I wouldn't tell this to anyone at all, and that's precisely why I'm writing it here. I am certain that in a month or so I'll read back over this, ashamed for having ever published it to the darkest deepest corner of the internet, as is the pattern with me... To write things I wouldn't tell anyone and feel ashamed of them later. It's better than not telling anyone. I know it's nonsense to get this worked up over a dream. But it's not the dream that's done me in, it's the sentiment it brought on. It's all I can do this morning not to put my head in my hands and weep.

I was running late, in the dream, although somehow I wasn't sure what for. I simply knew there wasn't a minute to spare. When I arrived, I parked the car and ran up the steps, and you know, before I walked through that door, I felt pretty confident about the way I was dressed. I thought I looked pretty good in my slacks and my favorite button-up shirt. Inside, however, I immediately felt under-dressed. There were familiar faces everywhere, too many to count, too many to take in at once... As I passed through their midst to the end of the room, they all smiled at me--or even for me... It was odd, but everyone seemed to be conveying happiness in my direction, along with a slight perplexion as to my attire, and from some, perhaps, a hint of jealousy. I didn't pay much further attention to them, because when I had made my way to the end, standing there waiting for me was Stacy, my favorite pastor from back home, a man I aspire to be more like. He was wearing a robe, and holding a Bible, and he looked at me, and gave me a nod. The imminence of something momentous descended upon me with that nod. Stacy turned and looked down the aisle the way I had come, and I did too. Nothing could prepare me for what I saw. I was so confused as she walked toward me. How could it be? My mind searched for any possible explanation. She looked more beautiful than I had ever seen her. I knew that she should be angry with me, for being late, or for not dressing up, but she wasn't. She smiled at me. How could it be? There was no longer any impressing to be done, no winning over... Two weeks ago I distinctly remembered her having no interest in me, and yet here we were, and she was happy. Forget the explanations, I thought. I didn't know how this was happening, but I didn't care. She stood beside me, looked into my eyes, and smiled. I was completely broken. "Are you ready?" she whispered. I could scarcely find a word with which to answer her--never had there been a question I was more prepared and less able to answer. "Mm-Hmm." I didn't hear a word Stacy said. I couldn't hear anything over her beauty. He stopped speaking and stared at me. Every synapse in my brain fired in synchrony and the words left my mouth, "I do." She was brimming over with joy. "I do," she said. I vividly remember thinking to myself, "please, don't let this be a dream." I was very, very worried as I stared into her eyes in a way that I had never been able to before--I was waiting for the dream to end. When it didn't, however, I was overwhelmed. It was real. I didn't care how, it was real. We thanked our friends and family for coming and we danced and we ate orderves. I couldn't believe that she was my wife. I had never felt this much happiness, ever. I watched her as she talked to our guests, and she caught my stare, and it made her smile. Nothing mattered, to either of us, nothing at all, but that we really were married. I was so relieved, that what has always seemed the most impossible dream had finally, really come true. I held her in my arms. ...Even now I don't want to finish this paragraph.

I awoke. "shit."

It feels a bit like stumbling upon an oasis in the desert, water that doesn't just look real but feels and tastes real as well, only for the mirage to disappear and leave you with a mouth full of sand. A bit like that, only much, much worse.

In what can only be described as destiny, my garbage disposal exploded yesterday, and if you'll excuse me, I intend to repair it.

Before we get into my first post in 3 months, I should probably inform you that my computer has come down with some sort of ridiculous supervirus, one that will no doubt cost around a hundred bucks to remove, and just about the only thing I can do on my computer at the moment is post on pleonast while dodging "security alert"s. It makes me sick knowing that the only people who profit from computer viruses are the antivirus people. If that's not sketchy, then I don't know what is. Oh wait, yes I do. A crowd of people in my bathroom watching my roommate get his ears pierced.

Anyway, I quit smoking. I'm completely done with it; it's been months now--and I've been eating healthy, too. No sodas or fried foods, and I'm keeping close to 1200 calories per day... I've even done some working out.

