Tomm's journal

So after D-ing the early midterm today, I'm left with a sense of hopelessness. I worry that I'll never accomplish anything. I suspect that all of my acquaintances here do not like me, but they do pity me. Am I charity work? Invite me somewhere, good deed for the week, minus ten years in purgatory? I worry that I have no right to be who I am. I worry that I'll never care about anything. I worry that I'll never be understood. And I hate I cannot be honest with a single person on Earth.

How do you open up to the person you fear doesn't respect you? How can I get any validation when the only support I get is from biased sources, the sources I don't trust in the first place?

I'm going to New York now to eat turkey, tip-toe around the dead grandpa issue, watch sporting events, avoid my hyperactive cousin, attempt to get projects done, and be straight.

I made a mistake today. I opened up to Daniel. It was one of the stupidest things I've done. We were getting along great, until I got frustrated that he wouldn't let me touch him (he has these ridiculous body issues). Just days ago, I nearly made him cry because I kept pressuring him, almost unconsciously. Not for sex, but for SOMETHING. And I told him I'd back off a bit. Two days later, I tell him that it's nearly impossible for me to do so.

It's funny, this entire role reversal. The one boyfriend I actually feel attracted to - both mentally and aesthetically - happens to also be the one non-slutty homo. Which is weird because he's staying in the relationship for my personality... I talked to him and it was awful and depressing, neither of us knowing what to say. And he felt awful for disappointing me, and I felt awful for pressuring him. Gradually, I unraveled and told him all of my fears and even started crying. He said we're okay now, but we can't be now that he's seen my crazy side (3 weeks into the relationship). And he hasn't responded to the text I sent an hour ago. And I just know the problem isn't over, and he's going to end up dumping me. I almost told him I love him. I don't know what's wrong with me. It could be the four hours of sleep I've been getting each night.

Or maybe it's the fact that I stretched myself thin academically, and now have to drop Japanese 2 because a "W" looks better than a "D". And I still have to tell my parents. Tonight. These were terribly stupid mistakes. I shouldn't have complained today and shown my inner beast. I shouldn't have signed up for 18 credit hours.

I went to the DMV with my sister to get our California Licenses by passing some written exam. I passed without studying. She failed by one question, and the guy let her re-answer a question because she's hot. Women have everything easy.

I hope it goes without saying that I don't really believe that.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n5qscOsp7Ko

I actually feel comfortable expressing my reaction to this Japanese trailor in internet slang: lolwtf. I think in a perfect world, this is how all pornos would start.

I saw Idiocracy. I don't know if it was a good movie because I was stoned, so it was amazing. I'm sure it isn't a great movie, but the premise surely is. It's kind of less funny than it is Orwellian... only scarier. Most likely future I've ever seen in a movie.

I had one of my moments after Jap 2. The ones where you have to duck into a residential area swiftly so people do not stare. Didn't last long. I feel like I missed a semester of Japanese. I went from A-student to stupidest student in the class. I was determined to ask my mother to hook me up with a psychologist, but by then, I was all peachy. It'll happen to me again on Monday... judging myself and trying to figure out what's wrong with me... might as well pay someone to do that for me.

Jesus class has become my favorite class because the girl who sits next to me hates the world like I do.

On a side-note: I don't really hate the world. I do want everyone to be happy. When I was little, I imagined God had a separate place in Heaven for serial killers to go whenever they wanted to hack up some people, and God would conjure some cyborgs that scream like real people. The serial killers wouldn't have to know that they aren't real. And the police would never catch them, but if they wanted it, they'd give 'em a good chase. I don't care about morals, really. I just can't get truly angry with anyone unless they forget that I'm human too. Or if I'm really pissed off. My personality contradicts itself too much.

The girl who sits next to me in Jesus class wants to start her own publishing company. I hope that's just a really cool coincidence and not indicative of popularity in the field - or any resulting copmetition.

