Lofty Ideas Destined to Fail

As a young man, I must necessarily make the many follies of youth. I have only so much time to make those mistakes before I’m old enough to know better. Furthermore, I have to share my talents with the world before I realize I don’t have any. So, what are those talents and how can I use them to make mistakes?

I have spent a lot of time thinking about the things I’m good at, and eating tops the list. I can eat more food more quickly than just about anyone I know. There are two ways I could use that skill: eating competitively or becoming the fattest man in the world. On the one hand, I don’t like hot dogs that much and the Japanese have cornered the market anyway. I might be able to set records for speed eating or consuming something I do enjoy, like raw cookie dough or salami sandwiches. On the other hand, I can’t afford to become the fattest man in the world, despite being perfectly capable. Logistically, I suppose my reach exceeds my grasp.

When I was 8, I started learning to play the piano. I have essentially been playing for 15 years. In that time, I think I have learned about 9 songs. Despite my ability to read music, I don’t have a thorough grasp of musical theory and I am at a loss when it comes to understanding or composing melodies. Many pianists play by ear; I play by eye. I have discovered a lot of what one can discover by constant playing, but none of the abilities to show off or be creative. I fear I will never be the next Liberace.

So what about mathematics? When I first went to the University of Nebraska, I intended to eventually complete a PhD in math. I wanted to do research and teach or something. Once I had a bit of experience with both, the reality sunk in: it’s not my thing. I don’t have a passion for math in the same way that most math professors do. I can do a lot of work in math and computer science, but if I don’t have the passion, I definitely won’t be able to finish a doctorate.

In summary, those things are all side projects. I’ve spent a lot of time on them but I can’t say with certainty that my future lies with any of them. I’ll continue doing all of those things, eating, piano, math, etc, but I don’t know where it will go. Hopefully a place where I’m able to keep going

But the thing I really want to do, barring ability and opportunity, is writing. I love writing, but I hate that I want to be a writer. I hate it because it’s common and stereotypical. Wanting to be a writer has nothing to do with talent, understanding the writing process, or even being able to communicate ideas. I think it’s an ego trip for people who have a little bit of knowledge and want to exploit it, for whatever reasons they might have.

I’ve written a few things. You’re reading one right now. I liked writing them and I liked reading them, but unfortunately I’m a little bit biased. I have to think about 2 things: why I want to write and how to do it. Ultimately, I write things that I want people to read. If people read my dumb blog posts or whatever, I’m a happy guy. I like to know that I can do something that other people appreciate and say things that make them feel or think. I want to get something out of my head and into theirs. No, not like spit. Gross.

My real problem with depression is that I never have the energy or concentration to do any of the above. I wish I could sit and write and get all of these things out of my head, or eat enough to get really fat. I have these dreams. I want to write a stupid cartoon series. Maybe I could be the next Liberace. I just have to have to get started.

A Brief Story About No One

A Brief Story About No One or: A Practical Guide to Moving On

Once, several years ago, I had a friend. She had a friend, too. In fact, she had several. She dated one, for a while. I think they got along. I don’t really know, because I didn’t know him. I met him, but I didn’t know him. No one did.

In my entire tenure of being around this person, he has probably spoken fewer than four dozen words in my presence. I always assumed he was just reserved, but there was more to it than that. He was removed. He didn’t interact. He wasn’t there. In short, he did not exist.

He stayed at my home once, with his girlfriend. I knew her at the time. I even liked her. As for her boyfriend, he was there. After the weekend they visited, my mother reflected on the experience. “It was like meeting nobody,” she said.

He had one positive attribute, though: he had read and enjoyed House of Leaves, my favorite book. I am always eager to discuss that book and similar works when I get the chance. He said he liked it, so I made a decision. I lent him another book by the same author, The Fifty Year Sword.