And yet I still can't seem to find a cure for the larger issue, which is that I'm still painfully uncool. How, after watching so many hours of "Saved By The Bell" in my younger days, did I not turn out as cool as Zack Morris? In fact, in an unexpected twist, somehow in all of this Zack Morris became uncool instead. I'm sorry Zack, I never meant for this to happen.

Screams of "PUSH!!!" can be heard from my bathroom now... I think Kevin might be delivering a newborn.

I also think maybe my problem is a lack of self-confidence. That and a lack of knowledge of random skills such as fixing a backed up garbage disposal, or possessing the authority to tell someone "it's your alternator" whilst looking under the hood of a motor vehicle. Such qualities, the lack of which, might cause one to not want me along if they were to become stranded on a desert island. ...Ok, those two things are my problem, AND this looming feeling that getting a six-pack is actually way harder than the web would have me believe.

And yet, this is the furthest I've ever gotten into one of these change-of-lifestyle schemes of mine. Most die out in the first couple of days. I've lasted so long--so why do I feel like crap?

There's no end to the list of my shortcomings... A true change of lifestyle would mean being nicer to every single person I encounter, instead of just looking out for myself everywhere I go. Being funnier and more charming wouldn't hurt, either--or at the very least learning how to stop myself from saying such stupid things at the absolute wrong times, or learning how to at least say SOMETHING in the right times, all of which inevitably find me silent. If I could just be less selfish, more witty, less awkward, more confident, smarter, kinder, and easier on the eyes...

Maybe I could accomplish these things by the time I'm 30. But what to do in the meantime, if the recently-single girl of my dreams is already falling for a 30-year-old? Worse, one who's already fixed her garbage disposal?!? I mean, that's just unfair. At least a hundred times worse than that kid who pretended I hurt him in a soccer game 14 years ago and got me kicked out of the game with a yellow card. And even a thousand times worse than the band yellowcard.

And now I have to make up for a lifetime of laziness to become a man worthy of winning her heart from this cold-hearted Generation X-er... it feels as if I've been putting off studying for the most ultimate of exams, all this time, and now I have to cram 21 years into a few short months.

Am I likely to succeed? Not really, but is it possible? Questionable at best, but do I have the motivation? Now that you mention it... This isn't looking good.

Please, leave your words of inspiration in the comment box if you feel even the slightest bit of empathy for a man who doesn't deserve it at all. I made my bed and now I have to lie in it, as my grandmother would probably say, if she said those sorts of things while she was alive. But lying in bed won't do anyone a bit of good now, grandma. I've wallowed in my own self pity long enough. Perhaps at least the motivation of wanting to kick my own ass will prove sufficient.

There's no real justification for the words on this page. It's possible, in fact, that they're just taking up space. I've never known how much space there is, but now I guess there's a little less of it. I wonder how many blogs and xangas there are just wasting away out there, long forgotten by everyone. I've never had any intention of keeping this 90's fad alive. And if I was writing this to you, whoever you are, as though it were an important and desperate letter conveying the most urgent of informations, I certainly wouldn't fill it with paragraphs as pointless as this one. I'd have to be crazy! Or maybe it's you, for reading? Still, just why am I writing this? I suppose it's just the freedom. The freedom of typing: "The girl sitting behind me in this wonderful coffee shop is fantastically beautiful." It is kind of freeing, you know? She has no idea I just typed that. Neither does any of the other people in the room, mainly because they don't have telescopic vision and they're too absorbed in their conversation--I know because I'm drowning it out with my headphones and Joshua James. Her hair, the back of her head, is reflected in the screen of this laptop, right... there.

