I'm not a big champion of fate but I wonder if my indecision or evasiveness steered the deal down a road I knew I wouldn't be able to take. My mom says things work themselves out for the better. I can take a modicum of comfort in that. But the journey to The Better is always what torments us, and don't they say that life is the journey? Along this part of the journey, I've learned a few do's-and-don't's and the next offer I make will be smarter, better. Perhaps this is The Better my mom refers to: the self-improvement that comes with learning, not only from good experiences, but disappointing ones as well. From this we should learn to cherish all experiences, objectively. It's a self-sufficient cycle.

I suppose the main thing I'm obsessing about lately is this tremendous desire or urge to leave. Ever since I graduated high school, I've been fighting the urge to move somewhere new, start over on my own, establish myself, and build a life with my bare hands. Instead, I forced myself to finish school and get a job here in my hometown where I'm really comfortable but ultimately not happy.

So, why do I stay? Well, security is a big issue for me since I have a tendency to throw myself to the winds whenever my complusiveness gets the better of me. Therefore, I've been working hard to pay off my debts and save up a sizeable chunk of cash to start me out when I do. That's going to take, I estimate, about three years. In the meantime, I figure I might as well be working towards a masters degree since my company is paying for it. I'm getting good job experience at the same time.

Insert sigh here. I really need to let go of this fixation and learn to enjoy myself, as I am, now. All this focusing on the future has made me worry that I'm going to develop a habit of always working towards some out-of-reach goal without ever really enjoying myself on the path to it. And I'm a firm believer of the idea that happiness isn't something you find or stumble upon, but something you strive to be.

This repression of--or attempt to control--my urge to take flight has built up inside me like steam in an engine, and the frequent spurts of manic behavior I've been exhibiting lately are probably manifestations of this repression. My impulse shopping is a good example. I'll buy nothing for a good couple of months, and then suddenly, I go on a rampage of materialistic ardor. My recent computer purchase is a good example, despite the fact that I can almost justify buying it.

Peter says there's something more to be said about my shopping sprees, but I believe that's the crux in the paragraph above. And that stems from my ingrained materialism which I've forever fought but never quite vanquished, instead repressing it much the same way I've repressed my Sagittarian drive. Perhaps it's like art or writing, in that, sometimes it comes naturally but for the most part it is a skill that needs regimented practice until it becomes second nature.

Usually, The Onion makes me laugh, but today it made me feel really sad because my horoscope says, "You will spend the next 40 years of your life desperately preparing for the final 10," and at first I thought, How funny, that is so true. But then I thought, How sad, that is so true.

My new computer arrived last night via FedEx Priority Overnight. My printer comes today. I peeled open the dusty box and stuck my face in it, inhaling the factory smells, ignoring the irritating warning of anthrax in the back of my mind. Although I may not have realized it at the time, I was making a mental, olfactory bookmark in my mind. I gingerly pulled the hardware from its styrofoam womb and deliberately connected the pieces. It runs so quietly, I hardly know it's there. Even the hard-drive whispers.

New music, new books, and new plans litter my life. New furniture, new colors, new stuff. Newness fades and is reborn in the faces of new friends that dot the horizon. From what fountain is this newness eternally springing?

The familiar tug catches me every month or so and sweeps me out into a blue abyss of activity. Long ago, I realized that things must be in a constant state of change for me to be satisfied in any way and stability is, itself, only a momentary change from the metamorphosis that is my life. I feel close to the earth and its changing: the trees shedding, the days exhaling, the air biting.

The current picked up last night, and without even consciously recognizing it, I began to reorganize my closet. It always starts out small. Slowly, it spread to the rest of my room, the house, my car, and before I knew it, I was looking for a new place to live. I needed a new place to live. I craved change like I hungered for my next meal.

Could this be an outward expression of inner dissatisfaction or turmoil, or is it a natural aspect of my personality that keeps the flow going? I've tried to restrain myself during these times of tremendous urge--to take a step back and look at what's going on--and I've leared the best solution is to let it run course. My pragmatic half usually gets the better of me after a few days of swimming in the sea anyway.

I've also been working on trusting my gut instincts. This probably goes hand-in-hand with that, since most of these whims tend towards reflex and intuition. But am I being true to that intuition or simply compulsive? I keep thinking that if I ask the right question, the answer will be evident. Maybe I need to stop drawing things in black and white and let the answers come to me.

