All Your Choices Made You Change Your Mind

It's all piling up into such a pile... of, uh, feces.

I've had a bad past few days. I guess my days have been sort of lousy since the end of school, but I've held off the feelings I'm having tonight. Things just feel really fucked and down right now. I had to buckle and buy a bottle of wine (with my new Billy Joel cd--Glass Houses bought with my Borders gift card). Now, I'm just putting off the inevitable for a few more days.

There are many problems in my life.

1. I have to take six credit hours at COD in order to get my teaching certificate reinstated. I was very close to just saying, "fuck it" and going to Japan without a valid teaching certificate. It would have zero effect on Japan, but would make it real tough to get a job when I return. I let my certificate lapse (like a fucking dolt) while at Montini, and now have to pick up the pieces. Thus, two online courses (one five week/one eight week) are necessary.

So, I'm taking a basic writing class--this is actually the class I tested out of by getting a "four" on my AP exam in high school. It seemed like the easiest answer to the credit problem. The papers are open ended and require what seems like zero research. First paper--I got a fucking 78%! It made me feel really stupid. I guess I'm not the godhead I thought I was.

The essay was persuasive--an attempt to persuade the reader that families should eat dinner together. Apparently, my thoughts were scattered and lacked cohesion.

I had to drop my English lit class. Though it would have been quite interesting if I were able to give the necessary time to it, I just didn't have it in me. The books would have cost over 150 dollars. Two Norton Anthologies for an eight week class. These COD profs are really fucking hardcore. Both classes are certainly more challenging than anything I had at Miami.

So, I luckily (and with two heated phone arguments) got switched to Psych 101--another class I have already taken (and got a B in, if I remember correctly). This class is absolutely insane. The requirements are probably close to fifteen hours of study per week (at least), and my hyperactive mind is not very receptive to the lectures. I like psych (ha), but I can't get my head around all these dissections of... my head. It weirds me out. Fascinating, though, too. I haven't taken the first test (there are eight all together--I'm way behind), but I'm sure it will not be pretty. Just have to get a 65% and I'll be ok, though.

2. With every free moment, I obsess over this stupid fucking website, ithinkimlost.com. The people are real assholes over there--they're the people that are going to Japan or (more frequently) the ones already there. Everything is very sarcastic and snarky. I picture most of these people the kinds of people I fucking hated running into when I was travelling through Europe. People are so fucking self-righteous when they're in their early twenties. Just like that cunt Amelia. I really can't deal with it. I do much better with the downtrodden looking to escape through ignorance. That sounds awful, but it's possible to find a balance. The self-righteous generally have to "be in character" at all times, and that's just a real drag.

3. My study of Japanese (which I'm very enthusiastic about) is suffering from the time commitments I have and will soon have. Summer school starts tomorrow. Forty seven kids to ridicule me. Actually, I'm very positive about three of my four classes. My "step beyond" is going to be a bitch, though. I've got about 22 kids in it (about 10 in my other ones), and they're going to look to get my goat/cut my kite. I decided to be "hip" and "cool" tomorrow. Laid back. I have jokes on the board (not jokes per se, but funny rules), and I really hope to win the room over tomorrow. I've been in this situation before many a time. It's a crapshoot. Three weeks until I'm done with that place forever, though. Ze Light at ze end of ze tunnel, yah?

4. My predecessor hasn't responded to my e-mail. I want to know some shit, motherfucker!

5. Ok, this one has been on my mind a lot, but I haven't wanted to write about it. Here's a major reason that I'm upset. This could be rather drawn out.

Scranton. Plain Jane Scranton. I'm so incredibly upset/sad/angry at this situation, but completely stuck.

(Glass Houses goes on play for the second time.)

It's foolish for me to write or think about this much, but I have no one that I can tell about it. It just seems so ridiculous.

We've been hanging out as friends for the past month--maybe once a week.

The thing that bothers me is that she started seriously dating someone immediately after we broke up. Granted, I broke up with her, but it still seems weird.

And whenever we would get into a fight or a (god, I hate this term) a "break", she would hang out with him. "He's just a friend that I used to work with."

I had a bit of a breakdown around Christmas when that cunt Amelia was not being what I wanted her to be, and Scranton told me at Piece Pizza that she was seriously dating someone. I lied to her and told her that I was dating someone named Erin (the girl from my Smashing Pumpkins Ensemble that I briefly dated) because Amelia wasn't returning my phone calls. The feeling I had from it was that of getting kicked in the balls. Just like on the playground in second grade.