I think the cool thing about Archaeology and subjects like it is that it involves very uncommon knowledge. You become an archaeologist, and you become an expert. You could see the world through your job, and still be interesting and have billions of subjects to talk about. No one will proffess to know more about archaeology than you. That's the one thing that puts me off to publishing. Everyone's allowed to form literary opinions, everyone can proofread. One could be a publishing expert, but that would not stop others from thinking they knew more about books...

In summary, would I rather do something that makes me happy, or would I rather look good and feel superior? That's a pretty easy decision.

So apparently, Eng 1C, 'critical thinking', will involve nothing but critically thinking about Jesus. The required texts include various gospels, the Bible, and the DaVinci Code. Side note: I love how whenever I state that I wasn't too shocked by anything in the DaVinci Code, someone has to ask, "You know that it was a work of fiction, right?" And I had gotten all my hopes up about meeting Jesus's descendant...

After my initial heart attack and a quick lunge for the bottle of aspirin I thoughtfully brought along to class, I was relieved to hear my teacher declare his distaste for his religion's (Greek Orthodox) view of women. I thought, okay, at least he won't try to slip holy water into my coffee. Then he told us he is not a religious man, but is very spiritual. I still don't know what the hell that means, but I imagine it's like religious bicuriousity.

As he gave us a detailed course outline, I literally felt sick. He kept on using words like "Evidence" and "Jesus" in the same sentence. He showed a serious lack of knowledge concerning Thomas Jefferson's religious beliefs. He told us that in this class, we would be reading and guessing what Jesus did and did not in actuality say. For an entire semester. Just a quick reminder, this is for an ENGLISH credit. not religious studied, not social studies, and not philosophy. I could barely stomach spending 1/3 of a semester in philosophy picking Jesus apart from an objective standpoint. But to spend a full semester treating the Bible like a self-contradicting biography is too much. I have to change courses. This was not in the course description.

And what kind of fucking English teacher has students read the DaVinci Code, anyway? Is that really the best he can come up with?

Oh right, I need to put something optimistic in here. I've finally gotten to Jane Austin. W00t! The only problem is that I know everything that will happen from watching clueless. I keep on shouting, "No, Emma, Mr. Elton doesn't love Harriet! Let her be with Mr. Martin!!!!" But she doesn't listen. I guess even if I hadn't seen Clueless, I'd still be shouting it...

I just saw 'Once'. A believable and all-around less Hollywood version of 'Music and Lyrics'. Loved it, and I need the soundtrack. I recommend it to anyone with functioning ears.

I'm replacing WoW with FFXI as my mmorpg of choice. WoW is generally a better and less frustrating game, but the people are nicer in FFXI, and the class system offers more flexibility and individuality. I also find it funny that no one has jumped to any conclusions about the race of Galka warriors, who have gigantic muscles, underwear consisting of leather straps, and reproduce without the existence of Galka females. And don't get me started on the race of cat-women.

Classes start tomorrow. I'm not ready, but I am at least not dreading the courses. Because my counselor was useless, I am signed up for three English classes, a Jap class, and an archaelogy class (which actually counts for a credit I need). Critical reading and comedy in literature should be fun classes (and useful for what I have in mind). I'm hoping that archaelogy class will involve learning how to fight Nazis.

I need to excersize a more natural control of my eyebrows. I think my years of practice with individual eyebrow control has rendered them awkward in day-to-day facial expressions. They make me self-conscious, and I don't know what to do about them. It feels like I'm sporting bumblebees on my face.

I was looking up some characteristics for INFP's, and among those listed was, "attracted to sad things". I was surprised by how true this is. It's the perfect wording to describe exactly what I'm feeling. I'm depressed because I haven't anything real to be depressed about, nothing dramatic or beautiful and tragic to ponder and draw inspiration from. I do find anything more cheerful than a bittersweet ending to a story unsatisfying. Maybe if I stopped treating life like a story, I'd be a little less worried about tripping over my lines in everyday conversation. Hmmm... how easy must I have it to WANT something bad to happen? And what do I want out of that "bad thing"? Am I going to stumble out into the rain, drop down to my knees and curse the heavens while an imaginary camera pans out majestically? What if the orchestra misses its cue?

