The Meaty Efreeti

Saturday, October 30, 2004

Hey there. I've got about 20 minutes before my haircut appointment, so I thought I'd pitstop here at the CorpoBucks to say hello to you all, and to wish you a happy [hollow, ridiculous and excessive pseudo-party day when men strive to look dashing and/or scary and inevitably end up looking like pathetic, greasepainted, latexed orangutangs instead, and when women are given carte blanche to dress like licentious whores and not have to feel guilty about it] -ween. I'm obviously having no part in this. I go out a couple of times a week for drinks, and as such I surrender nearly all holidays to the obstreperous and vomitous hordes of bar-hopping dilettantes. (Groundhog Day is MINE you bastards...) So fuck Halloween, and all of its amateur hour glory. I'll catch you for drinks on Tuesday. j.s.

Friday, October 29, 2004

Is it strange that for that past 2 nights in a row I've dreamt about Hamlet? Wednesday night I was standing atop Castle Elsinore with Horatio, awaiting the arrival of my father's ghost. Starless night sky. Faded banners snapped in a damp, northern wind that blew cold tears from my eyes. Gray flagstone and fog. I was unbelieving of Horatio's story, but I wanted so badly just to see him again that I'd give anything a chance. And last night I was again Hamlet, but this time in the bloody climax of the play. And though all of it was real, the fighting, the anger, the betrayal, the numbing befuddlement of the poison taking over my mind... It still took place in front of an audience. Horatio held my head as I died from Laertes poisoned rapier, and as he did the "Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince" lines I remember being able to hear him, but being unable to move. Then the audience roared. And I woke up. Both kind of unsettling. j.s.

Thursday, October 28, 2004

My, my my... It's been my entire life in the coming, and tonight, it's over. The Red Sox have just won a World Series. Not just won, but swept. And not just swept the NL team, which is great and all... But we swept the Yankees to get there. And we didn't just sweep them, but pulled off the unbelievable, the unprecendented, and the impossible. We beat them after going down 0-3 to start the series. Something that's never happened in the history of baseball. It's so unbelievably sweet that I'm laying in bed, too giddy to sleep, and writing this for you on a notepad. Earlier today, my brother and I decided that if the Sox were going to win the World Series, there was only one place where we could watch that happen. So we drove out to Katy, pulled up spots on the couch in our old living room, and we watched the game with our father, he who introduced us to the agony that is...correction, was being a Red Sox fan. We argued over which pitches we'd call, second guessed the bullpen choices, lamented the 12 men the Sox stranded on base (especially the three that were left on in the 8th after loading the bases with no outs.) And in the bottom of the ninth, when Pujols hit a base hit up the middle to lead off the inning, all our naysaying and prognostications fell silent. History had made us wise, and all we could think of was how the stage was set for it to happen to us all over again. Another Bucky fucking Dent, Bill Buckner, or Aaron Boone... But not tonight. Foulke stepped up and went lights out on the next 2 batters, and when Renteria grounded back to him we let out a quick yelp and held our collective breath. Out at first. Game. Red Sox win. The house erupted. D and I jump up and down and hug one another. I pick him up like he's 7 again and raise a finger into the air. My father just smiles incredulously, staring unbelieving at the television. I end up collapsing on back on the couch, my head in my hands, and cry as I watch the Sox rush the mound, finally taking home what I've wanted them to have for so long. Peter Gammons was right. Unless you've lived in New England and been a BoSox fan, you just can't know how big this is for us. In fact, I still don't really believe it. I keep thinking that the Yankees are still somehow going to beat us. It can't happen, but right now part of me still believes that we've another hurdle to leap, and it somehow centers around Yankee Stadium. But then I'll see a graphic, a commercial, (That Fenway commercial by Nike is brilliant), or hear someone say that the Red Sox are your 2004 world champions. And an utterly thankful smile spreads across my face. And now, now that the game is over and the parties are winding down? Now I'm looking toward April 11 of next year. That's opening day at Fenway Park, when we raise our first World Series Champion banner in 86 years. Oh, and just to make it sweeter? Yeah, we play the New York Yankees in that season opener. They'll have to watch. See? Life can be perfect sometimes. I hit the Flying Saucer on my way home tonight for a celebratory beer, and there people asked, "So what will the Red Sox Nation do now?" "You've won. The Curse of the Bambino is lifted." "What will you have to complain about?" And to this I smiled, rested a hand on their shoulder and said sagely, "Nothing." And that's the beauty of it. Finally, there's just one more thing I've left to mention, and I'll let him do it in his own words, spoken directly to you. I wish you could've been here with us to watch it mate. Oh, and to all you new Boston converts? There's no doubt that it was your belief that quieted The Babe's ire for us. I thank you. And welcome to the Red Sox Nation, from a card-carrying member since 1975. This was our year. j.s. 1:01 a.m. October 28, 2004