With all this psychology I'm studying, I'm trying to figure out why this bothers me. I broke up with her. But she's happy, and I'm miserable. Of course, there's the pillow hugging alone thing that happens to (what I'd gather) most single people. But it still doesn't make sense.

I guess the flaws in Scranton that used to bother me a bunch are endearing to me now.

We went out this weekend for a longer period of time than we'd spent since we broke up. She came to see me put the hurting on some Rod Stewart classics ("Every Picture Tells a Story" and "Maggie May"), then we went to Joy's Thai (my favorite restaurant). That was followed by a concert at Schuba's (The Fake Fictions and two other bands). I asked her along the way (as I'm wont to do) what her personalized license plate would read. She said she didn't know (as she was often wont to do). I asked her if she would like "pln jane", and she said emphatically, "no, I already have a button that says that in my car." This was the sort of answer that used to drive me fucking insane. I never completely got over Adriana who would discuss it with me (in hysterics) for hours. But Jane's terrible answer was somehow endearing. I can't really explain why, but I liked it. (I have a bad feeling my thought are scattered, as my writing instructor told me they were.)

The weird thing, though, is that she added something. She said, "tiddlewink" which bothered me. For one, it far exceeds the seven letter requirement, but for two, she attempted to do what I always wanted her to do while we were dating. I asked her if that was for me or for her, and she said, "me... or you." It was just so stupid. But this is what I gleaned from that answer.

She repaired herself after we broke up. I don't think I changed, but she did a 180 degree shift. When new guy came along, she figured out that she couldn't pull the shit she pulled with me, so now she has worked out a way to not create conflict.

Maybe all this is in my imagination.

At dinner, I reminded her at one point that we had grandiose plans to visit the Grand Canyon (hiking, etc) last summer. This is fairly hysterical to me--a trip of that nature would have ended in complete disaster for obvious reasons (to me at least). She quietly said that I shouldn't tell new guy this. I didn't press it.

Whenever I've seen her, she feels the need to tell me how great the fucking new guy is. "I'm so happy!" Now, this could be bullshit that she's pulling simply to make me feel bad, or it could be true. Generally, I'm cynical, but in this case... I think it's true! I think she is happier than she's ever been. I also think she's going to marry new guy and spend the rest of her life with him. I'm fucking happy for her! I swear! But something bothers me about all of this. And it got worse as we progressed through the night.

Scranton felt the need to tell me that she had her first fight with new guy. "Do you mind if I tell you about it?" Of course not. I was all ears.

She didn't go meet up with him after a bike race (the guy's a real fucking champ!), and he had a hootenanny with some of his friends and their girlfriends. Pecks on the cheek for the champ were dished out (on photograph!) and upon seeing them, she freaked out. Now, this is slightly reminiscent of something that happened between us semi-frequently. I admit, I'm a creep that leers at passerbys, but I'm not an all around bad guy. She thought so, though. And there were a few other irrational things, but I won't go into them. Anyway, I told her that she was wrong for being upset--she chose not to go to the celebration, so he should be allowed to have his fun (as much fun as a fucking peck on the cheek could be).

She's a jealous person. Jealous because of insecurity. The problem is, I get this too. It might sound like I'm ripping on her, but I'm sort of the same way. She's anti-social. I'm totally anti-social too. She can't get along with people at work. I'm the same way. She liked the Smashing Pumpkins in high school. Me too. She doesn't have any real friends. Me too--sort of. I get it. It's so easy for the champ; she wants him all for herself. Nothing wrong with that, but it's probably the kind of thing that will wreck a relationship.

So, after giving her my perspective on the matter, I asked her, "If this was your first fight with the champ, why did we get in so many fights?" (Unfortunately, I would have worded this differently, but I get a case-a-the awkwards when I'm around her lately.)

"Well, we're just more alike." The "we" being the champ and Scranton.

It's hard for her to grasp, but she's probably nothing like the champ. I bet he simply commands her, and she's a kitten that curls up in his lap. I have nothing to go on (I haven't met the champ, thank god), but I can see how this all plays out.

She then corrected herself and said, "We live close by."

I guess she got me there.

Things got worse, though. The champ was potentially going to meet us at the concert after he won another bike race or some shit. Right before we walked in she told me, "The champ doesn't know that we used to date."

Gah?

This is so wrong on so many levels. I'll start with the one that bothers me the least.