Curse summer television programming.

I should start a private journal where I can stick this kind of post.

Due to motherfuck state residency, any classes I take within a year will cost 800 more than common. Either I take a year off of school and sink into a pit of boredom in training for years of alcoholism, or I my parents shell out gallons of cash to pressure me into good grades I know I won't attain.

I'm sick of my mindset. I've put up with it for as long as I've been alive, and I am quite tired of it. I can't think of any person without comparing myself to that person. And they'll always be better than me unless they mention a love of 'The Real World'. And I spend every minute alone just trying to figure out what's wrong with me precisely enough that I can fix it, instead of thinking about... life. This is why I never have anything to say, not because I'm shy. It's because every stupid cell in my brain is devoted to meaningless tasks. I've got a bad computer virus in my brain, one that causes me to occasionally self-destruct for no reason. Who wants to own that computer? A dried-up water lily in the middle of a pond. I found my voice, but the voice is stiffling my substance.

Okay, deep breath. I'm going to try taking life bird by bird. Step one: Jap Final. Everything else takes back seat.

hilarious: http://moronland.net/moronia/moron/1064/?

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"In West LA, you often see men with the boobs... what do you call it?"
"Transexuals?"
"Yes, transexules! When ever I get called over here and see them, I have to just stop the cab and laugh from their deep voices, because they look like woman! This town is crazy!"
I don't think the cab driver saw the giant "outfest" sign when he picked me up. It was, by the way, awesome. Well, at least the first movie ("Man of my Life"). French and beautiful, and so wonderfully un-hollywood. The Korean movie ("Right by Me") was a little too cutsie-wootsie with TERRIBLE acting (unless Korean's all have dead-pan expressions, which I suppose is a cultural possibility).

It felt nice to go to a big gathering and not worry about striking up a conversation with anyone, now that I'm off dating for a year. Oh, and there is apparently an unwritten rule that dictates no guy under thirty may have anything less than a smokin' bod. Lame.

I think the real reason I'm happy is because of the conversation I had with the cab driver. It's almost like I'm a human being! Side note: If you want to support a family without working 18-hour days, don't come to LA.

And now it's time for Harry Potter to eat up my sleepy-time. If only I could write what I want to do to my church without fear of the government arresting me for terrorism. Wait, what am I talking about; I'm white and slightly priviledged! I want to dip my church in chocolate and eat it.

My cellphone is a shitty alarm clock. My dad hasn't been using the treadmill... but I have, finally. And now that I've started, I have to immediately give up boredom-eating. There are no buses returning from LA to Glendale after 6 PM. On a Fucking Saturday.

I am so glad there are doggies around. And I know it's normal for dogs to get rough with each other and fight, but I don't like to just sit and let it happen. I mean, I hated fighting with my brother. What if one of them is barkingly pleading for intervention?

I don't know what I did before torrents. They complete me.

So i've decided to be okay with myself. I hear that cheesy, 'be yourself' line everywhere, and I dismissed it on the grounds that annoying people and assholes shouldn't be themselves. I cam to realize, however, that it really isn't a choice. You get the cards you're dealt, and make the best of them. Short people have to deal with shortness, brunnettes deal with being brunnettes, stupid people deal with stupidity, and ugly people deal with ugliness. So why shouldn't I deal with myself? What's more, those things mentioned can be improved upon: short girls can wear heals, brunnettes can bleach their hair (if they want to look common and possibly fake), stupid people can... well..., ugly people can do something with their hair/clothes/makeup to the point where 99% of people can look attractive. And improving myself doesn't necessarily that I am in desperate need of improvement. And maybe more people will dislike me than others (because I am annoying, and annoying is me), but at least I can demonstrate a personality in my defenses-down form. I mean, being gay is bound to create tension somewhere, and I don't mind that. So I shouldn't let something else unchangeable about myself get to me either, even if it means I'll get my feelings hurt occasionally (or often).