-----

Campus walks are great at this time in the year when, at any moment, you might be snapped by a publicity photographer, promoting the school in the next freshman catalog. Leaves crackle underfoot and fill the air. It's beautiful. Looking at the snapshot of me walking across campus in next year's brochure, I'd think, "Wow. Everything in my life at that instant... was perfect."

But it's not.

I know what you're thinking: Just another whiny journal entry. And granted, I suppose I really ought to be focusing my energy towards cultivating optimism, but the thing is that everything on the surface is good. There's just one thing: this shadow lingering under my skin that I can't pinpoint. I'm hoping that by repeated analysis, I can fish it out, skin it, look at it under the light of day. Figure out how it got here--how I got here.

My first instinct right now is to scream. I can hear it in my head and it sounds really good. But I can't. Well, I mean, I could but I don't want to alarm anyone in the house and besides, I don't think I could do justice to the one in my head. Writing it down here is as far as I can go with it right now. It's as far as I've gotten for any of this mess.

I hope this doesn't turn into a crutch.

I went to Denver this weekend to see Patricia Barber in concert at the Gothic with my brother and some friends. She's groovy. I never knew my brother to be much of a jazz enthusiast, but apparently he's been drinking the stuff down in giant gulps, lately. I'm liking the fact that his music tastes are as varied as mine. It's good to try new things. Plus, I ran into Paige there, and finally got to meet her girlfriend Rebecca, who we've all been joking didn't exist since no one had ever met her. I'm the first one.

After a second lunch with Susanna on Saturday, I went out on the town with no plans. Just me. It felt great to go out and wander the city by myself and not have to worry about should-bes or could-bes. I parked by the Mayan and picked up a matinee ticket to "Ghost World," which I'd been wanting to see for a while. I window shopped along Broadway, called a few friends to say hello, and took the day in: the fall sun on my face and the crisp air in my nose.

After grabbing a bite to eat -- one slice of vegetarian deluxe pizza -- at Famous Pizza -- famous in the same parallel universe that the Pope is a sado-masochist -- I wandered back up the strip to the theater and slipped in just before the previews -- my favorite part of most movies -- which, fortunately, were only half as good as the movie I had paid eight bucks for -- matinee, too, can you believe it?

Saturday, I watched a movie with Cale and Lindsay and crashed out early. I'm working on paring down my weekend plans to do more vegging and sleeping. It seems like I'm always on the go, lately. Sunday, I washed my car, went to class, and again turned in to bed early. Well, early, in relation to the midnight curfews I've been setting for myself, which tends to be around 10 p.m.

I talked to Peter last night. Some things I'm working on this week: a) saying "no," b) painting, c) coming up with reasons why I should move, and d) following my first gut instincts. Books I'm reading this week: a) James Morrow's Only Begotten Daughter (finished), b) E.F. Schumacher's Small is Beautiful (again), and c) Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra's Don Quixote.

For instance, I could be having sex tonight. As a matter of fact, I could be having sex every night if I wanted it. The marginal cost of doing so -- finding a suitable partner, verifying compatibility, driving and meeting somewhere, risking the contraction of diseases -- far outweighs the marginal benefit of the encounter, which would primarily be a short period of pleasure, ranging anywhere from fifteen minutes to a few hours.

The theory of supply and demand also plays a large part in my sex life. Currently, there is an abundance of undesirable sexual partners, and -- had they not been undesirable in the first place -- this surplus would decrease the demand. The demand is already low, but that is due to the high cost of engaging in sexual activity with such partners (emotional trauma, for instance). As we all know, high cost decreases demand and, inversely, increases supply.

The principles of present choice versus future possibility also hold true when considering the opportunity costs of having sex every night. If we consider my present choice of having sex every night, I must give up the time and energy I could otherwise put forth to improving myself physically and mentally or searching for a more ideal partner. Instead, if I chose to forgo immediate sexual gratification and focus, instead, on building my capital goods (self-esteem, appearance, and pick-up lines), I stand to gain, sexually, in the long term.

