New Nightlight.

Jiving to the raw beats of Aesop once again.

I'm almost sentimental about the breath I'm breathing. I just got the email: confirmed. thank god.

I will never be less than this raw energetic and cerebral man.

Today I sat back for 3 hours as the people around me talked about things. The man across from me was a taoist and next to me was the fundamentalist. I told him what I know. Speaking felt good. Silence was great.

There are reasons why idealists and intellectuals congregate. Connecting is beautiful and complicated. It takes a submission of your usual guards and tropes. You're used to defending yourself or flexing what you know...at least if you're a "good" student ready to smash the world. However, it's hard for a lot of people to barrel down that impulse to express your passion and really ask what people are feeling and thinking. I've come a long way.

I learned football.

Things that I had no desire to acknowledge have come to a head here. In the grind there's hopelessness. Distractions rule. Over weeks I found myself not talking about anything but the sorry browns and the entertaining Tim Tebow and his QB runs. A real throwback.

I don't think of this as "connecting with common people" as I thought that it would be when I first carved out this time in my life. It's life. I am a human and this happened to me. Just like everyone else I walk in and punch the clock. Right now I'm living the struggle.

Just like everyone else I find myself clinging to dreams. Just like all the other temps I think it's just a phase. Time showed me that it is permanent. Gradually I slid into the moment of nothing and then I'd come back and think of the past.

Tonight I really realized that there is no "me and them" it's "us." I don't need a lot of words to show this. I hate the buzzer, love the breaks, enjoy the occasional free lunches, and fear the supervisor when I'm behind my quota. It's life. Fighting for food.

This fusion of perspective makes a dream that much more beautiful. I don't really know if what's going on right now is temporary. I will be dumbfounded if I get to Spain with my sax, books, and students.

Where did you come from?

Today a young fundamentalist folding papers next to me looked at me, smiling, and said "this is your life?" After a brief discussion about seizing the moment this came unexpected. I found myself defiant and defensive. "No, I'm just here for a bit. Passing through."

Right now I'm listening to Heartbeats.

The consulate called today. It was after a day that scooped the bottom of my patience and carved deep into my mind the feelings of having a meaningless grind for work.

Mystical tones and upbeat, whimsical lyrics grip me and haul me back to a not-so-long ago moment where it was different.

My boss is confident when I'm in the kitchen. He sat outside while I trayed and ran most of the food. I wiped down the plates diligently. Gray eyed. I served food and seized sides demanding "is this with the walleye? Are the seabass coming? Where's my side of fries?"

At the factory they've been mentioning my name for hire-in and saying "you're basically a part of the furniture now." It was one thing in my life to say "this is how you do it!" but now I realize what it feels like to live in it. You are commodified by everyone. How many years do you have? What are you capable of physically? What does your mentality allow you to endure? Alright, now put this in a box, run that food, and know your place.

People fight over scraps. A small conversation is permissible...barely. Temps are flowing in and out of the place to the displeasure of the frequently overweight female supervisors. Their jowls jiggle as they reprimand you for not going fast enough. You know that the real problem is that they make $9 per hour and have no hope. The kid, younger than you, across from you keeps hitting on a grandma just to pass the time.

Your fingers are black from folding an advertisement for 6 hours. Your feet hurt from standing. Thoughts and theories get duller as your sole stimulus is the dull drone of tow motors filing up and down large warehouse aisles.

Everyone is asking why you're here. They want to know your mistakes. The supervisor on the second floor is a middle aged black woman with short hair. She likes your tenacity but wonders if you're OK with being totally expendable to the company.

The professor is coming tomorrow to check on me at lunch.

I can't help but see this part of my life as already past. There are great moments with my sisters and the contrast is stark.

The Indian student gave me a little bit of entertainment as I taught her chemistry for a little while. She's too bright eyed and spoiled to be a companion though. No, you have to do your own work...I can't do it for you.