Wednesday, October 27, 2004

I'm unbelievably busy and stressed at work right now. Might have something to do with the new computers arriving and my being counted on with this huge investment to network them all and get an entire office up and running with new systems... Might not. Anyway, I have a ton to do, so I'm going to get back to it. Bye. j.s.

Tuesday, October 26, 2004

Hello. Yes, I'm feeling much better, thank you. It's almost scary how much writing unburdens me. Guess I should do it more. And on that note, I'm going to give Nanowrimo a try again this year. Though this time I'm not going to attempt historical fiction. (Last year I only got as far as the research.) In fact I already have the idea, it's just been waiting for the right catalyst to get me started. Hopefully the Nov. 30 deadline will be the incentive for me to round out the plot and finish the thing. So, I hereby challenge any of you of the wordsmithing persuasion to join me in a frenzied juicing of our collective fictional glands, all in an attempt to wring a 50,000 word novel out of them in just 30 days. I haven't decided if I'll be blogging the novel or not yet. I may just publish it on here when/if I finish. Regardless, good luck to you all. See you on the other side of 50k. j.s.

Monday, October 25, 2004

Hi. Long weekend, and not one of my best. Friday's lunch involved disagreements with someone newly close to me over my impressed upon living conditions of 3 years ago. Specifically how I lived for the 6 weeks after I got out of school. 6 weeks of my furniture maintaining their residence in a storage unit in Utah while I moved everything I could fit in my Mitusubishi Eclipse to Baltimore... Thus, living meagerly. And, unwilling as I was to be apologetic to this person for having to fight through hard times, the conversation degenerated into upset, and ended badly. I'm not delving any further into the reasons behind the rest of my termagant weekend, one because I'm not sure how she'll take to being discussed herein, and secondly because it's really only my affair anyway. However I can say that the entirety of Saturday, (with the exception of a brief trip to Fountainview Cafe for breakfast), was spent in my bed with the lights turned out, attempting to either sleep, read "Steppenwolf," or ease my tempestuous mind into some semblance of calm. None of which actually worked, and switching gears between the three of them became even more frustrating. Another phone call ensued on Saturday night, worse than the dialogue over Friday's lunch, and as a result of the tension and anxiety that I'd placed on myself all day I devolved from the intelligent, confident and proud gentleman whose words you see before you, into a bemused, stammering simpleton, barely capable of forming a complete sentence, nevermind conveying anything of import or salve. Thus, Saturday night started off quite poorly. (For both of us I'd wager.) Still, I headed out to Katy to the "party" that I'd been invited to at the Pixies concert last weekend. (Remember?) As it turns out, it was 5 or 6 of us sipping Shiner Bock and watching Fahrenheit 9/11, occasionally discussing what Moore was saying. Much less wild and interesting than expected. It was a good time, but definitely not what I had anticipated. We're all supposed to go to see Helmet next month, which I am definitely down for. So all is well. I headed home at around 2 or so and slept fitfully. I'm not really sure what happened on Sunday to be honest. I know I was at the Starbucks on Montrose at some point. And I recall watching some NFL at D's place since I was playing him in fantasy football this week. (The Gnomes took a epic beating from Donovan and Priest) I went to catch up with K. for a