The Fifty Year Sword is a limited-edition book by Mark Z. Danielewski. It was released in the Netherlands in 2006. 1000 English and 1000 Dutch copies were printed, first editions. The English copies sold quickly because of the popularity of Danielewski’s first book. 1000 additional copies were printed. Those second editions were much easier to find and purchase (on the Internet). I found a Netherlands-based site that sold books in English. They had The Fifty Year Sword, so I bought it. It cost €39.90, which came to about $60 after shipping.

When it arrived after several weeks later, it was a bit warped. Other than that, the book was fine. I read through it and found that it was a fantastic short story presented in a bizarre and interesting fashion. Despite the expense, I was convinced then (and now) that it was a worthwhile purchase.

After my suicide attempt in 2009, I had to leave Lincoln in a hurry, but he still had the book. I had several higher priorities at the time, so I kept forgetting to get in touch and ask for it back. Every attempt at contacting him since then has failed, and there have been several. Each time I get in touch with him, he responds once, halfheartedly, and never again. I have been unable to arrange even the simplest conversation, even to get the book returned in the mail at my expense.

After a couple of years, I finally decided to replace the book, from yet another Dutch website, for the same price as before. The exchange rate had improved, so it only came to $50 that time. I still have that copy of the book, but I will never lend it out.

So if the book was so expensive and important, why did I lend it out? Because I wanted him to read it. Because no one I know has ever read it. Unfortunately, that’s still true. He never read the book. No one has.

Recently, another friend who has read House of Leaves expressed interested in reading this rare book. I wanted to lend out my copy, but I won’t do it again at that price, even though I trust this person. I have been forced to learn my lesson.

Of course, I could buy another one. I could get it on a Dutch website for €42. I could get it on an American website for $275. I could get a signed copy on ebay for $500.

The problem is, I don’t really want the fucking book back. I want it to be read. I want to know that somewhere, it’s being read by real people. Not under a stack of nerdy books and shitty manga in no one’s apartment.

Looking back on this experience, I’m forced to acknowledge my own stupidity. Why lend out a significant book to someone you don’t know? He might not even read it.

But I can always be consoled by the fact that I didn’t really lend it out to anyone. Just no one.

A Candid Letter to a Nameless Individual

Mark and I were talking today about unshakable faith in the context of religious doubt and baseless arguments. Naturally, you were the first person who came to mind. I thought briefly about the past and came to a few conclusions.

I met you through your former boyfriend. I was never a huge fan of his, but we were casual acquaintances. Between your stories about the relationship and his frenzied, uncontrolled approach to sparring in Taekwondo, it was clear that he was a lot more fucked up than he appeared to be. Yet you decided that the relationship was more important than your religion. Thereafter, you had to decide between the two each month. I suggested you flip a coin and commit, but you didn’t.

I was there. I talked with you. I supported you as much as I could. I got sick of hearing about it. In fact, I intended to write a poem about your recurrent emotional breakdowns (break-ups?). Honestly, I couldn’t get past the first and last lines: “How many times has it ended this way? … and finding the world’s not the bright place you think it is.” My patience for poetry lasted about as long as my patience for your perennial discontent. Each time, it seemed your conclusion was the same: get closer to Jesus.

I have to be honest, though. You were a friend then and you would still be a friend now. The reason you aren’t has something to do with you. I’m sure of it. Apparently I wasn’t grateful enough for your efforts to help me after my suicide attempt. It seems that on those days, it was difficult to be my friend. I can’t imagine what that is like.

It turns out, friendship is not so simple. Some days, it’s downright difficult to be friends with someone. Never mind that it’s easy on other days, those aren’t the problem. Anyway, the word for people like you is “sunny day friends.” See, those beatiful, sunny days where I was around were easy, but it turns out that a suicide attempt is a fairly long storm. As I predicted, the world’s not the bright place you think it is. Or thought it was. I even understand you might have finally flipped a coin and come up tails. Or heads, whichever is the opposite of Christian.

