October 16, 2002

Sometimes I can't help but wonder if "a future" was something that only kids in the 1950s had.

I have been pondering this thought incessantly over the past few weeks, because I certainly don't seem to have a future of any kind. I'm broke; I work a tech job for a company that pays me little more than a pittance; my car is about to be repossessed because I cannot now, nor could I ever really before, afford to make the payments on it regularly. Much as I hate work I'm probably going to have to find a second job, which means that any free time I might come across, I'll have to spend it sleeping. In a few months I'll probably be within hailing distance of a nervous breakdown.

To make matters worse, I don't know what the current situation is with my girlfriend, and the fact that she's approximately 400 miles away doesn't help the matter at all.

I need a holiday. Pity I'll never be able to afford a real one.

It's 4:30 and I'm sitting in a laundromat on Santa Barbara's lower west side, washing a cushion and trying to think about my job. So far it hasn't worked, I've got nothing to show so far; just a few sketches, a half written write-up, and a cushion in the rinse cycle.

The weather is cloudy with a cold little wind, I love this weather and since I'm sitting near the door in a hard fiberglass chair and I can smell the wind and feel the cool air on my face and hands. It's almost a direction for my thoughts to head; away from the 2 Tv's blaring 2 different spanish talk shows and the steady hum of the driers. The wind is blowing from the West, it always does here. Bringing the smell of the sea on a good day and the sweat smell of damp earth when it rains. A plain parking lot is all I see outside of the doors, no plants except for a few stunted palm trees. At a first glance it's depressing, but it's a blank canvas for my thoughts to paint on. I'm secretly singing songs by Pink Floyd and Cibo Matto, I'm thinking about one of my friends and what she might be doing; she seemed tired but in a good mood. I wonder if she'll call me when she's done. There's this couple behind me talking in low murmurs, and every once and awhile the girl will laugh and take a step back; she's folding clothes and the guy is putting some in a drier.

I'm looking around and my pen is drawing curves on the paper, maybe one of those will be the waterline shape of the sailboat hull that I need to have a hull rendering done by next Tuesday, or maybe none will stand out and catch my eye.

My cushion is the ruler of my thoughts right now, it's done and I can finally leave the noise and go out onto the streets and wander home. Even though, i don't really want to go home, I can't walk around with a cushion in my hand all night long.

She's back again, back in my thoughts, I was looking around when the newspaper called out to me. That was it, my thoughts are all scattered and now I'm thinking about the necklace I bought her in Edinburgh less than 2 months ago during the Fringe and I know where that's leading. Well I guess I'm done now, I better get inside before people start to wonder about that weirdo with the cushion in his hand

I wonder if she'll call me?

I'll not beat around the bush: considering this was is my eighteenth birthday, it's been one hell of an anti-climax. It started very badly when, talking on the phone just after midnight, I had to remind my girlfriend that the reason I was still awake was for once, not work, but the fact that I wanted to see in my birthday. So far today, outside of my immediate family, seven people have wished me happy birthday. Four of these were after I told them it was my birthday.

So I'm now legally an adult. Woo. What's the big deal? Lets see:

• I can vote. Sure. Like I'm really going to want to vote for any of the candidates. One is greasier than an oilslick, and the other is less charismatic than a bar of soap.
• I can buy alcohol. Hoorah. I've never had trouble getting alcohol. You can get beer from our Sixth Form Bar four nights a week, and it's only a pound a pint.
• I can get married without either of my parents' consent. I'm not stupid enough to do this. Yet.

*sigh*

At least I got to wear a silly hat this afternoon.

Houston??

I leave at noon on my birthday for three weeks alone in an Extended Stay America. Alone with the prime time soap operas I've been avoiding for the past two years and my thoughts and inadequacies. This is the big test, and it's not just professional.

Professionally, I can be honored, and am. Excited even. Not often is such an excursion part of the chronological records of public service. It means they've got the faith, and in me, no less. It means I haven't been sucked under the wheels of the System quite yet. It means I get to think and produce and play with the really neat toys. It means I come home ready to be a leader.