little while sometime during the afternoon too. I felt like if I didn't talk to someone who could offer me an opinion that I hadn't already heard, I was going to unravel into a Jeremiah heap at any moment. (Thanks again K.) After that, I went home, climbed back into bed and read "Steppenwolf" again while listening to Leonard Cohen. (Yeah, it's like that.) I believe this book to have a similar effect on men as "The Bell Jar" has on women. (Come to think of it, I was pretty depressed when I last read that one too, but who goes Plath when they're feeling great about life?) So I realize that reading it is simply intensifying my current bout with depression, rather than emolliating it with distraction. So I (literally) throw it aside, and try to write instead. It vacillates in tone too quickly to be coherent, shifting from incensed, to solicitous, to adoring and then back to incensed. Sometimes within the same sentence. So I give up. Eventually, at almost midnight, after a quick phone call, I take a couple of exhausted and shaky steps toward feeling better. And actually sleep through the night for the first time all weekend. Which helped my outlook on the usefulness of all human existence immensely. My rampaging emotions had to tire eventually, and I knew they'd eventually succumb to the calm paddocks of my life's many affirmations of beauty and kindness. No, not the Stuart Smalley kind. Fool. The kind that comes unexpectedly...the tingling wave of calm that pours along your shoulders and down your back when you see such the sublime glory of a flock of birds shadow swimming across a sunset. The kind that comes from finding old CDs that you made long ago but forgot about, and getting to listen, smiling, to songs you haven't heard in years, all of which remind you of good times. And it comes in the form of friends who take time out of their lives for no other reason than to talk to you, either in person or on the phone, simply because they don't like what they hear in your voice and think, quite accurately, that you might need them. All good things. And all remind me of how spiraling into self pity and hopelessness is merely a puerile knee-jerk reaction to emotional confusion. A reaction unbefitting of someone of composure and grace. I slipped. I'm better now. Thanks for being there. j.s.

Thursday, October 21, 2004

"Things haven't changed all that much where George W. Bush comes from. Houston is a cruel and crazy town on a filthy river in East Texas with no zoning laws and a culture of sex, money and violence. It's a shabby sprawling metropolis ruled by brazen women, crooked cops and super-rich pansexual cowboys who live by the code of the West -- which can mean just about anything you need it to mean, in a pinch." --Hunter S. Thompson-- See? It's not just me who Fears & Loathes this place... Via Sampo



Damon is my Homeboy. j.s.



The Red Sox post was mysteriously deleted somehow. I blame The Mysterious Stranger for it... Or A-Rod. Good luck tonight Houston. j.s.

Tuesday, October 19, 2004

Just a note to say "hi" and let you know that Death to the Extremist was exceptionally good today. Enjoy. j.s.

Monday, October 18, 2004

Oh, I forgot to mention that my CDs were stolen from out of my Jeep this weekend. This marks the 4th time that's happened to me... Unfortunately, this time they got my Lincoln and my Sugarcubes CDs, both of which are out of print and will be a serious pain to try and find again. Now, without the cases/covers they obviously can't be sold back to a store. And, ironically, someone who would steal CDs from someone's car, isn't going to like a single one of mine. So I hope you choke on them you fuckers. Because you aren't going to be doing anything else with them. j.s.



