks like it will be an excellent year; Ms Callanan, my teacher, is young and energetic, and should be very fun as a teacher. Psychology is already interesting. Creative Writing, taught by Ms Chalifoux (artsy out there type with wispy gray hair; has a tendency of waving her hands absentmindedly in the air), should also be excellent. We're doing a lot of, you guessed it, writing, so I am very excited.

Siigh.

I'll have to talk to all the sponsors as soon as possible... I can't really think of what to put in an email. Slips my mind. Tomorrow during school, you know, before and at lunch and after, definitely after.

I only have time for a quick update, because school starts next Thursday and I have two books to read between then and now. I should be fine; I only have to read about seventy pages a day, and with Harry Potter I read about six hundred in the same amount of time. And they're good, and I've read them before: "Lord of the Flies" and "Life of Pi." Should be easy.

Also, tomorrow should be my last day of work. We are done painting the house: all the siding, trim, doors, and shudders. All that's left are three metal railings and touch-ups with the beige, because we've been a little bit messy. Amanda and I stayed until four today, which is about two hours later than usual, just to get most of it done. I'm very proud of myself, sort of.

And now I have to start reading. I'll see a lot of you next week; I'm actually quite excited.

Grumble grumble.

I gotta keep my frantic fingers still.

Oh well.

And on to the next subject. It's storming rather loud here; lightning just struck very close to the house. It was rather loud, and the walls and floor kind of shook, and my mom (watching Sex and the City) screamed a little bit. I jumped. It's interesting how stark lightning is, how much of a contrast between the light and the dark, even when the room you're in is lit. The white is just THAT bright.

I don't, however, hear any rain. And it's not just my headphones. There's no rain, just lots of lightning. Which is pretty neat, you know.

The end of my job is just close enough to see, but so far... we just have the doors and carport to do, but I know about eighteen things will come up preventing us from getting anywhere. And school starts next week, and I have "Lord of the Flies" and "Life of Pi" to read before next Thursday. I better zip on down to the library some time, I guess.

And we all know that awkwardness is when something is happening.

Anyway, I "don't have anything to write about," so I'm going to go do something else.

Oops!

And, wow, I missed my two year anniversary. Happy belated birthday, Title Pending. I have loved you well, and don't intend to stop writing any time soon.

I'd get you a birthday present, but can't really think of one...

So I went to my friend Emily's 18th (or is she 19? Hm. I don't think I ever found out) birthday, in the Winston Salem area, although it's closer to Arcadia, or maybe Welcome, than anything else. In short, she lives in the middle of nowhere, and it took Amanda and I about two and a half hours to get there. Amanda drove, of course, because I'm a bum, and am not comfortable driving on the interstate for long periods of time yet.

We came bearing gifts, for both Emily and Carey, who turned 19 (I'm pretty sure she's 19 now. I think.) a couple weeks ago in Disney World. For both of them pins from Atlanta that read "I'm straight but not narrow," a mix of music, and for Emily a neon lamp in the shape of a money sign for her dorm room. That's an inside joke, so both of them thought it was hilarious.

Emily's house is in a country neighborhood. Think small town, rolling hills and scattered trees, everything green, and the temperature nothing if not oppressive. The impression I have of her house is tall: it towers, it seems, though but two or three stories. The neighbor's dog Buster, a friendly large thing, freely wanders around both of their yards. The cat sits on the front porch, and when we approached it slipped away.

Her mother is a very neat person. She is nothing if not honest, it seems, in the sense that she is never afraid to speak her mind. Maybe she always has, or maybe she is simply tired of not saying what she thinks, but when we arrived and admired the carpetless wood floors (which were a very nice mahogany color, I think), she remarked that it was only temporary, because Zoe, their 89 yearold dog who's going blind, smells like a butt, and hates boys, has to have carpetting, and if only that dog would die they'd be able to keep the floors.

So we sat in the kitchen, ate MnMs, and listened to the mix Amanda and I gave them. A note on the CD: during a day at work, a day I believe when we were working on the front below the windows, and the sun poured golden white onto the paint in such a way that the streaks and ridges burned crystal clear and seemed hotter and more real than anything else, on such a day we thought, Wouldn't it be funny if we made a mix of the saddest songs we could ever think of and put them all onto one CD - and then end it with the most obnoxiously upbeat song ever?

The result:
1. Why They Call it Falling, Lee Ann Womack
2. You Were Meant for Me, Jewel
3. Last Kiss, Pearl Jam
4. Brick, Ben Folds Five
5. Go or Go Ahead, Rufus Wainwright
6. You'll Think of Me, Keith Urban
7. You Were Mine, Dixie Chicks
8. Butterfly, Weezer
9. Probably Wouldn't Be This Way, Leann Rimes
10. Both Sides Now, Joni Mitchell (Love Actually version)
11. Close Your Eyes, Jump Little Children
12. Your Song (instrumental), Moulin Rouge, mixed by Marius Devries
13. Two Beds and a Coffee Machine, Savage Garden

And the last: 14. Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows. I have no idea where it's from, or the context in which it is sung, but my god it does the job masterfully. A fifty five minute disc of pure suicidal music, and we sat in the kitchen and sang along to just about every song. It was great, and Amanda and I cracked up hard at the end.