The call came today from the Spanish consulate. No message. I am nervous about it in a way. It's like I've gotten comfortable being a grunt without responsibility or hope. I will call tomorrow.

Capturing the Moment

Today we boxed fireplaces. 165 light oak, 5 cherry, 10 dark oak, 8 black. Chris and Mike did insert units and Pam boxed. Keith didn't pull me for orders, which was good. I got a lot done compared to most days.

Keith and Jeff almost never do work until Laura comes back. It still blows my mind that she manages so badly. Most of the time I meet quota until she pulls one of my guys to do something else. It's OK though. I write it off as a bad job. It's just temporary.

I've been saying that for two months.

What I hate is being yelled at or shot down for doing my job at a reasonable rate.

The restaurant was dead. Unfortunately Jen and Kayla were working too. I ran a lot of food but only had to bus half the tables.

I think I lost my chem student. She brought me a lab to do but had no data. I explained the lab to her for a half hour and charged her for a half hour. It's typical for students to want a direct answer when it's impossible.

I keep getting emails from medical schools asking for a doctor's recommendation. That's what everything is hinging upon at the moment. One piece of paper from a physician saying that I'm a good person. Such foul flaming hoops to jump through.

Recently I have been dancing. The foxtrot is the most fun so far. I don't like samba; it's too quirky.

Dance and personality go hand in hand. For me...the perfect dance is fast, calculated, sexy, and driven. I would be in control of her but not myself. I think that's Jazz... Poise is appealing too.

Sharon likes samba.

Sharon's a great girl. Again, there's a difference in age but we're taking things one day at a time. Anything quicker than that seems to be too much.

In addition to working extensively I am also volunteering and helping out with things around the house. Sunday football and reading. I'm studying biochemistry and biofuels. Along with this I'm doing some psychology reading about male/female communication in long term relationships.

Right now I'm frustrated with the stagnation. I'm seeing a girl who has been here for 15 years and is panicking about everything not going anywhere. She has no respect, no input, and no identity here.

I don't want that.

At the same time I see this as a time in my life that I should take in. There are too many people at the restaurant with perfect cookie-cutter lives who have never worked like this. I see my generation equivalent of the super-rich kids having kids and wonder if I'm getting something out of it.

Every day is a struggle of perspective. I no longer think I'm "stuck here" but I think "I am being here." I will breathe in Madrid in the coming month. I will see when I get to medical school. Breathing and seeing are unimportant. The translation of what comes out...is important.

What I do with this is impossible to say.

It is odd to watch right now. Everybody but me has their teeth sunk in to graduate school, jobs, relationships, plans. People ask, in a careless manner, "what are you doing?" I can't answer them quickly. Right now I'm a factory worker. That's all that's important...I guess.

Today was another day in the factory and bussing tables. Waiting is hard. The memories I have will hopefully be different than the moment.

Right now I feel so desperately impoverished from my surroundings that it's tough to give up hope. I feel like there's a weight in this wait that is a little too much for me to lift by myself.

The rumor now is that people are underemployed for their qualifications. That is a gross exaggeration of my situation. I'm still waiting for the peeps in Madrid to say that everything is OK for me to come...but still...tomorrow I'm going to Chicago to stone-faced tell them that I am going to Spain.

My plans are forked. I have $2,000 saved and can scrimp together $500 more in a week if I must.

A plane ticket to Madrid is $1300 and I have a month before pay if I get the job. If I don't....I'll be there for a week and then be unable to afford a ticket home.

In retrospect...those nights with Amanda weren't worth it. All that time that I spent up thinking about her call or coming hurt me. I was in Ochem at that time and not understanding anything. I have no one but myself to blame for this.

The blame game is where your mind goes when you feel powerless. I can blame so many things on my failure at this moment.

My parents for having me as a pet and neglecting me as a kid while horrible things happened from my brother and other members of my family.