This really old man came to talk to me on the bus, and I didn't understand him most of the time because he had a thick Phillipino accent, but there was that 'I'm 86,' 'What? No! You look so much younger!' exchange, but at that moment I noticed his gator skin, lashless eyes, thinning hair, frail posture, and monster moles. I can't imagine how terrifying aging must become. Thank God it'll never happen to me.

My sister apparently inherited my mother's migranes. One more reason to be glad I'm not a chick. If I do have one, though, I vow to find a reliable connection. There's a dealer who sits by me in Jap class, and he was regailing those nearby with stories about how much money he used to make, how much business skills went into it, and about driving down to mexico to buy cars for his contacts and the almost gun fights. He liked the rush, he says. That's one thing I could definately never do; I get a rush from killing spiders in my room.

Well, it's almost nine. I better get my coffee before the cutoff point.

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I found a copy of 'Magical Thinking' on our bookshelf, purchased at Cornell U bookstore. I'll have to slaughter a goat in my brother's honor.

Well, it's 4:30 AM; I should probably sleep or something

Oh, and outfest is going on right now. I wish I weren't living with my parents.

rediscovering the net and using itunes for the first time in quite some time. I have to read this fantasy book I borrowed from the kid in front of me. I have a feeling I'll dislike it, but I'm going to do my best to squelch that feeling. Now that I've almost completed Kyou Kara Mao (which I think means 'Today from the Demon King' or 'The Demon King from Today'), I find that I have more time for reading/internet. Considering how the main character has been engaged to another guy, there has been a stunning lack of homoeroticism.

Speaking of, I'm pleased to see that the Advocate's taking an interest in Gravel, finally. I'm especially worried about him now that he's boasted his support for English as the official language. What a stupid move.

My sister has a Thoman Newman obsession, and I feel like I'm going to adopt it sometime soon. Kind of in the way that a horse can sense an earthquake before it happens (For those who don't know, he's a soundtrack composer: Road to Perdition, American Beauty, etc...).

So far this entry hasn't been too interesting. I shall abort.

Bill Maher came to the Ice House last Friday, and I just found out about it today. Afterr San Diego tomorrow, he's in Maryland. I snap my fingers disappointedly and sigh.

I aced the midterm. I've obviously found my new subject of interest: taking one class per semester.

The Glass Castle is a very good book. And public transportation is scary, but only in that awkward, urine-stained kind of way. And downtown Glendale/Pasadena/LA is just about the greatest thing on earth.

I want to know how Fred's hairs keep getting inside my phone.

The church across the street from Pasedena City College has this giant mosaic of Jesus without any pupils. He looks like Jesus of the Corn.

I finally visited one of those hippy-LA theatres with stacks of the Onion outside and bottles of Izze instead of Pepsi. I think what I saw was called 'Artificial Landscapes'. It would have been nice if the review had mentioned that it was not a documentary about industrial China, but rather, a documentary about a guy who takes pictures of it. I was not prepared for an art show. Still not bad, though.

A week ago when we were sitting in church, the priest offered a prayer to a family who had lost their father to a heart attack at a really young age. So now we have a treadmill. I hope my dad actually uses it.

I'm training myself to silence my more negative thoughts because they've gotten out of hand. I decided to actually work on this when my sister noticed me clasp my hand over my mouth in revulsion, and she asked for an explanation. So this is motivated by not wanting to talk about myself, but surely I can't say that I'm just flinching because I'm reminiscing over something stupid I said when I was seven? No, I'm going to avoid the whole issue, starting in my head. It'll probably solve more problems than I mean to solve.

I am surrounded by caffeine candy. It's heaven.