The party itself was mostly fine. Emily's guests were all from school, and I knew a total of zero of them. I had heard of several of them, including the current boy, Ron, who is madly in love with the birthday girl, and Tiffany. Not that I knew who she was, but I knew the name.

We sat on the porch and listened to music: Maroon 5, PUD, The Postal Service, and so on. There was a bonfire, and Emily's obnoxious boy friends (minus Ron) ran around and wrestled near the edge of the firepit. Eventually we all piled onto blankets to watch leftover July Fourth fireworks; the neighbors noticed and started to shoot their own into the air. On the whole, theirs were much better. Even Mrs Mazur agreed.

Emily got cake shoved in her face. Carey and I managed to get away and talk on the porch alone, until everyone came back out, and we all reminisced about childhood cartoons, movies, books, and so on. Eventually most of the guests left, except for Emily, Ron, Amanda, Carey, and I, and we put on my mix again and talked and talked, and this time it was less of a party and more of a conversation. We talked about literary criticism, and the inevitable bullshit to come out of English classes. We talked about shitty relationships. We talked well past two in the morning. I don't see why she doesn't snatch that boy right up, because he's pretty damn cool. Anyway, we eventually drove him home (minus Amanda, who crashed on Emily's bedroom floor), got back here, and snoozed hard.

Church in the morning. This afternoon we went to Guilford College to visit Emily's dorm-to-be (she moves Thursday), but it was hella hot. We explored Greensboro a bit, and bought Carey her last birthday present at a Barnes and Noble, which was packed. Some author was there for book signings or something, I don't know. Anyway, Amanda and I got her "The Road Less Travelled," by Scott Peck. That, by the way, is another piece of required reading for just about everyone ever. It's written by a psychotherapist, and addresses relationships, love, mental health, evil, religion, and lots else. I read it several years ago and fell in love, so I hope Carey enjoys it also.

Drove home. Slept through a huge thunderstorm on the way.

Wrote.

Tonight I am going to my friend Emily's birthday/senior get-the-hell-ouutahere party in the Winston Salem area. Carey, also from camp, will be there, and Amanda who's driving me, and perhaps a few other campers, so I'm hoping it'll be a little bit of a reunion. Regardless, I fully expect to have a good time, dammit. I shall flirt with unsuspecting boys. Or, if not, stare steamily into the bonfire while the stars wheel overhead.

It'll probably storm. Though, you know what, that would actually be pretty neat. Thunderstorms are nifty awesome, and I haven't got that soaked this summer yet. Johns River was a let down in THAT regard, too.

Anyway, I gotta pack a little overnight kit for the trip. I'm staying at Emily's house, probably sleeping in a different room this time. Hm, no, her mom wasn't too pleased when she found out about that.

Oh boy a sleepover! We shall braid hair and paint fingernails, and giggle over boys! I'm so stoked...

Booooooorrrrrrrrrrrred.

The adventure I'm writing for dungeons and dragons is lackluster. That's all.

Otherwise, I'm good to go. School soon. I'm heading to Winston Salem on Wednesday for Emily's and Carey's birthday party (well, Emily's, but I'm giving Carey her belated birthday presents). Dee enn dee tomorrow night.

My mind is sort of clear and foggy at the same time. I have no memory of anything, or rather, I'm too lazy to bother thinking of any. Music is pretty good. Got more Guster. Feist.

Money from work is good. Work itself is taking forever.

Sigh.

And for that matter!

Myspace is creepy as fuck, blogs and livejournals are excessively narcissistic, and being emo (that is, depressed without actually any reason whatsoever to be so) is lame, boring, and a bad gimmick for attention.

From now on I will try to stay away from all three. Except for my blog, which is beautiful and heartbreaking, like a dark angel of dark darkness.

And, oh yeah, there's nothing like catching up with old friends to remind you that everything's not as bad as you pretend it is.

Excuse me while I ugh.

UGH. Uuuuuuguhhhhhhghghghghhhhuuuuugh. UGH UGH UGH. Ugh ughhhh ugh ugh ugh ew.

Alright, done.

Now, what on earth am I going to do with myself? Look at colleges, listen to music, continue working until hell freezes over, because this house is just not getting painted. It keeps going on and on, and now we need to paint something like eight doors a disgusting bright blood red, and they need two coats.

In the meantime, I have two weeks until school starts. I'm actually sort of looking forward to that, because my schedule looks mighty fine indeed. And school means something approaching a social life with all those people I started making friends with last year, which could be neat.

I went on vacation for the past week. From Thursday to Sunday I stayed in a rented house with my family at Lake Gaston, on the Virginia/North Carolina border. It was sort of dull, actually. I didn't do much but slouch around and play video games, except for the few minutes when I sat on the dock at sunset trying to look as picturesque as possible. And, of course, the setting sun did glaze across the lake and turn it red and pink and blue and orange, which was pretty. But other than that, nothing.