Further still, economic systems display themselves in abundance when discussing my sex life. A purely capitalistic encounter (a.k.a. "the one night stand"), assumes that each participant acts in his own self-interest and each seeks to maximize his own satisfaction or profit. The system allows for the private ownership of capital (each has his own life, outside of the relationship), communicates through cost, and coordinates activity through markets (or Internet chat rooms).

Sometimes, my sex life looks like a command economy (commonly referred to as a "LTR"), where there is public ownership of virtually all property resources and sexual decision making through central planning. Most of my relationships and encounters are a combination of the two "economies" and are known as mixed systems.

But I suppose it all comes down to the central problem of both sex and economics, which states that our wants are insatiable and our resources are forever scarce. Because classic economics deals with doing the best with what we have, most of us who model our sexual relationships on this idea end up in trailer parks with drunken boyfriends. I'm considering a production possibility curve that focuses on capital improvement for future benefits.

That is why I'm not having sex tonight. Economically speaking.

So, Houston was good. Not great, but definitely a lot of fun. Barry's birthday party -- themed "Heathers" after the 1989 high-school tragicomedy -- went smashingly well a la Corn Nuts, "paté", some blue KoolAid for "Hull Clean" punch, a croquet set, red legwarmers, "Big Fun" t-shirts, and a sign on the door identifying Dianna's apartment as the "Snappy Snack Shack."

I was a little disappointed I didn't get to see John, although looking back, I'm sorta glad. There's a lot I want to say about this, but I don't really feel like talking about it right now. I ended up going to Rich's for drinks on Saturday night, mostly because I was told John would be there, but ended up going home early after getting sick. I think someone slipped some G into one of my drinks, since I only had three and am not a lightweight by any means.

This really disturbs me, because the mix of alcohol and GHB is lethal. To think that one of the guys I chatted with could have considered it a viable means to whatever ends they had in mind, angers me. Fortunately, Scott was there to keep an eye on me and carry me home when necessary, and it could have been a lot worse. My life seems to be turning into a deranged Queer As Folk episode!

Overall, the trip was a lot of fun, though. I got to spend some quality time with new friends and get out of my life for a few days to party, which I haven't done in a couple of weeks. I think that doing that once in a while is essential to keeping an even keel. This is mostly due to the fact that I feel so guilty afterwards I have a tendency to overachieve the following week.

So far, it's worked out pretty well. This morning, I feel relatively human and am again ready to take on the world of embedded systems. Things are good.

At some point on our camping trip, we were discussing his job and turns out he's a "Life Coach." What does this mean exactly? Well, he coaches people on how to take advantage of their talents, get the most out of life, and pursue their dreams. Sounds interesting, I thought, despite being a bit on the Yuppie-Motivational-Speaker side (then again, I suppose I'm more of a yuppie needing to be motivated than I'd like to admit). After articulating my interest, he indicated that he'd talk to me about it after the course is over, since he didn't want to promote his business on the trip.

I'm really looking forward to it, if not for gaining greater clarity or direction, than simply to talk about where my life's heading with an interesting individual. Peter is a really insightful guy (from what I remember of my 10 days spent with him), and it will be good to get an outside view. For our first discussion, I am to think of a few points in my life that I'd like greater clarity on. I can think of a few: work, my living situation, school, love, family, friends... damn, pretty much my entire life now that I think of it.

But as I was stuffing clean socks into my dresser this morning, I realized that everything in my life has been clearer now than ever before. I have clarity. I know where I am heading and where I want to go. I suppose what I really want now is reassurance that everything will turn out okay. And even then, I need to just slow down, forget worrying about the future, and concentrate on Now. Stop living in the future. Focus on living the current moment fully.

Perhaps my writing is holding me back in this sense. I write to keep connected to my past, and I enjoy reading about my past. I write to keep my past alive. And instead, maybe I should accept it for what it was and the effect it had on me. Move on from there. Realize that the past is not now, and that the person I am now IS what has resulted of all the nows before it. Perhaps I should be shedding the past like a shark sheds its teeth.

Speaking of sharks, I had a strange dream about 'em last night. I dreamt I was jet skiing in an ocean bay, the water turquoise and clear to the ocean floor. Among the boulders and seaweed that composed the bay, I saw large white sharks, swimming agitatedly to and fro in the water. And funniest thing, their mouths were coated in blood. Okay, so it wasn't funny at the time, but I started to panic and tried to dock the jet ski near the pier, but every direction I turned, there was a shark. They never saw me and, eventually, I woke up, but I kept fearing that they'd notice me and attack.