In the same vein, I can type the lyrics I'm listening to right now... "God if you can hear me, crash this train" to no affect on the world whatsoever. Is it affect? Effect? Why are those two words? They're the same thing, aren't they? How did I sneak out of 8 years in elementary, 3 years in high school, and 4 in college without knowing the difference between 'ffect' with an E and 'ffect' with an A? Now I've lost my train of thought. Oh yes, trains. I could speculate on what the artist meant by those words, or I could articulate on what they mean to me, but really it's just the melody, you'd have to hear it. Luckily, I already have, and I know what I'm talking about. If by this point I've completely lost you, rest assured that I'm just as lost as to why you would still be reading these words that I'm typing. And the girl in the corner is just as lost to all of this as the talkers. Maybe that's why I'm writing right now. To get lost, a little bit.

And maybe in this consequenceless realm of expression I can get just a few things off of my chest. There is a wine stain on the cuff of my shirt. You can't see it because the fabric is a similar color, but it's there. I'm a terrible musician. I don't intend to stay that way, at least I desperately hope I don't, but it's still true. I think there's a lot worse things in the world than "gays," and I think that the people having that conversation behind me, now bleeding through between songs, will never be able to take back their words. I think there's also a lot lot worse things in the world than people who think gays are o-k. I would rather get in a no-rules fistfight in a dirty, run-down Waffle House after dark, with a certain girl, than make love with anyone else. I would gladly get the living shit kicked out of me. Good thing the little boy walking down the hallway just then didn't have the immaculate ability to decipher keyboard clicks. The anything, incidentally, that I would do for her, includes lying to a security guard and sneaking back into a movie theater after hours to retrieve an undrunk, forgotten Starbucks Frappuccino which had already been snuck in in the first place.

She asked me, as we wandered the aisles of Lowe's together, which washer and dryer "we" should buy for "our" house. Which fridge? And which toilette? "I don't know," I told her, "but I think which ever one we get, it should be installed like this, at a 45 degree angle 5 feet off the ground." "Yeah," she replied, "it'll make potty-training junior a challenge, but I have to agree."

Of all the girls he could have dated, it had to be her. He could have dated reflection girl over there. -> I certainly don't want to, however. She's not my type at all. She's his type.

How have I started ranting about this again? Look how short and dumb these sentences have gotten! My powers are fading!!!

Fine, whoever you are, you stuck it out this long, here's some urgent information for you: I'm a communications major, and I am at least quite content about that. Engineering defeated me but I escaped its mortal blow. I'm going to music school, it's for sure now... Just not for sure when. And now I'm about to be swept away for drinks with girls.

I'll leave whoever you are with this:

"If it's the beaches... if it's the beaches' sands you want then you will have them. If it's the mountains' bending rivers then you will have them. If it's a wish to run away then I will grant it. Take whatever you think of, while I go gas up the truck, pack the old loveletters up, we will read them when we forget why we left here."

Sonny told me to do this.

Things I Don't Like About My Life:

I'm about to fail out of engineering school
I can't seem to do anything to make anyone in my family proud
My friends are pretty scattered and I don't see them often
I'm looking pretty rough these days
I'm 0% financially self-sufficient and 0% independent
I'm empty on motivation
I don't really have any dreams or ambitions left
I still don't have a dog, and I still don't have a motorcycle
I have tried many, many times, and I have never written an honest song,
And I think that's why no one really wants to hear my songs these days
Me and God sit at the dinner table most nights in silence, quietly eating our food
Even though that's entirely my fault I keep trying to blame Him
I'm still completely hung up on a girl who has a boyfriend,
And every time I try to forget her and pursue someone else it goes just dreadfully awful
For example, last night
It's becoming seemingly ever more unlikely that a family of my own is in the cards for me
I've become a person that I never wanted to be

Things I Like About My Life:

My porch and the couches on it
The new Avett Brothers CD
Sonny, who is probably increasingly more annoyed with me
My DJ job, and the fact that people tell me they heard me on the radio and that I sounded good
I'm leading music at RUF fall conference, and I'm reasonably excited about that
I have a cool new hat

"I don't know what will happen, but just do it..." - Sonny

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find a park in which to draw a tree and a bird, then have a semi-awkward man date over wine and cheese, and write about it all in my journal, and all of this without thinking about my life, all before the end of the day.

Dear universe,
I give up.