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College has been absolutely rad so far, I'm convinced that all the chill people come to the west coast, because I haven't met an uptight person yet. Coming to UPS was a bit overwhelming at first, but I'm getting into the hang of things now. I signed up for way too much stuff and am now finding out that I can only handle doing the clubs that I really want to. So I've decided that I'm going with the Alpine Ski Team, IM Frisbee, IM Soccer, and a radio show. Because I'm a freshman though they screwed me by making my show at 8am on Saturday mornings, but at least they don't mind if I do it while hungover (check out kups.net fo' mo' info).

I've tried to cut back on partying too hard because last week I woke up on Sunday feeling like shit. So I've disciplined myself into only drinking on the weekends and I've been desperately trying to quit smoking. It's hard though in a place were the indo is so frequently smoked. Apparently alot of the weed comes from Portland, were many of my friends are now presiding. We just made a huge batch of special brownies that messed us up, and the best part is that we've been selling half of the batch and making all our money back. The parties here are actually pretty tight because the school has so many residential houses surrounding it. You have to walk a few blocks, but it's normally worth it. Alright, strange story: I smoked with this guy a few weeks ago and he gives me a pipe for loading three bowls worth. Later I'm at a party and bust out the pipe and this guy I'm smoking with say's "where the fuck did you get this, this is my pipe?!" So I explain the story and he tells me that his house, which had had a party the week before, had been robbed of upwards of $8 grand worth of stuff, including the pipe which I had. So I told him all I knew about the guy who gave me the pipe, and last I knew they had found him and were pressing charges. It was a crazy night.

I've been talking with some friends here about making a trip to Portland over one of the upcoming weekends, cause just about everybody's got a friend who's going to Lewis and Clark or Reed. It would be supercool to chill with some of the old gang and catch up on things, we just have to decide on a definite date.

Anyways I'm off to do some chem and calc homework, I've gotsta go.

This weekend I was supposed to see a very good friend of mine. She is one of the only friends that I can really connect with. Whenever I talk to her, I feel like I'm NOT all alone in my apartment. I feel like I have someone hear keeping me company.

Our conversations are very long, and neither of us says much. We normally bullshit back and forth for an hour or so. It's relaxing, and I feel free to say whatever's on my mind. I also enjoy hearing about how her college experience is going, because I genuinely care about her. I want her to be happy.

This Yom Kippur, the rabbi talked about how we should take the time to tell the people who mean the most to us how we feel. It would have been so great to turn to her and say, "I love you. You're one of the most important people in my life, and I wouldn't be able to go on without you". Of course, I would never say that to her, because I would be too afraid that she would react negatively.

We've gotten into the habit of ending our IM conversations with "Love you". I, like most guys, am deathly afraid of those two words in sequence. I don’t say them very often, and I’ve only said them to four females in my life (one of which is my mother). Yet, I feel totally ok with saying them to her. It feels natural.

For years I’ve been afraid to show her how I feel. I am so scared that what we have will come to an end. I’m afraid to call her. I’m afraid that if I try to contact her outside of AIM she will reject me and say the words that will hurt me more than anything else, “I love you like a brother”. I have convinced myself that she will say that, and I know that telling her how I really feel with make her very very sad.

I don’t want to cause her pain. I don’t want to destroy what we have. Except, what exactly do we have?

And then I go back to what the rabbi said. If I don’t tell her how I feel, then what good is all of this. If not know, when?

She said she was coming. When I found out that she wasn’t going to be there this weekend, the first thought that crossed my mind was about hopping on a train right then. What would it have been? 8 hours? I could have done it. And then my rational brain told me “No” and I stayed put. If only I had known on Friday, I would have gone there.

Why the fuck am I being so generic? She’s going to read this. She’s going to know how I feel? Why can’t I bring myself to write her name?

Why am I so scared?

I ride my bike to work. This is not an uncommon thing here in Denver, Colorado, despite what I had originally thought, back in my days of youth, back before I got behind the wheel. And I find my aggression to mount with each passing tick on my odometer. I feel like Trubee Davison, yelling at the "polyglot mob of tramps and hoodlums" who drive everywhere, tossing glass bottles out their windows, to shatter them across the gutters and sidewalks.

A friend of mine, with whom I work, started up a theatrical production company recently. Their first show was launched last week, and I was able to attend. It has now been a full week since that show, as I sat in uncomfortable chairs meant for the torture chambers of the ancients, and I've had plenty of time to think about the issues discussed. The biggest issue was how a priest can break with the Vatican--how politics in the Church can affect the choices of a man in cassock, the cup-bearer of the Catholics. Ostensibly, the production focused on how the Church would be able to, if nothing else, bless homosexual partnerships. Not marriage. Not civil union sanctioned by the faith. A blessing. Someone who is meant to give hope to the flock giving hope to the flock.

After watching this show, I had an immediate desire to go to my parents' Catholic church the next morning, to sit in the back and watch the intrinsic beauty and grace of the service. But I held myself back. I couldn't do it. I tried. I woke up, I stared at my alarm clock, just as my boyfriend, Scott, groggily woke up next to me and put his hand on my shoulder. "What're you getting up for?" I kept staring at the clock, ticking by around 7:00am. Thought about when I was asked to leave the service a couple years back, as I interrupted the sermon of a self-righteous priest eager to bolster hatred of the Jew, the Muslim, and the Hindu. I remembered standing up and saying, "No. No, you're wrong," and I remember the shame I brought down on my family for it, my parents sitting near me in the choir loft, their faces flushed, the knitting suddenly stopped, the crossword puzzles shuffled into bags. A stray cough somewhere in the congregation.

"I'm sorry, Scott," I said lamely. "I forgot to turn off the alarm last night." He wrapped his arms around me and I quickly fell back to sleep.

Now, having had a week to think about everything floating around in my head surrounding that event, having dodged glass shards spread on the streets on my way to work, to coffee, to home, having cursed driversby as their arrogance nearly kills me, having slashed my own tire in distraction after an angry man screamed, while driving past me, "FUCK YOU KKK!" I've reached few conclusions. I've been holding on to the pain I feel when I think of my faith for too long. It is time to let go of it. I've been, much as other martyrs, carrying a cross of being mistreated by an unaccountable, distant voice and using it to ensure my own sorrow and suffering. As all martyrs must.

I'll get on my bike during lunch and ride around some of the more beautiful paths in Denver that just happen to be near my workplace. I'll work up a sweat in the 70F weather, and return for another 4 hours of work. I'll probably see more people on the path than I expect, as I am often surprised by the volume of bikers in this "mountain town." And I will do so with strong faith--faith in myself, for once, rather than faith in what I carry on my back.

Amusing... I have been watching my write ups carefully, wondering how long items which have been written still attract attention, change, votes... I can say with some justification about two days, unless you get into arguments in the catbox... in which case it doesn't matter. After 3 days with no changes, my latest write ups suddently attracted down votes.

And we were talking about maturing processes.

(At least *this* was predictable.)

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