John wrote me a really reassuring email on fear and describes a dream he had:

I dreamt that this demon was menacing me. My first response was fear. I stood my ground with him (maybe because I realized that there was no escape) but still tried to find a way to make him go away. Then something in my mind said to embrace him. So I did. I held him and felt him flinch then relax and then dissolve away. After thinking about the dream I thought that the demon represented the demons in our lives. If we try to fight with them, they will never be conquered. This is because they know how to fight, they understand the fight. If we approach them with love, they succumb to it, just as we would. Maybe we really are princesses in dragons clothing. (in reference to Rilke's "Letters to a Young Poet")

Are we put on this earth to fear? I think not. I believe we are put on this earth to know fear and to understand it, but at the same time, realize that there is no reason to fear anything at all. Living with fear is simply living in the future based on what has happened in the past, as John succinctly put it. By doing so, we are letting life preclude our actual living.

"Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple 'I must,' then build your life in accordance..."

I have done what Rilke instructs. I have gone inside myself and asked whether every word has been born of an inner necessity, and the answer is simply, "No." I write because I enjoy practicing my ability to create, and ? most of all ? I use it as a tool to build myself from the ground up, to see where I've come from, to remember, and to observe my progress. That's it. I think the only reason I ever got it in my head that I should write a novel was the persistent push from Jeff to "put my talents to work." I'm sure the urge to write will come at some point in my life, but it's not there now and I'm not going to force it.

The first day (or, technically, "night") of class went pretty well. I misread my schedule and thought my class started at 5, when it actually started at 8, and ended up going to the school and turning around to come home. Which was a good thing because I managed to buy Barry's birthday present, cook dinner and whip out a painting in the betweentime. Then I re-drove myself to school and made myself comfortable in the front row of the class so I would be unable to cruise, which is a distracting habit of mine. I figure I'm in Graduate School now, and need to be focused on school, rather than arm-wrestling my hormones. Despite my efforts ? and I don't know how I did it ? I somehow managed to pick out three cute guys in the first five minutes of class without even turning around. One of them is gay (black mules, tight Armani pants, short crew-cut hair... you do the math). Ever on the prowl.

And that's not really the case, either. Sex has been the last thing on my mind lately, and I've had no desire to date or even to meet new guys. I have dated but more out of habit than want. The idea of not dating at all has crossed my mind, but it's hard to let people down like that. I know that sounds really bigheaded. The two guys I've met are great, and I've had fun spending time with both of them (nothing but respectable, polite, peck-on-the-cheek-goodnight dates), but they both are interested in pursuing something more and I'm simply not interested. I think I'm hesitant, because this is such an unusual situation for me. Some part of me keeps thinking I'm going to turn around and suddenly be interested any day now, so I need to keep dating until I am. The majority of my brain is thinking not.

I'm going to Houston this weekend. It's sort of my last vacation before I have to fully delve into my schoolwork and I'm really looking forward to it. Hopefully, I'll be able to hang out a bit with John while I'm down there. Nothing but polite and respectable.

When I first stepped foot on the campus of my new school a few months ago to enroll, I distanced myself from the place. I wouldn't let myself be there any more than a man in a submarine is actually standing on the bottom of the ocean. And I figured it would stay like that, because I don't want to be going to school there. I have about as much passion for my subjects as I do for a Playboy centerfold.

As much as I hate to use the term, I've been psyching myself up for the quarter this past week, telling myself it will be fun to start something new. It will be a new adventure. And I know nothing of business related subjects ? my past education being firmly rooted in math and computers ? so I'm sure I will learn something new and, hopefully, interesting. After all, it's better to learn something than nothing, and if it weren't for school I'd be sitting on my ass all winter daydreaming and playing Final Fantasy.

School is also a good distraction from myself. Let alone, my mind will run amok with escapism fantasies and delusions of romance; I'll start to get antsy and Look for Love in All the Wrong Places. And school is good in the sense that -- while it won't help me focus on the fact that I need to just calm down and let things play out in my life -- it will draw a nice chalk outline around the ant colony that is my thought process. It will cause me to focus on something other than the many paths out of this city.

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