I know I said I was keeping the archives available but for the time being, I‘m storing them safely away. I‘m still not sure how this whole readjustment is going to work yet. A lot of things are uncertain right now.

In almost all other areas of my life, growth has been a positive thing with little or no suffering. College blew past with the usual whining, but was relatively painless. I grew into my current position at work with very little difficulty. I've adapted time and time again to the daily tasks and duties required of me. I finally feel as though I am coming into my own, so to speak, and managing my life much more responsibly while still accomplishing more.

The only area I can't seem to grow without discomfort or pain, however, is my love life. In fact, I seem to digress every time a situation presents itself. No matter how many self-motivating speeches or success stories or elderly words of wisdom I receive, I simply cannot deal with other human beings in a romantic setting--potential or otherwise--without turning into a sheepishly inept child. If I like someone, I am unable to let them know. Likewise, I am unable to be straightforward with my feelings when I do not like someone, as well.

I'm sure the inability stems from being afraid of rejection or hurting someone's feelings, and I imagine myself overcoming those fears and being completely candid. In time, I'd like to be more confident and aggressive, although not overbearing, simply because I admire people who are. The first step, as it's said, is always the hardest. I have to work on that honesty because there are people waiting for an answer.

It always seemed to me that brute honesty required an abandonment of one's sensitivity to others. I think that if I'm able to grow into someone who is true to others and myself without losing that sensitivity, I will have succeeded. Although I'm not an advocate of suffering as a source of growth, I know this will not be painless and, unlike the growing pains I experienced as a teenager, these cannot be alleviated with analgesics. I do believe, however, that the more difficult changes--and certainly the more painful changes--in life are also the ones we benefit the most from.

As I gathered my things to walk out the door, my computer stopped me. It said, why don't you stop and check your email before you leave, because I have new mail! I dropped my coat and sat in my chair and to my surprise, new email awaited! But it wasn't any ordinary email. It was one of those psychic, kick-you-when-you're-down (although in a good way) kind of emails that you weren't expecting, but had coming nonetheless.

In a matter of minutes, I had my ass kicked. I was down on the ground, screaming uncle, begging for mercy, and I shouted: this ain't no way to live my life! I struggled and twisted and I turned the tables and grabbed this day by the horns and I said, no way muthah! No way in hell are you takin' me down. With that, I hogtied the sonovabitch and threw him over my shoulder. I was takin' him home.

Grabbing my coat, I clipped on my work badge and made my way into the bleach-clean winter air. I stopped before unlocking my car. The mountains asked, and with heavy determination, I replied:

I want to paint! I want to write! I want to travel and laugh and cry and love and know and see and spell and smell and joke and live like no one had ever known or heard of life before.

And would you believe it... I did just that.

I stayed home from work because I'm still fighting off this sore throat and I've been somewhat productive around the house despite body aches and minor sinus pressure. I opened the patio door in hopes the weather might invade my head. The army of suppliments and pain killers seem to be doing a decent job, so house cleaning and homework have ensued. I even made a trip to the grocery store to buy a few items for dinner: butter, eggs, broccoli, potatoes, orange juice, tomatoes, sour cream.

As the fall quarter is winding to a close, I'm seriously debating whether I want to continue going to school. Winter quarter is only a few weeks away, so the decision needs to be made soon. Sooner than I'd like, because the decision-making dongle in the upstairs hangar is a little fickle and I know if I cancel my class registration now, I may regret it later. I don't want to shoot myself in the foot as far as my education's concerned.

I haven't had sex in three months. I just needed to get that off my chest. And, in a way, I'm probably saying that more to congratulate myself than anything because I don't think I've gone longer than a few weeks since I came out during my junior year in high school. It's not a dry spell, because heaven knows I'm not with a lack of opportunity. Something sorta clicked off a while ago, and I know I've written about it already, but I'm just amazed that it's lasted this long.

So, basically, that's my life in a nutshell right now. I'm sort of in a holding pattern as far as everything else is concerned and haven't even unpacked from my trip to California until a few minutes ago. The birthday is on Saturday, whence much partying will commence, oh yes. I'm really looking forward to it.

The Nanowrimo party was good fun. After a great movie and sushi dinner with Chris and Jessie, I took a cab across Market to a hidden alleyway. The evening rain had collected into clouds of mist that draped the street in a movie-like aura. Printed in large, stenciled numbers on a delivery door, I matched the address with the number on my printout and knocked. No answer. A few people had walked behind me to a small, makeshift door directly behind me, and as I looked closer, I noticed Christmas lights dangling from open rafters in a courtyard through the door.