Hi there. So, The Pixies were indeed the aweschome, though odd to see. I mean, all of them...together...on the same stage...and it even looked like they were getting along. Gives one hope. Also I had no idea the kids these days were so into The Pixies. I'd say nearly half of the attendees of the show were post-1980 young'uns. But the other half were exactly what I expected. Bemused, balding and porcine Gen-X'ers in faded SubPop shirts, longing for the days of grunge and roses, and reminiscing about how great music used to be. Little had changed with us aside from our senescence however. There were still the ubiquitous preening conversations of *"I saw them for free at Fitz* back in the day..." or "Yeah, we were at the show that they opened for X..."** All of it just grunting and posturing to assert our place in the herd, and to elevate ourselves above the Nirvanic hordes of bandwagon jumpers that turned the brilliance of the first two Lollapaloozas into the corporate vortex of suck that was Wood$tock II. In this particular social strata, the heirarchy is determined simply by who was here first. Regardless, it was fun. I actually ended up going by myself as Luis came down with what was apparently the first throes of strep throat just before the show, and as such he had to back out and rest. Speaking of which, I am a little disappointed in those of you that I called and offered the extra ticket to, and who subsequently informed me that you were too busy/tired/disinterested to go with me. I mean, it was The Pixies. You know, Black Francis? Kim Deal? Joey Santiago? The chance to actually hear them play "Wave of Mutilation," "Gigantic," "Subbacultcha" and "Debaser" live? And for free?!? And somehow, it made sense to you to turn it down... I guess I must not understand the worlds in which you live. Because in my little snowglobe (barring illness of course), one simply does not miss such an event. And apparently, several of my old high school misanthropes felt similarly. I was walking along the concourse hallway, heading to get my "floor admission" wristband, when I hear "Jeremy?" I dismiss it, as it is impossible that anyone would possibly know me here. "Jeremy!" I cringe, as it must be someone from my distant past who would call me "Jeremy," and I slowly turn...to find a guy that I went to high school with, and who played in a band I went to see Constantly, and (surprise of surprises) who I actually dug hanging out with. So we caught up, told stories of what we'd been doing, commiserated about how we were becoming old men, and realized that we'd begun the first coquettish flirtings toward a lifelong commitment with adulthood and responsibility, albeit a bit later than most. I also learned that another good friend of mine, Cris, who I hadn't heard from in a very long time but had wondered about often, died in a drunk driving accident 5 years ago. Sigh. Anyway, we hung out through the show. Had a few beers. Caught up with a couple other people I went to KHS with, all of whom were suitably amazed that we'd run into one another. And now I'm supposed to go out to a 30th B-day party with them in Katy this weekend, which, knowing these people, will undoubtably be a very good time. Big thanks and kudos must also go to Luis for not only giving me the tickets to the show, but even driving them out to me in his sickened state. Thanks man. It sucked that you couldn't come. =[ I'll get your tickets to Death Cab and Pretty Girls Make Graves if you still want to go... Talk to you soon. j.s.

Sunday, October 17, 2004

That was ridiculous. So, I show up at Jet Lounge and meet with the manager-type guy. We say hello, shake hands, and he walks me in a lap around the tiny bar to "show me around." Takes me back to where the models are changing to re-visit a lady I'd met when I dropped off my resume, and then stood next to me at a table and said, "So!" "So?" "So..." "So, um, so what are you guys looking for at [name of modeling agency]?" Well I don't know...what are you looking for? "Uhh. Well, I'm looking to get back into the apparel industry, specifically involving fashion shows." "Oh. That's great. Great...so...where do you live? And that's about as close as we got to discussing employment in potentia. He kept wandering off to talk to people and expected me to hang out by myself in a bar full of people. So the rest of the 2 hours that I was there I spent taking more laps around the bar, looking at the models (who were very good btw), and having a couple of drinks. Horrid people with names like "Fritz" and "Athena" were everywhere, and who pretended to be interested in what I said only so as to be snarky later. On my way out, I talked to the girl I'd met at the agency. "I'm leaving [modeling girl], I really appreciate your reference." "Aww..thanks for coming. Don't worry about [manager guy], he's just a social butterfly. But I tell you this. I don't know what you did, but he LOVES you." "Hmm. Then I don't know what I did either since I barely talked to him." "Okay buh-bye honey." We did the European "baci baci" which made me dry heave, and then I left...irritated and flustered. So I went to the Belv, caught up with someone, and had a very, very good time the rest of the evening...which completely made up for its awful beginning. Yesterday I had breakfast, then met J.T. and Kristin at a suburban nightmare party, and afterward went to the Aeros opener at Toyota Center. (I missed hockey, and am quite glad it's back.) And now, I'm patio squatting at the Starbucks on Montrose while drinking a Diedrich coffee I procured down the street earlier. Tonight is The Pixies with Luis, which should be so the aweschome. And I've given up hope on the Red Sox, and refilled my tank of hatred for the Yankees for another year. K, I'm off. Much to do. Will talk more tomorrow probably. Take care, j.s.

