Before leaving my apartment to accompany a friend to the dimly lit web café from which I write now, Blogger.com was encountering fatal errors, but I was notified that the engineers were on it. Apparently they make good time. It's a bit steamy in here, and I could only afford one half hour of access time. The music is thumpy, and time is ticking.
This blog is not so much of a dedication to a long time friend I met in the confines of the MSOE dormitories as it is a beacon to him. He'd make brief appearances in the chat windows on my screens toward the end. Most of the messages were of plans to live with a friend in Canada. He and I are taking some time off from school. My plans to return are somewhat more definite than his indefinite plans to travel. He enjoyed my blogs more than anyone I knew for the two years we spent in the cinderblock cubicles. It's my hope that his diagnosed personality disorder hasn't landed him in an institution. If he's reading this, he'll know I'm speaking of him and that it's due time for a contact. Enjoy the show.
My roommate and I are averaging about three disagreements per day, which is nice and healthy except that recently I've made physical threats against him. My actually hurting him is laughable. He could pound the shinola out of my flabby frame, he being a couple inches taller than I and being an athletically avid cyclist. The disagreements are generally nonviolent in content. At this point in the time I've known my roommate it occurs that after a few straight days of being near him I begin to notice nuances in the already dopey comportment of himself. He'll trail off a sentence such as, "And that was really... .... .... ...."--"COOL?!" I want to shout to finish the sentence. There are girl troubles I'd care not to delve into, but include a small amount of regret on my part. To finish this paragraph by describing him in one inflected word, imagine a little girl in a frilly white dress with the sun shining behind her, standing on a grassy hilltop... The cameraman zooms in as she licks her lollipop and simply squeaks the word, "Nice!" No, I can't leave the topic of my dear roomie in such a state of mockery. He really is nice, a little too nice is what I'm getting at. Damn personable, he is. That rings of more stature for the man.
The friend, whom I am seeking through this blog, appreciated, or maybe just took note of, the disjointedness in my blogs. Take note here! My conscious mind has been consuming me of late. Seems I can't take a walk to enjoy the cityscape without dissecting a minute detail at every turn. The details could be a brick pattern in a building or on a sidewalk, or discoloration in anything. I then have no choice but to reduce the detail to something like the plot of a child's comic strip, mnemonically, rhythmically, mechanically broken down and stored in memory. This experience becomes something like déjà vu, or at least it has some of the same aggravating qualities.
Another bothersome past time my mind has been occupying itself with is making decisions by a ghost's standards. Some might argue that these are unconscious decisions one makes for oneself and are based on upbringing, personal taste, fate, and of course genetics. There is a low voice in my head saying things like, "That's not cool," "What would 'I' think of that?" 'I' being the mysterious opinionated ghost in my skull. I believe the ghost is exactly that, a ghost. When I was younger I based much of my activities and purchases on what two or three people I admired might think of the activities and purchases. These people have not died, at least I hope not. But, in the void that remained when their voices left, and I became a more self-defined adult, there lingers an approval-withholding ghoul.
I'm out of time, in fact I'm in the negatives, and my stomach just flipped over thinking about facing the coffee-cracked-out shaky-handed guy at the desk about the $3.00 I owe for the extra time. I wasn't even once seized by the urge to turn around and scream, "Quiet!" in here. It's smoky and loud in here, yet it doesn't slow the flow. To my friend: Contact me. To my roommate: I'll be home around three.
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