This is negated by the fact that I have so many factors contributing to my success. None the smallest...my benefit from these challenges.

That neglect as a child allowed me to grow an unflinching attitude to immediate adversity. Whenever someone says something to me that hurts, whenever I'm put in a situation where I have to do more than what I should be doing, and whenever some place says they don't need me...I tell them to fuck off. I can handle it. I have had the most frustration any living being could face and felt all emotions in the face of something larger telling me all these things.

I remember one time my brother, bigger and much stronger, told me he would let me play a game if I did his chores. From this...I feverishly vacuumed the living room, washed the dishes, and moved plants. After all my hard work I was denied a reward.

Small incident.

But when this happens to you all the time you start to think of the logic behind it.

What did I do? What did they do so far? What do we get from doing these things?

Now whenever something happens I try, through mindful tact and some physical exertion, to outdo someone else. No one knows how hard that hit me. People just marvel at the results. Anything thrown at me will be met by sharp reason and my creative ability.

The frustrating thing is that i'm here and it's not the place for competition. The only challenge I have is teaching this high school girl chemistry. I do it well.

I feel suffocated here.

This is where the zen should come in. Any situation I'm in should be a reflection. It is an opportunity to better myself. This totally is. I am..

Scraping off fat is a disgusting affair. It's a bright yellow color. The woman this morning had a layer about an inch thick covering her breastbone. Her plump and featureless form lay pale under a surgical lamp. She was the subject of attention and marvel of several surgeons, assistants, and...recently...myself. "So round" seemed to be the sentiment of everyone in the room. I stood, as a ghost, in the corner and observed.

Waiting is hard. I talked to a DO that I shadowed today. I'm going to try to get in again next week. The artisanship and care is beautiful.

halloween

A little tired from a long night of hanging out with good friends in Kent. My car got stuck in the yard this morning and it took 8 people to get it out. The yard was torn up afterward.

Tonight I'm watching the walking dead with Corina and Travis. Melissa might be coming over to hang out. I'm hungry and tired.

Right now I am at peace. There's no music really for this moment.

Working this week and maybe next before I leave Heat Surge. If I get shadowing opportunities before then I'll be out this week. I'm biting my nails about medical school. I know when I get in I'll tear it up. The outside world kinda bores me. I need new information.

I have raccoon makeup on and my busser outfit. Showering.

tunnels and sunlight

It's a beautiful Saturday morning. A wearied governor lays in his bed and is startled awake by a white German Shepherd. The crick in his neck is from carrying furnaces on his head. The dryness in his mouth is from the beer he drank by himself watching a horror movie, too tired to go out. Sore chest, tight shoulders, and an aching back remind him that a fourteen hour day has its price.

The travel of August seems like forever ago. Right now I'm living the theory of contrast. I need to keep my head to the ground to really be able to look up at the sky. Bryan Adams and I smoke cigarettes on break and reminisce about our lives and bask in the irony of the situation. He is a special forces veteran trying to get a foothold in his place in the states.

There's also Charles. He's a playboy with dark skin and gold teeth. The first day he and John, our preacher, argued the finer points of scripture. Bryan talked about the illuminati while I just did my job and screwed the face plates and top units before Charles stuffed the plastic on them and boxed them.

The grist... It's a beautiful life to think about but living it is hard. $8.50 an hour for 40 hours a week. Heavy labor and light assembly is my job category. Then I work 15 hours as a busboy for $7.40. Overall, I save $350 a week to the bank. There's a split advantage to bussing. I make a decent amount of tips...like $25 for a 5 hour shift on average. That money goes to gas, food, confections to get me through the day, and gifts for others. My bank account rests at $1,000 and I have $400 coming in from this week and $350 coming from next week. On top of this I do odd jobs for my sister at the vineyard. $9.00 per hour. I have 33 hours unpaid I think. That's going in the bank.