Friday, October 15, 2004

Hi there. Sorry about the non-posting this week. I've been...irritable. The Sox are down 0-2 to the Yankees in the series. This makes me very sad. But It's finally feeling like Fall outside today, and for however long it lasts, I'm thankful. I was beginning to believe the rest of the country would have a Fall and Winter this year, and this miserable southern protuberance of a state would just skip over the cold months and hop right into Spring again. Fie Texas. As I've mentioned, tonight is my pseudo-interview with that modeling agency during one of their shows at Jet Lounge. I'm beginning to wonder how much of this is going to be of the "what are your qualifications/strengths/weaknesses?" variety interview, and how much is just them finding out what I look like and whether I'm capable of being charming and sociable during a show. We'll see. Oh. And as an aside, there was a really creepy guy outside the coffee shop this morning, and when I drove up he started laughing in my general direction. I cock my head to the side, raise an eyebrow and get out of the Jeep. "Nantucket Sleigh Ride!" he says. "Er, What?" "Your sticker. Nantucket Sleigh Ride!" "Oh. Yeah. Right." Weak smile. "They were an awesome group from the 70's...long before you were around. "I was around in the 70's." 1971? "Oh. No. Nevermind." "Right! Nantucket Sleigh Ride man. Awesome!" I go inside and get coffee and glance out the window. He's still out there shaking his head and marveling at the Nantucket sticker on my windshield, completely awestruck. As if it were an eggplant that had serendipitously formed into a likeness of Bob Seger, or a collection of tree sap with uncanny resemblance to Foreigner. As I was leaving he began to sing loudly (I can only assume was a rockin' 1971 ballad by Nantucket Sleigh Ride), and waved me a frantic and spastic goodbye. I nod at him, turn up Wilco, and drive off. Only now am I wondering if he knew what a "Nantucket Sleigh Ride" really is... Or what Nantucket is for that matter. Ah well. I'm going to get to work. I'll let you know how the interview thingy goes tonight next post. Good morning. j.s.

Tuesday, October 12, 2004

Pow. I'm meeting hiring manager this Friday at a show @ Jet Lounge downtown. Wish me luck. j.s.

Monday, October 11, 2004

Also, I've updated the "*Meaty Lynx" section with a couple of new links (A Softer World* and Qwantz.com), that I absolutely adore and read constantly. You should read and/or adore them too. j.s.