So we don’t talk. We don’t chat online. You don’t interact with me. What’s the point of this letter? I just wanted to say it, because I’ve been thinking about it. After all, I really doubt you’ve read this. If you did, congratulations. Now go and cry about it.

Love from Leavenworth,
-Steven Motherfucking Davis.

Prepare for Excitement

I have a bunch of books I should start reading. I also have many movies in a pile, but I’ve seen most of them, so I am not as eager to work through that stack.

I finally finished the Keys to the Kingdom, a book series I started in high school at some point (junior or senior year, I believe). It had a pretty solid ending, and I’m glad I read it. Reading kids’ fantasy made me want to go through Harry Potter again to relieve memories from a simpler time, so that’s on the list. I also have some mainstream novels, some esoteric stuff, a few graphic novels, and some essays and stuff.

I’m still doing the online classes, and they still suck. Nothing makes me question the education system more than attending a community college (and working there as well. Yeah, I got a job as a student helper, so I do pretty much whatever no one else wants to do and read the rest of the time. 15 hours a week at relatively little pay. While I’m mentioning work, I’m also tutoring math (elementary algebra) for two students. I hate it. Never be a tutor.).

With online classes, the bar is extremely low and people still fail to meet those meager expectations. It amazes me. In my general biology class online, people are supposed to make a (weekly!) original post about the current topic that only has to be 5 sentences. I’m no expert, but I think that’s probably between 50 and 100 words a WEEK. Yet people still don’t write that much. They post 1-sentence responses to other people’s posts that contain amazing typos (I didn’t know there were that many ways of trying to spell some of those words.). I can’t believe this counts as a college-level class.

I’ve managed to go to the gym 3 times a week so far this year, which is pretty good. I’m noticing a bit of progress, but it’s still a huge pain in the ass as far as I’m concerned.

I’m doing paperwork and shit for all of my various pursuits. I had to fill out more forms to be a merit badge counselor, and I had to accept a scholarship for Park University (75%, a pretty impressive bargain. I’ll only be taking like 24 hours next year for a math B.A. Then, who knows.).

I finally found a piano teacher and I’ve taken 3 lessons. I have mixed feelings about it. I like playing the piano, but I hate all of the nitpicky shit she wants me to work on. I hate using the pedal and I don’t pay much attention to dynamics until long after I can play the song.

I hope to visit Lincoln over spring break, and I should work on a campaign for D&D Day. I still don’t have anything in mind for that.

I was going to write a note about cowardice, but I couldn’t get it to work right (maybe I wasn’t courageous enough). Basically the punchline is that I don’t like to take risks and that’s not likely to change. The world is just too dangerous. Better to just relax.

Before I Forget

As many of you probably know already, I was fairly close to attempting suicide again earlier this month, so I checked myself into the hospital in Lincoln. I had made an agreement with my parents that if anything like that happened, I would return to Leavenworth, so I did. I spent another couple of weeks in a psychiatric hospital in Kansas City, and during that stay I began electroconvulsive therapy. I am continuing ECT on an outpatient basis for the next couple of weeks, and I hope to see continued improvement.

ECT is one of the strangest experiences I have ever undergone. For those not in the know, ECT is when a psychiatrist shocks your brain with electricitity until you have a seizure (under anasthesia, of course). It seriously fucks with your memory and confuses the hell out of you. Most of the memory loss is of recent events, and it takes the form of delayed recall. Also, old memories pop back up in your head at random. This has no doubt made me a whole lot of fun to be around, giving my family the opportunity to answer some very strange questions like “what did I do all day yesterday?”

Anyway, it really does seem to have improved my mood, and I am trying to be more patient about achieving my goals. I think I’m going to go back to school in the spring semester, at the local community college. After that, I’m not sure where I want to go, but I’m thinking I’ll finish a degree in math and look at getting one in psychology, a subject that appealed to me long ago but for some reason I abandoned in high school. I need to stop sitting around doing nothing and start actually making an effort with life.

