Collision
I can't explain the subject-line. I suppose it's because the entire week since I last posted will collide in this one (hopefully monstrous) post.
Taking time out from the quest for melancholy, I spent an awful lot of time in Maggie's apartment over the weekend. For those of you thinking, "But wait, I thought Maggie was Alan's friend," I point out that Alan has not been at his most social lately(though to say he's been completely out of touch would, as of Saturday night, prove false); Maggie stopped by for a sanity check and, gregarious and magnetic as she is, invited me to a small gathering for the purposes of getting stoned and watching movies. I suggested a film that I recently acquired, Wizards and, after hearing the plot, she quite enthusiastically accepted my film nomination. I met all sorts of dark and stormy individuals, many of whom are into BDSM-type stuff, and many of whom offered to try their best to make me hate life, if it should ever come to such a desperate stage. I had such a good time (who is this typing? is this even me?) that I came back the next night (third in a string of parties, the first two being goodwill appearances) and met even more great people. By the end of the night, I had invited Maggie and her boy, Grace, to see Sigur Rós with me this week, as I had four tickets but only one body. They agreed, and we recruited a fourth from the ranks of the party.
I have a habit, though, of fixation. If I see a girl often enough, I'll start to fixate on her. I find out her name, then periodically check their Facebook information; finding the name seems easy enough, but I do it without ever speaking a word. Well, eventually my fixation dwindles and I move on to another "lucky" lady. This is what I substitute for actual interactive relationships.
So, Saturday night, I met this freshman girl at Maggie's. She's hyper-socialized, the kind of girl who's an absolute social genius, only second term and she's already got veins of influence running all over campus. She's only 17, but it seems like she's already been around the block at least once, if not many many times. Kind of a goth-esque outfit; maybe more punk-goth, or just plain punk. Or maybe she was just.... cute. And she seemed like she was into me, maybe, just a little...
(..........fuck)
It's been five days, and I figured out that I've checked her facebook profile more than five times since meeting her. This does not bode well, as they say. If, and that's an if of a magnitude that Atlas could not comfortably bear... if I've got a shot at something, here, I really don't want to come across as the brooding narcissistic writer/stalker-type, but I don't know if I can lie well enough to come off as anything else. Agh, never has angst felt so.... spritely?
And so, Sunday and Monday preceded Tuesday. Tuesday was a plagued day, during which none of the small things that I take for granted worked properly (it's funny, because I just read a short story by a guy in my Fiction Writing class about a person who lost his mind under the same conditions) : My alarm clock reset itself during the night; not just the sort of reset that could have easily been my mistake, but a full blown memory wipe. By god's grace (Fuck You, Capitalist Deity), I woke up in time to get to class, but it was closer than I like to cut it. While scrambling to get my clothing on and properly adjusted, I realized that my driver's license had gone missing. I knew that my "wallet" (see, four plastic cards in my back pocket) had fallen out the night before, and I found every card but the license. I checked my pants and my room over three times, eventually shaking the pants upside-down before throwing them across the room.
After my long day, I was reminded that the door to the stairwell which leads to the suite doesn't like me. I swipe once, and the door won't open even though the light is green; I have to wait for it to turn red, then swipe again. It always works the second time, and never the first. I crumble into bed and unwind by playing SNES roms (Fuck You, Naysayers) until I get a phone call from the fourth Sigur Rós attendee. She tells me she is too sick to go, and makes mention of the concert being that night, Tuesday the 21st. Now, within the walls of my brain, every piece of paper or website or schedule I had seen had informed me that the concert was on Wednesday the 22nd. Even my memory of the tickets told me that the concert was in 25 hours and not, in fact, in 1. I checked the tickets again, just to be sure.
(........fuck)
Of course, at this point, I really need my driver's license. I overturned a chair in the hunt for it, and still couldn't find it. While resting from the frantic card search, I called my freshman fixation to ask her to fill the fourth position, but she didn't pick up. I was out of time, so I left without the license and immediately ran into the freshman on the way out of my building. But, alas, she was busy! I continued running, convened with Maggie and Grace, and made tracks to The Pageant. And though we had to stand the whole time, it was absolutely thrilling (with the notable exception of the opening group, the female string quartet that plays behind Sigur Rós).
