While we're racing to be so bold...

illegal activity

7/11/01 12:30 am

Been working like a dog. Blah blah blah bullshit.
The thing here is that we never change. Sure dye your hair, lose wieght, blah blah. But inside, doc, we never change.
At least me. And who else do I know. Who else do I know?

What happened? (Yeah, baby. what happened?)
The same fucking thing, that's what! Social skills of a truck.
It starts with The Wrong Woman. And continues through infatuation, obsession and into rejection. Fucking story of my life.
Win 'em over. Lose 'em under.
This one, though, nipped in the bud. But not soon enough.
At the moment, I'm in the deep freeze. I had a fucking moron moment. Went out to dinner, came back and just froze. Mulling over all of the things I wanted to say and knowing all of the things I shouldn't say or do. Just stuck there. Big head wavering at the door. The likes and dislikes had been clearly laid down. I was in the dislikes column as any kind of relationship. But not as a friend. As a friend, it was clicking. But... But... I mistook kindness for affection and affection for love or the potential thereof.
Looking at the situation from the way outside, though, you might well ask, what the fuck was I doing anyway? This woman is two fucking decades younger than me. But bright (4.0 grade point average.) reads. Reads? Runs her own business. Someone with whom you can have a conversation. I enjoy talking to this woman. We both like forgery, for christ's sake. And she is fucking sexy as hell.
And I fucked it up. Dropped her off after dinner, knew she had just had a bad one with a guy a little older than me. (Now, there's some goddamned dust!) Knew she had several friendships end badly because the "man" had wanted more. And there I was. Another fucking cliché. End of the dinner, all of those thoughts running through my head on an endless loop. And... I withheld, withdrew, shrivelled up and fucking died. The phone was turned off. No response to e-mail or phone calls.
This could all be resolved with a phone call. But I doubt it.
And, oh yeah - "It's her problem, not mine?" Bullshevik.
It's mine.
I can't go on with this shit. I haven't been in a situation where I needed (or felt like) apologizing in a long time. Interesting, but I hate it.

Even went to the punching bag tonight.

I recently wrote my brother an email that made him worry. He called and was relieved to find out that I was only normally fucked up.

Meanwhile, back in the states...

Oh, there are good things, too, i suppose. This friday I'm introducing several of my students to the head of the visual arts department and the head of the graphic design department at UCLA Extension. I just want them to know that people do give a shit about them, that they aren't just operating in a void, and that their personality is a welcome part of their design! I do what little I can.

some polagraph stuff


This dude plays guitar, raises two kids, used to be a banker. And is one of the coolest people I know. And he drove in from Minnesota for my dad's service. And he turned me on to the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band.

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