Irony. It's clearly ironic that their one fight was over jealousy (that he got a peck on the cheek from a friend's girlfriend) while she's out gallivanting with her ex.

Also, she said we used to "date". I'm not big on labels, but we did more than date. We were together for nine months (a month longer than she's been with the champ), and spent almost every night together.

But this is the real motherfucker. This is the thing that really got my goat/cut my kite. Ach! I really don't want to do this, but I have to get it off my chest.

She said that they started dating after the champ found out that we broke up. "He put the moves on" as she put it. But how could he have known we broke up if he never knew we dated? The frustrating part is that I had had enough wine to make me press this issue, but we arrived at Schubas (and the band had started) before the conversation was rolling.

The semi-legendary (in my mind) My Bloody Valentine concert plays a role in this shit. I lost my hearing at this show after becoming too intoxicated and getting an earplug stuck in my ear.

(Glass Houses #3. Ach, I'm getting drunk before my first day of summer school. I'm drinking from my beloved Bunny Mug--the only thing that has kept me sane through the last few years.)

I went to see My Bloody Valentine by myself. I brought earplugs (European version!) after reading horror stories of people that suffered permanent hearing loss at the show on message boards. I recall that one of the last times I saw Jane before we broke up, I discussed trying to buy a ticket to the show. At the show, the European earplugs were a little too effective, so I put in the ones distributed at the show. (My Bloody Valentine plays as loud as is legal to play. They go one tenth of a decibel below illegal, so earplugs are distributed to everyone.) We had broken up before the show. She sent me a text message that she was going to the show as well. I sent her back, but I didn't hear from her. At one point, I was so crunked that I inserted the earplug too far in my ear. I freaked out when I couldn't get it out (there were other people on the message board with similar stories). I felt like it was stuck in my brain. Finally, before the holocaust (the point in the show when they play 25 minutes of droning noise to maximum volume), I got it out and stuck it back in half assed. Since it wasn't in all the way, I suffered permanent hearing loss. Every waking moment of my life is consumed with a deep ringing. It really sucks. Anyway, during the holocaust, I entered into a fantasy that I was on a spaceship and was flying through outer space to a planet that had more hope than earth. This may not make much sense, but let me explain briefly.

I was surrounded by people. I imagined that I was a part of a cult that was recruited by some lunatic to escape from the imminent peril that the earth was under. Of course, our spaceship was a jalopy, so there was a whole fuck load of noise during the trip. The trip lasted about 25 minutes. You'd have to see the show, but this was as perfect of a fantasy to undergo at the time. It looked like we were in a spaceship. The lighting was fucking perfect. The sound was loud (to say the least) and totally muddy. At the end of the show, Kevin Shields, said, "Thanks, I guess" (he was apparently dissatisfied with the sound and the crowd response). I imagined that he was our leader, and was not happy with the followers. So I filed out (continuing the fantasy, like we were exiting the spaceship in huge lines--just piling the fuck out) and finally made it outside. My earplug once again was stuck in my ear (during the last five minutes of the holocaust, I realized it was not in all the way, so I put it in deep) and I asked people to help me get it out. Finally I did it on my own. I was alone and depressed (and once outside, I realized partly deaf.)

This story has very little to do with what I was writing about earlier. But Scranton was at the show with the champ. About a month later I told her about my cult/spaceship fantasy and she said, "Man, I was just thinking the whole time, 'I wonder if I can see Mike.'" This made me love her again, also. I'm rambling. I deserve a 78% or lower. I didn't really love her until we were apart because I didn't realize how much I loved her answers like that.

But anyway.

So, she was apparently dating this guy while and slightly after we broke up. Yeah, I guess they could have been just friends, but I call bullshit on that. Girls don't go out with champs and not have thoughts creep into their heads. She knew what she was doing.

And he didn't know that we "dated"?

Even in writing I'm having a hard time getting my thoughts across. She must have pretended to be single and lied to me about the fact that she said "we broke up."

Or, she said she was dating someone, but then told him she broke up with mystery man.

I had the "ex" conversation with Scranton at an appropriate time. It was about two months into our relationship. Either they've never had that or she flat out lied to the champ.

But she did certainly flat out lie to the champ. She sees me semi-frequently and he thinks we're just friends. I don't get it. She was straightforward about her prior relationships with me (I think), and I don't get why she would want to portray something different to him.