The party was unmarked, but inside it was obvious by the appearance of the crowd that I had made it to the right place. I mingled and chatted for a few hours and read lots of pieces that people had hung up on clotheslines all around the room, drank lots of beer, wore a Burger-King-like paper crown that was given to all the writers who had taken part in the event and finished. Around midnight, Chris Baty gave a toast to everyone, and dancing commenced. I was feeling rather tired, so I decided to take off. Mingling with a crowd of complete strangers is amazingly exhausting.

I strolled home in the rain, the streets empty and wet, and caught the Market St. trolley full of dripping, silent people. The city smelled of water. The homeless in this city are overwhelming. I've lost count of how many have asked me for change--surprisingly, it's the ones that don't ask that I tend to give it to--and I had started to get a little irritated by the end of the night, which wasn't being helped by the copious amounts of alcohol I had recently consumed.

Outside the hostel, a thin, black man in a leather jacket was watching me approach, and asked me for four dollars. As I shook off and tied up my umbrella, I said no, but he kept pushing me. They're almost as bad as telemarketers.

"I'm sorry," I said, "but you're probably asking for money in the wrong place." I motioned to the hostel in front of us.

"C'mon man. Four dollars." His voice was getting antagonizing, almost as though he were annoyed at even having to ask me twice. "Would it hurt you that much?"

With that question, I snapped. "Would it hurt you that much to get a job?" I asked, and as he flustered for an excuse, I hurriedly walked into the building without looking back. A thousand scenarios run through my head and I wonder if perhaps a few bucks or some change would have really helped the guy, but I hate the fact that I feel even the least bit guilty. How dare these people invade my life with their problems and then make me take the slightest sliver of responsibility for them? It's almost as though they expect handouts as a natural recourse of nature. I know I don't need to, but I'm apologizing now. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I won't help them with a few dollars, but it's only a band-aid. It's not fixing the problem, but salving the symptom. Someday, when I can, I'll do something better to dig it up at the roots. Until then, this is me shedding that burden. I won't carry this on my shoulders anymore.

Okay. Well, that was the month's rant. It's nearly noon and the city is still sleepy. Of course, it's Sunday and the football game is on and everyone is recovering from the rain. I'm hoping the airport will be equally subdued. Chris has offered to drive me to the airport this afternoon, so I should probably go see if they're awake. My next post will probably be from home. It's hard to believe the weekend is over.

I?ve had so much to write these past two days, but no time to carry it out. One thing I do remember noting to record was the movie we saw yesterday afternoon called "Amelie," and thinking I ought to purchase a copy when it comes out on video. Okay, meal?s over. Time to move out.

Chris was kind enough to spend the majority of the day with me. We walked our feet off, having quite the adventure across the city saving people's lost checkbooks, dodging Claire Daines, and just sharing good, old-fashioned conversation. Later in the evening, we went to the Endup--a small club with a dark, quietly excited crowd and a sweaty dancefloor--and made our rounds with Jessie and a couple of his coworkers.

I'm really looking forward to the Nanowrimo party tonight, which holds promise of an interesting crowd, fun conversation, and possibilities. For now, however, it's time, once again to hit the streets. Fortunately, I have my trusty umbrella.

I checked into a youth hostel downtown, rooming with three other guys: an 18-year-old from Wales and a 21-year-old from Denmark--both cute in a little-boyish sort of way, but fortunately not my type. I probably wouldn't have gotten any sleep if they had been. The third was a Japanese student who I never saw, but who came in around 4 this morning, causing a great ruckus and snoring like nobody's business. He kept both Martin and I awake and we joked about it this morning despite the fact that I had been seriously considering leaving and checking into a hotel earlier in the morning. To our luck, he seems to have checked out this morning.

The window in the shower looks out over an alleyway and main thoroughfare, where you can watch pedestrians and traffic. It's private, but still fun to think that someone might look up and see you showering in a small, obscure window on the side of a building. The steam from the shower spills out the window and into the morning air. I took my time getting ready this morning, and it's nice to think that I have absolutely nothing to do today.

I'm writing this entry from a coffee shop on Geary called Seattle Street Coffee that has both java and internet access. Just another great thing about big cities. Later on today, I may meet Jessie and Chris for lunch. Last night, Jessie and Reese were kind enough to show me around the city and take me out to a few bars on the Castro, although not much partying took place as it was a weeknight and, as I said, rather cool. Brian also happened to show up as we were heading home, and it was good to meet him as well. How many more webloggers can I possibly meet on this trip?

The city calls. Time to explore.

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