The most refreshing work, beside the vineyard where I've met a nice woman to spend time with, has to be tutoring. Right now I tutor a bright eyed South Asian who speaks fluent English and has a good intuition about chemistry. That pays $18.75 per hour through a website but I will soon be making $20 cash. Not sure what to do with that $20...maybe I should start a fund for martial arts or dancing. Those get shoved aside because I'm so tired after work that I just want to sit. Reading has declined, sax is almost stopped, and I never go out. Contrast.

It's strange to see my life up here on a screen as a commodity. Is my life really worth $8.50 per hour or $20 per hour? I hate that. I love tutoring because it is an act of mutual respect, care, and artisanship. Her education is my goal and it's something I care about because she supports me.

My parents are out of town. It's great to have the house to myself. I'm listening to eminem, undisturbed drinking an extra strong bustelo coffee. Scout misses them.

I see this, in a crude metaphor, as a tunnel through which I'm running. My own pace dictates how quickly I progress but the world alone can tell me when I'm out. Summer was like this. An extremely fun 30 days filled with education, drama, frustration, elation, and intrigue. Before that I was working in the blistering sun planting and bussing tables. Studying the MCAT and writing to a lover who was slipping away. I lost my phone and convinced myself that there was no one worth talking to because I would get distracted. Now I have a phone and no one to call.

There is light though. This Tuesday I'm interviewing to volunteer at Mercy again. I'm going to Dr. Schiowitz to get a recommendation and some more shadowing experience. Today I'm mailing that background check to get authenticated in another D.C. office. However, I have my chips down in South America January 17th if Spain doesn't work out. No matter what, I have 3 months left in the tunnel at most. At least I have a month.

Right now I'm listening to techno and thinking about my lack of creative outlets.

That's a lie.

I've always discounted this voyage of discovery that I embody in these texts. Joyce compared the act of creation to that of urine excretion...the metaphor is crass but has some truth to it. You've ingested something and it emerges from you. However, the intimacy that this liquid has in your body is expunged when it leaves you. It is warm at first...then it is a putrid substance conducive to rancid bacterial growth and capable of harm to those around.

My experience is intimate to me. I pay for it with my hours and years and then create this to satiate my need to excrete something. Then I abandon it. Maybe the work will take on a life of its own and affect others in a different way. Not make them sick...hopefully.

This metaphor also speaks to my struggle with time. What is to say that the "me" of today is the same "me" of tomorrow? On a molecular level...I'm not me. My genes don't change (excluding those pesky occasional somatic mutations) but with each meal I'm switching the carbons in and out of my biochemical pathways. With each urination I get rid of the nitrogen and so forth.

This is where I think a little more abstract: this applies to thought too. Each experience switches out a preconception or idea that we've had. The response I would have to female rejection right now is drastically different to that of five years ago. I would lash out and deconstruct her problems in front of her and attempt to make her feel angry and foolish for her actions. Now, I nod and smile. Maybe tell a joke. My personality now is one of understanding, waiting, and forgiveness. I have moments where I just want to showcase what I'm doing to people I care about or want to impress...but I find that listening is the way to learn. I've heard my story told enough times...and I don't like hearing myself talk.

So yes. I have only an abstract and theoretical connection to the young man who was suspended from school for behaving like a fool that night. His lesson is always in my head though. I am only me in the moment. This makes me tend toward the behaviorist theories about identity, which kind of excludes it. Stimulus-->Response. Right?

This bustelo is butt kicking coffee. It takes forever to brew because it's so finely ground. I might just be an idiot and be drinking espresso through a coffee machine...whatever though. It's good.

The leaves outside are changing. It's dry and cold in this house. The plastic heads showing off their jewelry sit gawking at me. My family is strange. I love them though. This time at home is making me more and more at peace with the nature of my upbringing and the course of my future...whatever that means.

My family sure has its flaws. Who doesn't though.

Alright. I've excreted enough for one day. It's time to start doing my application for Midwestern.