Most importantly, she seems like she's trying to create a 1984-esque fake past upon her life. She seems to want to make it seem like I never existed (though she wants to continue having a sort of relationship with me). "Now your ghosts have gone away--you can kill them in the classic style". She's underscoring what we used to have.

I never understood in Saved by the Bell why Kelly got so upset when Zack played their song at the Max (he danced to it with another girl). Now, it's making sense.

We drove home from the show together, and the remainder of the conversation never came up. We talked of the show--we both liked the bands--and general nonsense. I told her that I cancelled my going away party on account of the fact that no one was sad to see me leave (this is true). She called me a little girl, to which I agreed. But:

a. My mother said she wouldn't call me or give me care packages because they're too expensive, and she won't repeat her mistakes from France.

b. My sister is having a hissy fit over me storing just a couple things at her place (though, to defend her, she's changed her tone on this.)

c. My father and step mother are confident that I'm a total fuck up.

d. Betsy is never home anymore. My favorite thing (just bullshitting with her) is gone for good.

e. Jamie repeatedly says that he'd rather spend his nights alone getting wasted rather than involving me.

f. It's impossible to have a proper conversation with my supposed best friend Chrispy.

g. No one at work even acknowledged that I was leaving.

h. My students seemed totally unconcerned with the fact that I'd be gone forever.

i. Everything that I wrote in my previous entry about how it's impossible for anyone to join me in anything that I want to do.

Maybe I do it to myself. But I'm sad as fuck.

Scranton left my car with a nice hug, and she wished me luck. I left feeling like a real little girl. She was texting the champ immediately upon leaving my car.

It's not that I can't deny having feelings for Scranton--I do--but I can't deny having feelings at all. Most people close to me would call this obvious, but I so poorly attempt to be stoic! It's ridiculous. I think I can hide the fact that I'm a little girl by acting like fucking Brutus! I hate myself for this.

Maybe if I just expressed myself, I'd be ok.

But it still seems totally hopeless.

There's something wrong with me, plain and simple. I'm repellent. I'm boring. I have bad breath. I suck at life.

I cried like a child on the way home from Scranton's. All this shit had been piling up too high. Steve Wilkos would have called me a little bitch, and I would have plaintively agreed. I smoked and choked on my sealed up throat, even though I vowed that I wouldn't smoke anymore. It was all very pathetic.

So, now I'm resigned to isolate myself from everyone for my last month and a half in Chicago. There's no other option. An outsider might find one, but I'm certain that I need to just be alone for some time.

"I never wanted to be anyone else," Captain America spoke in Easy Rider. I've desperately tried to adopt this stoic mentality for years. That movie got me in a lot of trouble. But it's out of my reach. I can't be Captain America or Billy. I'm stuck. And I frequently want to be someone else.

I'm sort of getting this Glass Houses album. Billy Joel is just a fucking loser that is making a point out of being a loser. He relishes in it. I guess this is my final frontier--from 32 and beyond. I'm not smart. I'm not athletic. I'm not someone that other people want to be around. I'm not good at playing music. I'm not a whole lot of things. It's what you make out of the "nots" that can create a negative-not. Make champagne out of the shit. It's a futile pipe dream, but I guess that's Mission: Japan. I'm smart enough to not make the same mistakes I made in France. This isn't a big deal. I just need to make some champagne out of the shit.

I wish I could feel sad for the right reasons. I wish I were sad about the people I'm leaving behind. I wish I could miss my lovely city. I wish I could have a beautiful girl to cry for me at the airport. All of that is total bullshit, though. I'm sad that it isn't there. I live in a fucking Garden State infiltrated brain-set. The escape itself might be beautiful.

I guess I feel slightly relieved at the fact that no one will read this drawn out rant. I'm sure I'll invite Scranton to view it soon before I leave, and she may or may not read this entry that is mostly focused upon her. Better to be honest, though. I guess. It's a little sad to know that I have so much to say to no one. That's probably the bottle of white that I just drank speaking, though.

I've chosen this life. I've found plenty of escapes. Soon, I'll escape semi-permanently, and if no one notices--well, it makes it all the more dramatic.

But maybe there's no drama in any of this. Maybe, like my psychology class is teaching me, I'm just a series of reactions to various stimuli. I like this mindset.

Glass Houses just keeps playing, and I can't ask why or why not. I just have to keep rolling with it. At some point, Bunny Mug will be filled with something sweeter than eight dollar white wine from Jewel.

"Don't look for answers; you've took your chancers."