I have a lot more to say about recent events, but my addled brain can’t organize my thoughts properly, so I’ll wait and post again later.

An Update and Some Thoughts on Insanity

This past weekend I went to the great state of Wisconsin with Alan, Lindsay, and Cori. Despite the 10-hour trip each way, it was a good time. We managed to avoid a serious religious debate until about 1.5 hours out of Lincoln. Then it started in full.

Anyway, we slept 5 people in a “3-4 person” tent, and the closeness was pretty impressive. Think sardines. Lindsay got to visit her friend Paul, and the rest of us settled for waffles and pot roast. I also got some exercise running down a hill to the lakeshore and walking back up (ugh). I had some really good raspberry beer, although I was unable to buy some more to bring home. Maybe next time. I also had some Wisconsin cheddar cheese curds. I ate almost the whole bag by myself. I am fat.

Anyway, Paul and his friends were pretty cool, although they ate most of my Nutella. My tolerance for long car trips has increased. I avoided getting drunk and instead enjoyed the humorous exploits of others. I feel I have grown as an individual. Or something.

As for the job hunt, nothing has happened. I continue applying and all I have to show for it is the occasional automated rejection notice. I am on the alert for updates however. I also need to find a gym in the area and begin a for real exercise regimen. My other goal is to find a place where I can practice the piano on a daily basis. For that, some patience would be nice, because I still suck at the piano and have no tolerance for it. My only hope for improvement is ceaseless practice and something that I enjoy playing.

Money is starting to run short. I know I probably shouldn’t have gone on a trip this weekend, but it was worth the enjoyment. I’m good for another month, but after October I’m going to be sweating for cash. I hope I have some job prospects by the beginning of October or I won’t be able to build a bankroll for November. One opportunity that looks good is being a police dispatcher. I’m hoping to at least be asked to take the exam, because I will probably kick ass at it. No news on that front until Sept. 25, though.

I am having to miss out on movies in theaters, but I at least have digital cable to fall back on. New Top Chef and Dinner Impossible tomorrow! I love my food programs. Fatness ahoy. Anyway, there are few really exciting movies coming up. so I don’t mind a bit of a wait. I do miss Netflix, but even $15 a month can be prohibitive.

Tomorrow I’m planning on discussing religion with Alan. I enjoy a good argument/discussion, particularly when it comes to religion or politics, because they are just so damned fun. Besides, I have to evaluate my own beliefs once in a while.

I’ve been musing since my suicide attempt on what insanity means. I’ve been meaning to mention it somewhere but I keep forgetting. Anyway, here I go.

When you break it down to the simplest components, insanity is just a shift. It works like this: one day, something that seemed unreasonable for your whole life suddenly makes perfect sense. You wonder why you never thought of it before. Suicide is one such thing. It seems like a perfect solution to all your problems, even though most people would disagree. That’s another part of insanity: minority opinion. Anything you believe that falls below a certain percentage of the population is probably insane.

That’s about all I have figured out. I’m still trying to figure out what it all means, though.

Speaking of insanity, I met my the new psychiatrist I’m going to work with in Lincoln. The whole place was very big and not at all what I’m used to. My psychiatrist in KC worked alone and made his own appointments and everything. This place was a large, well-oiled machine. I much prefer the more personal approach, but then again I haven’t met my therapist yet. So I suppose we’ll see what happens.

I just hope the job hunt improves. That might be asking too much though, because my resume/background record pretty much sucks ass. Sigh.

Uncomfortable Truths and a Few Opinions

I have no idea what a mathematician does. I’ve spent 5+ semesters studying to be one, but any time I try to learn more about the work itself, I make no progress. Last summer I spent 10 weeks on a real mathematical research project, which consisted almost entirely of doing nothing and some minor programming. Any time I take a math class it’s all very straightforward, basic introductions to a field with no information about what good it is or what people do with it. There’s nothing like that in any math class. I don’t know why.

