I’ve been wearing the same shirt all weekend — and it’s Tuesday now, and I’m still wearing it. I somehow managed to not shower yesterday, and I’m pretty sure it’s just because I slept through the whole day, and I’m not sure how that happened either.

Last week’s hip cool fear of meaninglessness is slowly seeping from me. My desire to run in some random direction is fading as well, though as that fades I feel like I am losing grip on some important part of myself that I know is just going to crop its head back up at some point and take a chomp out of me blah blah blah.

I told Sarah that I was willing to try to get the funds to spend the summer in San Jose, in an attempt to see if we’d work as a “real” couple and to see if I could make a go of living up there. She told me no, that she didn’t believe we had long term potential and that (melodramatically) nothing good can possibly survive or come to fruition in San Jose. This was rather unexpected, though I guess stupidly, and to say that it crushed me would be to imply that there was something left of my remains at the end of it all, but no, there were no remains to be found.

But then, of course, she comes to me (through the wire) and tells me she’s reconsidered and she’s totally down to commit to three months of me being there. I tell her that no, it wasn’t about three months, it wasn’t about just being together for three months, and I’m not going to go up there for just three months, unless that’s just naturally how long it can work out — though I guess I don’t really say all that, because I can’t think of it until later when I try to figure out why I felt so terribly hurt when she had the nerve to… misunderstand me? I guess? I don’t think she misunderstood, though.

I guess we just don’t want the same things. Or she does and she’s scared. Or numerous other excuses I can make up on her behalf to spare myself the simple thought that maybe she just doesn’t actually like me that much?

But I’m not depressed. I am unshowered and ill-motivated and there are three days until I can officially declare myself as in the process of drowning under a torrential downpour of school work and I’m chain-smoking and overdrawn in the bank and some days I just can’t seem to get far enough away from myself and I’ve just got to wonder if astral projection is the answer and maybe if I concentrate hard enough I never have to return to my body? Is that what death is like? Astral projection forever? Can I still feel my cock if I am astral projected? Astral-ejaculation? Is it possible? Is it real?

But I’m not depressed, you know? Depression is so passe. Emo is the new Hip and I am so post-hip.

I think I just called myself emo.

I don’t know what is going on! That’s the truth. Before I fall asleep and when I wake up I am overcome with the realization that I have no fucking clue who I am. Throughout the day I ignore it and it’s no big deal and I hang out with other people who seem to know something about me and I guess that stabilizes my head for a bit but once I am lying in bed, all by myself, spinning around in the sheets, I have no clue who’s life this is. I am witnessing the body and actions of someone else through a small hole and this writing right here is how I communicate to the world and dissect the actions of it looking for understanding.

I suspect that if you spend every waking second of the day within a person you can begin to build some sort of portrait of who they are, right? Why is it so hard? If I defined myself as I watch myself interact in the world, my Lord. Maybe I am not ready for prime time.