So I might've spoke too soon about the model agency people. I called them back on Friday morning and have not, as of yet, received a return call. Hmmm...think I'll try again this afternoon. Overall this was a take-it-easy weekend, with very little in the way of late-night carousing. Unless you count Thursday, which was both very late, and boasted ample carou. Thus on Friday I was tired, and stayed home. Saturday I did the b-fast during which I caught up with an very old acquaintance, and then Luis and I went to to give the Galleria the once over...a couple of times. I stumbled upon a couple pairs of wool pinstriped pants at *The Peoples' Republic of Bananas* that I must have. As well as some very cool brown cords that would look great with an untucked off-white or cream button-up. Both easily procured at Express. (Button-ups of specific color are really all that place is good for.) God I love Fall/Winter fashion. You know, during the Summer I start to forget why it is that I bothered to major in something that I have such a distaste for... And then October arrives. The stores fill with real clothes, with sleeves and everything, and it all comes flooding back to me, harkened by the dulcet sucking sound echoing from my bank account. Fall shopping isn't something I have any control over either. (Although I'd never try to control something so wonderful.) Suddenly, everything looks amazing, and graduates from an "I want that" to "I swear to Christ and everything Holy, I will gouge your eyes out with my MasterCard if you get in the way of my possession of that, you pathetic prole" status. And it's that magical time of the year where I become undeniably aware that I look good in clothes. Let me e'splain... You see, I have been consistently told that I can make a t-shirt and jeans look somehow like more than just a t-shirt and jeans. And conversely, outfits that most people claim they couldn't get away with, I seem to be able to pull off without much effort at all. Hence, I assume that I wear clothes well... They don't wear me. And the time of year that I do this best? Fall and Winter. Sweaters and slacks, topcoats and blazers, scarves and gloves... sigh And I've stroked my own glowing, raiment ego for long enough I think. All I'm trying to get at here is: Jeremiah needs to go shopping. And that right now. Anyway, I crashed out at Luis's place on Saturday night, and on Sunday I came home, showered, then randomly decided that I'd go see the Astros playoff game. So I walked over to the stadium, ATM'd out $40, and started wandering around the outside of the ballpark until I found someone scalping tickets. (I think "scalping" is a horrible word for this by the way.) I furtively purchased a ticket for $30, and wandered in to the stadium to kill a Sunday afternoon. Which, I just realized, means I went to the very first game at Minute Maid park this year, as well as what will probably be the very last game of the year. Neat. Anyway, the Astros lost, so they're heading into game 5 of the series in Atlanta tonight. I don't hold out much hope to be honest. Besides, I came to an interesting realization about baseball and me. It seems that I just don't have the spare room in my heart for another team but the Boston Red Sox. I mean, I like the Astros and everything. I hope they do well. And not even just because I'd like the Red Sox to play a World Series here in Houston. (Although I won't lie, that is part of it.) It's just that I'm not absolutely crushed when the Astros lose. Which is entirely unlike how I am with the Red Sox, whose losses of any import put me into funks that last for days. Regardless, the Astros play tonight at 7:00. And I wish them the best of luck. But history begins tomorrow... Game 1. Tuesday, October 12th, 2004. 7pm CST. You will be there. And if you don't watch the series and pull for the Red Sox then I might just never forgive you... Because only through the overwhelming power of collective belief can we stem the tidal plague of losses that have haunted our post-seasons since 1918. You see, the Red Sox embody the goodness, the purity and the hope of humanity as a whole. They are the underdogs, the accursed, the outcast and the unlucky... From Bucky Fuckin' Dent's homer in 1978, to Bill Buckner's inability to field a ball that a 10 year old could've handled in 1986, to the crushing agony of Aaron Boone's walk off home run in the 11th inning of Game 7 last year, sending the Yankees to the World Series and the Red Sox back to Boston with broken hearts. Ow. Okay, the pain of that one is still too close for me to talk about... I'm getting all emotional and excited already, and the game doesn't start for another 24 hours. Jeremiah vibrates for a moment Oh, and if you're really looking to be entertained, then come find me tomorrow at around 6:45, and gawk at the wide-eyed, trembling, and passionately screaming and gesticulating idiot with the red "B" on his cap. He's at least worth a laugh. See you there. j.s.

Friday, October 08, 2004

So the modeling peeps have already called me back and would like to talk to me about employment with their agency. I rule you. Although I still don't know whether I'd accept such a position or not. Much would depend on compensation, hours and exactly what the job entails. Things are getting interesting though. I'll keep you informed. Oh! And D. and I are heading over to pick up his kitty (already named "Sky"), from the SPCA during our lunch break today. Yay! I'll bring the camera along and post a pic of Miss SkyKittie when I get back. Talk to you in a few... j.s.