After that, my mom and I went up north for some college visits. We first travelled to Swarthmore, just outside of Pennsylvania, and got hopelessly lost trying to find our bed and breakfast. The terrain is very different, sort of craggy, the foothills of Kentucky and West Virginia, I guess. Not that my geology/geography is worth anything, but still. All the roads were small and twisted, and dark, and very old. We got turned around eighteen times, headlights helplessly moving over the stone walls, but with detailed directions from the owner of our destination, managed it.

The Bed and Breakfast itself was interesting, built in the early 1900s and renovated to seem British and sophisticated. Paintings and old photos on the walls, low antique tables and sofas, very fine bedspreads that we were not to place our baggage on, because the spread might get soiled. And the owner himself: in his 60s, tall and thin, white hair, not exactly frail but a little ephemeral nonetheless. He reminded me of Mr Rogers, his style of speech and formal movements. When we found him, he had been in front of the television watching a "British mystery" on PBS, eating cut up banana and other fruit, and I assume that he was gay.

I dreamt strange things over those nights. I had many strange dreams over the vacation. I dreamt I visitted a man I don't even know, and only noticed that I did because I read about it on my blog after the fact. I dreamt that a classmate of mine came back and spoke to me through his guarded dance, that he would like to see me sometime. All the ways of hearing this danced through my head, a jagged confusing rush - friends? A date, is that even possible? What does he know of me and what does he want? There was nothing I could see through his impenetrable brown eyes and carefully chosen words. I found a picture of him in my wallet, but instead of chestnut as his hair truly is, the picture showed it to be blonde, gold and shining, and his eyes beautiful blue. His picture was a different person.

I dreamt about school. I dreamt that I couldn't get my schedule right, that I moved from class to class, teacher after teacher without success. I found Band, with old Dr Brown at the front, and the hulking principal somewhere in the hallways. Later, somewhere else, an airport perhaps, in front of the foodcourt, I met one of my middle school nemeses, but didn't recognize him at first. "Schneider," I asked, thinking of someone else, but then saw who he was. He turned to me, recognition not lighting his eyes. "Schneider? Yeah, I remember him. Hah, poor sap, got cancer. Probably dead by now." He laughed, and knew that I was gay. I asked him how he knew. "I got eyes, don't I?" He didn't even know that most people assumed I was straight on sight, didn't realize.

Swarthmore was small, very small, and built of grey stone. The sky pressed overhead like a woolen blanket.

We drove to Washington, DC later that day, through the mist. We got lost, of course. Driving through Washington is impossibly difficult. The main roads cut through at strange angles, and the gridded roads are each one way only. When we found the hotel and unloaded, we crashed (I on the couch, my mother on the bed), slept for an hour or so. Dinner at a Chinese restaurant, intents to walk the monuments crushed by the pouring rain. Instead we sat in the hotel lobby by the window, watching the storm and the groups coming out of the elevators and stopping short at the door, shaking their heads at the thunderous tumult outside. There was a group from England in their 20s, led by an American girl. A man sat on the couch behind us talking loudly on his phone about the battle of Gettysburg.

In the morning we did walk the monuments, in the drizzle. Walked to the White House, the World War II Memorial, the Lincoln Memorial. Fountains, of course, spouts of white water and engraved walls. A duck sat at the mouth of one fall, the water rushing about its legs. It looked very content indeed.

George Washington University was large, and well marketed. The group of visitors numbered well over a hundred, and we were split up into eight smaller groups. It was still raining outside during the tour, but we were used to it by then. There isn't much to say about it - it looks interesting, I'm a little taken with it.

But of course, that doesn't really compare to how I like to think I feel about William and Mary. We drove there that evening with little problem, crashed on the hotel beds across from the college, much like the day before. When my mother was in the bathroom, I went to the window and caught just a glimpse of the brick wall that was the campus boundary and was suddenly seized by such a feeling that I couldn't really believe it. I felt grossly as if I were home, that I had come back finally to the place I belonged. I sat down, of course, trying to figure out why that was true.

I had been there three or four years ago with my brother, and loved it then. I'd always said that I'd liked the college since then, cultivated within myself the fact (true or not, hard to tell) that I wanted to go there. Maybe the return, and that view of the low wall, dark red and mossy in places, wet with summer, reminded me, brought the dizzying - but familiar, oh so familiar - feeling that I was somewhere I was meant to be. Similar, I think now, to the feeling I always get after attending one of those GSA meetings, assuming you strip away the awkwardness of trying to meet new people.

It was comfortable, and the views of the tall green willows and blooming pink trees didn't help.

Probably I'm just forcing myself to feel something, and who knows. The tour and information wasn't spectacular or anything. I mean, I like the place. It looks neat. I might possible be able to picture myself living there.

Oh but who knows. It's late, and I have work tomorrow. The painting of shutters. And doors.