Journal

I type stuff now

Hello Journal,

I've been very bad about visiting you or paying attention to your existence.  I shelled out money so you wouldn't be pock marked with ugly ads about teeth whitening and fat suction and awful scary xanga plugz (sic), but you're still all old and dated.

I should catch you up on all the stuff that's been going on since 2004 or whenever I stopped writing fives times every day.  Cool beans.

[large area of text deleted].   Yeah, no, nothing's new.

If I ever build an artificial intelligence; genetically-engineer an evolved Homo sapiens species; and/or become a coke-addicted dictator of a small country; I'll be sure to write about it.

Next time I'll write about adenosine triphosphate generation in eukaryotes.  It's a hoot.

Sincerely and best wishes,
the awesomist person ever

xxoo

A hard look at reality

If I were straight, I'd probably have a wife and kids right now, probably a career and house payments.  But no, traveling the gay path, have an undefined, unconventional, non-relationship relationship in a bachelor pad living in my delayed adolescence. 

I'm not afraid.  No, I'm afraid.  Hell, this is Iowa.  I can get gay-married and gay-adopt and have my non-traditional alternative family and have my career and house payments.

I could move out and leave my not-my-boyfriend for greener pastures and less wildlife; I could even pretend to be straight, have an unhappy hetero marriage, then later after the kids are in college and my wife has grown distant and bitter, we'll divorce and I'll be interviewed on NPR for a segment on bad decision-making and self-discovery.

Or I could forget about where I am and where I'm going, find myself somehow -- without drugs or living in a monastery in China for a summer -- and just do it, whatever it is.

I've seriously contemplated living as a lone mad scientist in a foreboding mansion on a hill somewhere, doing genetic experiments and keeping as pets any crimes against nature.  If you think about it, it really isn't a viable career path.  The money wouldn't  be great, and protestors would build a shanty town in front of the mansion, and I'm sure they'll have picket signs demanding the location of my frankencorn or frankenbeans or something.

When you buy a new car, people say "congratulations" to you a lot. The salesman says it before you sign any papers, and other people say it after you buy the car. No one says congratulations when you buy anything else. The cashier at the grocery store doesn't congratulate me on my household purchases. "Congratulations, you're the owner of a new gallon of 2% milk! Come over here so we can take a picture of you with your new milk." Then the cashier will usher me to another room, a few personnel will stand around to witness the event, and I'll have my picture taken, hands on the milk and my face filled with glee.

I love the car; I'm just not sure why I'm congratulated for getting it. I bought a house a few years back, and I wasn't congratulated on it. Though if you were familiar with the house, you wouldn't congratulate me either. Maybe you'd give me a pat on the back and say, "there, there. there, there."

The new ride

'09 Toyota Yaris; beats my old Geo in everything but gas mileage.

 

Looking back

Reading my earliest posts, back eight (!) years ago.  Poetic, drawn-out, angst-filled self-discovery.  Realized/accepted I was gay July 7, 2001.  Much change, and not so much change.

It's funny getting old, trying to hold onto things we can't hold onto.  People we love, loved, moving on and dying.  Redefinition of who we are, were, and the future.  I sometimes worry I'll find myself at life's end without having even begun.  But at only twenty-five?  The older I get, the faster time flows.

I've been with the same guy for five years.  Soon to start a career in biophysics, excluding the academic career I've been stuck in too long.  I look too much into the future and past, utterly ignoring the present.