But that's 8 to 5. What do I do with myself in a motel room in Houston once night falls and the diligent businesspersons go home to family and dinner? I miss Halloween, and my grandfather's 90th birthday (he suggested to me when last we spoke that he's willing to stick around for that, but not much longer). Maybe I'll read a book. Maybe I'll go crazy.

If you know Houston, /msg me some suggestions, ok?

... what the fuck ...

I just don't understand some people.

She says I don't spend enough time with her (which, as of late is understandable) - no problem. I can adjust my schedule, and, I have.

The kicker is, she says she wants me to spend time with her, and her friends! Really, why would I want to go out on a limb, sacrificing time I could otherwise be spending with her entirely, to meet and greet her friends! I simply don't want to, and nor do I have the time! At any rate, I told her exactly this, and she was quite upset. It was the first time we had a "big" disagreement. I felt awful about it last night and all through today. So, I decided I would get home (class from 2-5:20ish today) and call her, and invite her to dinner.

This made my stomach turn:

First, let's get something straight. I usually don't care about new movies (with the exception of Star Wars, etc...) but I have been talking about seeing "The Ring" with her for the past few days (maybe longer) and raving about it for some time now. She knows I want to see it.

She scores two premiere tickets for a showing tonight. She makes a (weak) effort to get ahold of me. She messaged me, and called (though left no message) around 4PM (she told me the time just a while ago). I get home at 5:45 ish on Wednesday. I can't say she knows this, because she has some type of memory issue, and generally does not remember details like that.

Anyway - the thing is, she would usually just wait until she got ahold of me. But, no, of course, she does the typical thing, and I presume it is to spite me (even if she is doing it unconciously). She, after making that horribly insufficient to contact me, invites her friend, Erika, perhaps minutes after she fails to get in touch with me the first time.

And to think I was going to ask her out to dinner tonight.

I hope the movie is horrible.

Update: please see October 18, 2002 after reading this writeup. Thank you.

I have never done a daylog before, and I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I recently discovered that The Necromancer has died in a a car crash earlier today. Now, a lot of you may not know who he is, as he was only just starting out as a noder (and was pretty good at it as well). Unfortunately, I don't know the time of death, nor the reason the car crashed, or anything else except that it happened today.

And a funny feeling hit me: usually, when someone has died, especially those that has been broadcast on the news, I want to know every last little detail on the death, including people involved and everything. But this time, I was just shocked. I had no desire to find out anything else, nor do I wish to bother any of their family (or whoever comes onto his account now) like I usually do. It's not like I knew the guy, hell I only talked with him a couple of times about a few of my writeups.

It really makes me think about life and everything2 as a community. Sure, I've had relatives die in the past, but I had never seen this person's face, or knew what he sounded like, or what he was like as a person. It makes me think how everything2 somehow makes us feel like a very large family, like we are all related in some way. It also makes me think about life in the way that it can be cut short at any moment without warning, and how we all take it for granted. I certainly didn't see this coming a mile off, and I'm sure The Necromancer didn't either.

So don't take it for granted. Be nice to each other.

Live yer goddamn lives.

/me misses The Necromancer. RIP, buddy.

Today I learned that you never really leave high school, no matter how long ago you graduated.

I figured, I'm almost 20. The kids I graduated with are almost 20. I've grown up, so they must have as well.

It's sad how often I am wrong.

I don't suppose I'll give people the benefit of the doubt anymore, as they always prove me wrong. I always give more credit than is due, it seems. I certainly have changed, but they have not. They say the same things and act the same way. They are almost 20 and cannot find anything better to do with their lives than to harass the "freak," the "geek," the "weird girl."

Yes, I am bitter. I am tired of being the big joke, the hilarious tv program that everyone and their mother can laugh at. It may be funny to them, but it is my life I'm living, and my choices are mine, and what didn't happen, didn't happen, no matter how much more like Dawson's Creek it is than what really happened.