I am terrible at interviewing for jobs. However, I have to find a job soon or I will be forced to eat dirt. I’m trying to find clerical work or something like that, but I have no degree and few marketable skills. All of the good jobs require at least one of those two things. What’s more, my resume sucks and I have no references. All of my previous jobs are school-related. I had to put “health problems” as my reason for leaving my most recent job, which they say you shouldn’t do. I have no other option, as far as I can tell. Plus I have no self-esteem and I’m socially inept.

Talk therapy does not make your life suck less. It barely helps you deal with what’s going on, much less the entirety of your problems. It is like building a sand castle to protect you from a tidal wave of shitty events.

Psychiatric drugs are pretty much bullshit. I feel at this point that Ecstasy would do nothing to improve my mood. I’ve been sticking with a combination since July, but I now realize that it did nothing except squeeze a tiny breath into the lungs of my optimism, which has now been conclusively expelled.

Speaking of expelled, I am banned from the UNL campus. After they finally provided a list of requirements for my readmission, which I admit is a reasonable, they also added that until I fulfill them I am forbidden from entering any University of Nebraska property. I suppose that after they denied me readmission without due process, they probably feared that I know how to make high explosives in addition to poison (I do.). I can also do smoke bombs.

I never want to go back to school, but I will probably have to. I can’t imagine keeping my mind engaged without doing some kind of academic work. I also can’t imagine waiting a year to continue work on my degree, which will probably take several more credit hours of bullshit classes if I go to another university. My impatience is really kicking in now that I have no future.

In other news, my older dog seems to be dying. She has heart problems now and is taking aspirin every day, but given her current heartbeat, I think the end is in sight. She’s had a good run, though, and she definitely doesn’t do much anymore. I wonder if she’s in pain most of the time.

As for the rest of my life, it doesn’t seem so good right now. I’m going to end up doing 40 hours a week of shitty work, likely making sandwiches at the local Quizno’s. I can’t visit my friends on campus. I have no money for rent right now. As soon as I have money, I won’t be able to spend it on anything anyway. I can’t play the piano anymore. I’m getting out of shape again but I don’t really care. I can’t sleep. Nothing I ever do provides me with any happiness at all.

The only good news is that my Don Hertzfeldt DVD should arrive on Wednesday. Watch that get fucked up too.

Recent Quotes:

“Being a therapist is like having permission to ask any question.”

“…remember, you always have friends at UNL.”

“95 percent of life is just showing up.”

“Mr. Davis had obtained chemicals in sufficient quantities to produce more than 500 lethal inhalation doses (Merck Index) of HCN [hydrogen cyanide].”

“Your desire to return to UNL is laudable.”

Getting Fucked Big Time and Moving On

Yesterday evening I finally received notice from UNL about my re-enrollment. In short, their answer was that I had not showed enough progress to be readmitted. The decision was not based on any direct or recent evidence as I can tell, because they have refused several times to interview me or make contact with either my therapist or psychiatrist. All they have is the rudimentary information they requested (in full, as soon as they requested it) and the letters from the professionals I’m working with, which as far as I can tell is all they have used in this decision.

Based on the tenor and content of the letters I have received, I have come to the rather paranoid conclusion that UNL is absolutely refusing to consider my case. I now believe they will find any excuse to reject my request for readmission even if Christ Almighty tap dances a recommendation letter in Morse Code.

Can I blame them for being cautious? No, I can’t. They have the safety of thousands of undergraduates to think about and my record is far from clean. However, I can see no reason why I would not be given fair consideration except that they have already made their decision. That kind of bias is not representative of what I would consider the spirit of UNL, a school I am still proud to have been a part of.