Thursday, October 07, 2004

Hi. Things are a little better. The stress of waiting on grad school decisions has been weighing pretty heavily on me I guess. I know that worrying about it doesn't help, but it's hard for me to leave things that directly affect the course of my life up to other people. An example would be job interviews. I love 'em. But I hate the days afterward when I can't give any more input to people when they're making decisions about me. And speaking of job interviews, I dropped by a couple modeling agencies today to drop off resumes. This was one of those things that I'd been meaning to do since I'd been back here in Houston and just hadn't found the time or the right outfit, to do so. I found the outfit last night, (gray Donna Karan suit, black Hugo Boss shirt with the top button undone, and a black/red Versace tie loosened slightly at the neck), so I decided that I'd go see them today. Yes. The outfit had to come first. Welcome to the strange and wonderful world of me. The Mayo/Hill thing went well, and after some stern questioning from one of the ladies downstairs (Are you out of college right now? Do you have model training experience? Are you living here in Houston permanently?), they lightened up a bit, exchanged meaningful looks when they talked about my public relations experience, and then sent me upstairs to their agency office to drop my resume off with a guy up there. Page Parkes wasn't nearly so successful. I was halted by a secretary there and couldn't actually meet with anyone. But that was to be expected. I at least got the name of the HR person I need to talk to. I won't be crushed if I don't get either job. I at least had to try for something in a fashion-related industry before I head back to school... I won't lie to you though. As vapid and shallow as it may seem, I'm really quite good at training models. And I also wouldn't be averse to a shot at becoming an agent and making serious amounts of money doing so. In all honesty though, I know this was just something I felt I'd regret if I didn't at least try it before I left. Although if I am hired it might make it slightly more difficult to jaunt off to grad school. Perhaps I'd defer admission, if I'm admitted, for a semester and see if I like working in the industry. Again, these decisions that aren't up to me right now are frustrating the hell out of me. I mean c'mon... It's a wired-up, downloadable, mobile communicative world out there. None of this should take longer than a week for a response. sigh Anyone want to buy me a drink? I could use one... j.s.

Tuesday, October 05, 2004

I can't remember when I've ever been so overwhelmed and concurrently exhausted. I'm still working for almost enough money to get by, and have had to deal with ludicrous amounts of job seepage to where my position here has become unrecognizable. I'm broke, and am 10 days out from being paid. Nothing new there. But it's still miserable. I have graduate school reference letters that I need to have sent in less than 10 days and a key professor I need them from is ignoring my phone calls for whatever reason. I also got my GRE scores in the mail yesterday and have been summarily crushed by my writing scores therein. They gave me a 4.5 out of 6. Apparently this means that 48% of those who took the GRE scored higher than I did on writing. I have some doubt about this, but it's still been a sucker punch to the confidence in my writing that I'd been slowly building. (I owned in the Verbal section though, scoring in the top 3%.) I have 43 pages of a novel that I started 2 months ago and haven't found sufficient quiet time to go back to it. And this doesn't take into account the effect that the low score on my GRE will undoubtedly have on my desire to write anything. My personal life has become a gray mass of repeating history, whirling ominously around a calm central eye, which has me completely unnerved. And all I really want to do is take a few days to myself. Just to write, relax, put things into perspective, and gather them back into a workable group again. Bacause lately I've felt like everthing is sliding out of my grip, and as I lean to pick pieces of my life up another bit falls, then another, and another... Enough. I'm going home. j.s.

Monday, October 04, 2004

Oh, and by the way... HAPPY 2ND BIRTHDAY MEATY EFREETI!!! I rule you. j.s.



Some ghosts decide not to fade, even when you stop believing in them. Some you spend the weekend talking to for hours and hours, without running out of things to talk about. There are even stories of you in the spaces between your breaths. Some also become more substantial the closer you get. We sat in the shade and you reached to touch me, and started to focus at the edges into a shape that I remember... I could see you there, just out of the corner of my life. I know I'm supposed to be fearful of you, and of this. I promised myself I would try to be afraid tomorrow. Right now everything is just too warm and easy and comfortable here next to you for me to hover anywhere else. So I hope you don't mind. j.s.

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