Which in this case, was nothing. But it's so much more fun to pretend it did, because then they can forget that they have responsibilities, too, and a life of their own to live, so they can forget themselves and laugh at me.

I can't wait to see what happens to them when Karma turns around and kicks them in the face.

I don’t know what to say to Jerry. I don’t know how much to disclose. When I first met him he made a derogatory comment about how everyone in the IT field around Pittsburgh, PA was of blue-collar roots, and thus didn’t understand how the game was played. I feel the need to make Jerry like me, as he is one of the few people I have contact with at EDS. The company I work for, the country’s largest niche magazine publisher, is contracting out all the ‘Tier One” and “Tier Two” support. I found this out last month when my boss told me abruptly that I needed to be at the Manhattan office for a meeting.

“What’s it about?” I asked. I’m not used to getting invited to meetings, and especially not something major in New York.

“ I dunno. I think it’s something to do with standardization. All I know is you got to be there.” He lied, of course. I don’t blame him though. In this corporate game in which we both play the distribution of information is plotted and schemed. I know his hands were bound.

After long trains ride from Harrisburg to Penn Station I discovered the motive of the meeting. Our companies CIO explained that the entire division of the company was signing on with EDS. There’s about a dozen of us on the chopping block. Shortly after Debra dropped the hammer on us the EDS guys came in the form of Human Resources Representatives and Project Managers to explain to us that they were going to evaluate all the sites, and that if the site warranted an on site technician that one of us would “transition” from Primedia to EDS to fill that slot.

Those of us in limbo have been waiting quietly as representatives from this other company visit our locations and decide our fate. This is Jerry’s second visit to the Harrisburg location. This trip he brought Erik, manager of the Help Desk devoted to servicing my company. Erik is to learn the how’s and why’s of dealing with daily desktop problems, and how we want them to handle information gathering before a service tech is called. As he picks my brain for information I feel hope slipping out the back door. The more he knows about our subtle nuances the less they need me.

Erik is a pretty nice guy. He’s from Detroit. We joke about how he should not be as nervous about the sniper in the DC suburbs wreaking havoc only a few hours away. Erik smokes, so every time he wants a break he comes and asks me to join him. We went out early in the day today, around ten thirty, and I tell Erik how nervous and scared I am about potentially being unemployed this time next month. He says that I don’t really have anything to worry about, that EDS needs me more than I know. It’s hard to take information like this from someone who has no bearing on its outcome. Is he perhaps just trying to make me feel better? Perhaps. Is he trying to ensure he gets the most data out of my possible? Perhaps.

Hours pass as they usually do and I’m running around in usual fashion putting out fires here and there. I pass by the small conference room and catch a glimpse of Jerry talking to my superiors about new Help Desk procedures, or something of the like. Jerry and I are supposed to have lunch today, but I can see that’s not going to happen now. I feel like a corpse being raided by vultures. What would happen to this skeleton once it had been picked clean?

I catch Jerry and Erik in the hall near the end of my shift. Jerry jokes with me. “Ready for lunch?” I laugh. It’s strange for me to feel so awkward around these people. I am usually noted for being cool under pressure and keeping a level head through catastrophe, “Jake, it’s come to my attention that you think the termination date is still mid-November?” Jerry asks. “ I take it that your companies HR department hasn’t been dispensing any info to you? Jesus, here’s the deal Jake… and it has to stay here between us. You are going to get an offer from EDS. It’ll be your current salary plus compensation from moving to a forty hour week from a thirty-five.” This constitutes about a five thousand dollar raise for me.

“Thanks a lot Jerry.” It’s hard to say anything else to him. I couldn’t keep the stupid smile off my face. It was like finding out the girl you’ve always liked wants you. I shook his hand, agreed to meet for lunch the next day, and walked back to my desk.

A thousand pound weight had been lifted from my shoulders.