I would be satisfied with the decision if I were sure it had been reached after a reasonable amount of serious deliberation based on evidence. However, because the process was unclear, ambiguous, and as far as I can tell, biased, I am pursuing legal counsel. I am going to make an effort to see if there is anything I can do about this situation while I still have a chance. I suspect that I’m out of luck, but who knows. If there is any possibility of me returning to UNL soon, I will try to do so. If not, I will never attempt to re-enroll at UNL again.

Because my experience at UNL has been largely positive, I would still be proud to graduate. Because of my more recent experience, I would not be ashamed if I failed to graduate at UNL or any other school.

From here, I plan on further discussing the situation with my lawyer to see if anything can be done. If not, I will look for jobs in Lincoln, because I would still much rather live there than anywhere else right now. Failing that, I will remain in Leavenworth with my family, although that is a distant third option.

I hope I can finish my degree. I hope I can find a job. I hope I can live with my brother and friends instead of still being stuck here. I hope I can move on. I hope. I hope. I hope.

Terrible Things

I am long overdue for something terrible to happen. It has been something like seven months since the last life-shatteringly horrible event took place, and I feel like one is coming up.

Possibilities:

1. I will not be readmitted to UNL. I have yet to hear back from the Dean of Students regarding my hearing an so forth. I have done as much as possible on my end so far, so I am mostly just waiting to hear back.

2. Something will go wrong with my cousin’s baby. Granted this doesn’t involve me much but it would just fit. I know my whole family is excited about this whole pregnancy thing, but it hasn’t gone well so far and who knows how it will work out.

3. Something will go wrong with my grandfather’s surgery. Tomorrow my grandpa goes in for minor surgery and I have no idea how that will turn out. Considering his age (nearly 89) and history of other health problems, any number of things could go wrong and probably will.

Somewhat less serious possibilities:

1. I won’t be able to do/finish my phlebotomy clinical on the Fort. This is more than possible given the immense bureaucracy I’m dealing with. Honestly, I think the President himself has to sign off on this before I’m allowed to start. It has already been 4 weeks since I started this process and I have no idea how close I am to finishing it.

2. I will not be able to find a job at UNL and I will have to eat cardboard and sand.

3. I will not be able to take certain classes at UNL (two that I want to take are already nearly full and I won’t be able to register for another couple of weeks). I’m hoping that my senior status and sad puppy dog eyes will make it possible for me to get overrides if necessary. Curse the general studies program and my need to take a class about gender. Also, Automata theory for being so damned popular.

4. I will rupture and die horribly somehow. My exceptional record of exceptional bad luck is enough to make me accept that something like this is in the works. I am waiting to see what body part is going to fail on me.

Apartments, Groceries, and Moving Trucks

Well, last weekend we finally started moving into our apartment, at Fountain Glen in Lincoln. It’s a pretty nice place, although we have a lovely leak in the ceiling we need repaired. The apartment is a 2-floor, 2-bedroom, 2-bath setup, and the living arrangements are far superior to the dorms at UNL. On the other hand, I will be short on money for food, and I don’t have a job just yet, so I’ll be scraping by (on like $40 a week) unless I find a decent paycheck.

Today my grandpa took me to the Commissary on the fort to buy groceries. We got a ton of stuff, all non-perishable, including spices and soup and shit. Fortunately, our pantry is big enough that we can stash a ton of food for the long term, so I’m ready on that front. I’m supposed to start mowing his lawn (at my dad’s request) so he doesn’t have to. I should do it, but I hate mowing lawns so much that I’m reluctant. I don’t care how broke I am, if I own a home, I’m paying a mexican lad to mow the lawn. Fuck that noise.

Tomorrow we start moving the furniture into the apartment. We will be loading a U-Haul in Liberty and Leavenworth starting pretty early, then chilling for whatever’s left of the day. On Saturday, we’re heading up to Lincoln yet again to unload the truck, which I’m not looking forward to. The combination of apartment stairs and heavy-ass furniture does not thrill me.

Shit, I should say something funny. Yesterday, I went to see Damon Wayans, Jr. at the comedy club at Legends. The main 2 acts were decent, but pretty raunchy in a non-funny way. The opening act was crappy. I could have ad-libbed something better. The best thing I could come up with at the time was a joke about how Dave & Busters would charge you for the bathroom. “Nobody wins in the bathroom,” I would say. Maybe I’m not so funny after all.

My biggest concern of late has been searching for what I’m going to do after next year. I have really no idea what interests me in math or CS, and the one class I want to take this fall (Automata Theory) is full, so I might have to miss out on that. I suppose I should work harder at “self-starting” so I could probably learn a shit ton of stuff all on my own. That seems like it would take time and effort, and I’m lazy.

Right now I’m watching the second Tomb Raider movie. It’s not as neat as the original, but I suppose it has some positives. The DVD cover amuses me because Angelina Jolie’s right boob is dead center. It’s a good example of how the movie was marketed. I bought this for $3 at a garage sale. It cost slightly less than my bitchin’ gaming chair, for which I exceed the weight limit by about 70 pounds and a couple of feet in height.

Speaking of being a fatass, I need to lose some weight. My goal this fall is to get in reasonable shape so that I can cosplay as Captain Hammer from Dr. Horrible (Alan would be Dr. Horrible and Cori would do Penny). Of course at this rate I probably won’t make it in time, especially given my ice cream consumption. I think I’m going to do the “power station” thing at the rec center. That seems like a good way to lose some fat.

In other news, Kingdom Hearts II is a steaming pile of shit. It’s sort of unfortunate because I looked forward to it for so long, but I can no longer look past its flaws. So I stopped playing it in favor of replaying Metroid Prime 3. I think I might just give up on the KH franchise now. I loved the first game both times I played it, so maybe that was enough. I suppose I can hang on to the original game for later in life. Then again, by that point all of my childish optimism will have shriveled like a funny, shriveled thing, so I might just sell the damned thing.

This afternoon, I got my March of Dimes volunteer box in the mail. I mail out like a dozen cards to people in the neighborhood asking for money. I also donate some. It’s a pretty easy way to help out, and although I should remember how much I made doing this in 2007, I do not. It was high, though.

I need to write a letter to the dean of students asking for re-admission to UNL. I’m not particularly looking forward to starting that process, but I have made some first steps. The sooner I take care of it, the sooner I can get back to Lincoln. I plan on moving back in August so I can take care of some of the judicial crap and find a new psychologist. I’m hoping CAPS will just assign me one. Plus, being in Lincoln will be more fun and social, which I will enjoy.

My July looks pretty dull, though. I will be starting the re-admission process and hopefully a phlebotomy clinical in Leavenworth. I’m on a pseudo-waiting list to intern at Cushing Hospital. I need to arrange shit with the guy in charge, who is naturally on vacation until next Wednesday. My therapist is also on vacation, so I will have to call her about communicating with Dr. Portnoy, the director of CAPS at the health center. That’s Counseling and Psychological Services to the uninitiated.

I pre-ordered the next Don Hertzfeldt DVD (“i am so proud of you”) and an art print for about $50, my one splurge of the summer. I highly recommend the film, but of course I’ll probably make you all watch it anyway, so get ready. I’m also reading through the entirety of Calvin & Hobbes, which has drastically cut into my non-cartoon reading time. I’m more than 2/3 of the way through, so when I finish, I’m going to step up the actual book reading. For real.

I guess that’s about all that’s going on. I’m honestly looking forward to some stuff, which is a good sign. I need to figure out my schedule for the fall, especially if one class is full (Maybe I can sympathy my way in. Also, I’m a senior.). My short-term goal is just to get a fucking degree and move on. I don’t know about grad school yet, but I’ve heard a year off is overrated and I don’t want a real job just yet. I mean, I don’t know what I’d be doing, and I doubt it would be very much fun. But who knows. Sigh.