I wasn't done with my homework until 2:30 a.m., at which point I stepped into the bathroom to have my pre-sleep piss and, lowering my pants, I heard the tap of plastic on the floor behind me. I turn to find my driver's license, fallen from some hidden inter-dimensional space within my pants. I think it would have benefitted my sanity more to have simply lost the license, rather than finding it where I looked most extensively. Though, with that done, I passed out and got a much-earned five and a half hours of sleep.
I'll keep you posted on the freshman. Cross your fingers, I guess.
-Alfonzo
Taking time out from the quest for melancholy, I spent an awful lot of time in Maggie's apartment over the weekend. For those of you thinking, "But wait, I thought Maggie was Alan's friend," I point out that Alan has not been at his most social lately(though to say he's been completely out of touch would, as of Saturday night, prove false); Maggie stopped by for a sanity check and, gregarious and magnetic as she is, invited me to a small gathering for the purposes of getting stoned and watching movies. I suggested a film that I recently acquired, Wizards and, after hearing the plot, she quite enthusiastically accepted my film nomination. I met all sorts of dark and stormy individuals, many of whom are into BDSM-type stuff, and many of whom offered to try their best to make me hate life, if it should ever come to such a desperate stage. I had such a good time (who is this typing? is this even me?) that I came back the next night (third in a string of parties, the first two being goodwill appearances) and met even more great people. By the end of the night, I had invited Maggie and her boy, Grace, to see Sigur Rós with me this week, as I had four tickets but only one body. They agreed, and we recruited a fourth from the ranks of the party.
I have a habit, though, of fixation. If I see a girl often enough, I'll start to fixate on her. I find out her name, then periodically check their Facebook information; finding the name seems easy enough, but I do it without ever speaking a word. Well, eventually my fixation dwindles and I move on to another "lucky" lady. This is what I substitute for actual interactive relationships.
So, Saturday night, I met this freshman girl at Maggie's. She's hyper-socialized, the kind of girl who's an absolute social genius, only second term and she's already got veins of influence running all over campus. She's only 17, but it seems like she's already been around the block at least once, if not many many times. Kind of a goth-esque outfit; maybe more punk-goth, or just plain punk. Or maybe she was just.... cute. And she seemed like she was into me, maybe, just a little...
(..........fuck)
It's been five days, and I figured out that I've checked her facebook profile more than five times since meeting her. This does not bode well, as they say. If, and that's an if of a magnitude that Atlas could not comfortably bear... if I've got a shot at something, here, I really don't want to come across as the brooding narcissistic writer/stalker-type, but I don't know if I can lie well enough to come off as anything else. Agh, never has angst felt so.... spritely?
And so, Sunday and Monday preceded Tuesday. Tuesday was a plagued day, during which none of the small things that I take for granted worked properly (it's funny, because I just read a short story by a guy in my Fiction Writing class about a person who lost his mind under the same conditions) : My alarm clock reset itself during the night; not just the sort of reset that could have easily been my mistake, but a full blown memory wipe. By god's grace (Fuck You, Capitalist Deity), I woke up in time to get to class, but it was closer than I like to cut it. While scrambling to get my clothing on and properly adjusted, I realized that my driver's license had gone missing. I knew that my "wallet" (see, four plastic cards in my back pocket) had fallen out the night before, and I found every card but the license. I checked my pants and my room over three times, eventually shaking the pants upside-down before throwing them across the room.
After my long day, I was reminded that the door to the stairwell which leads to the suite doesn't like me. I swipe once, and the door won't open even though the light is green; I have to wait for it to turn red, then swipe again. It always works the second time, and never the first. I crumble into bed and unwind by playing SNES roms (Fuck You, Naysayers) until I get a phone call from the fourth Sigur Rós attendee. She tells me she is too sick to go, and makes mention of the concert being that night, Tuesday the 21st. Now, within the walls of my brain, every piece of paper or website or schedule I had seen had informed me that the concert was on Wednesday the 22nd. Even my memory of the tickets told me that the concert was in 25 hours and not, in fact, in 1. I checked the tickets again, just to be sure.
(........fuck)
Of course, at this point, I really need my driver's license. I overturned a chair in the hunt for it, and still couldn't find it. While resting from the frantic card search, I called my freshman fixation to ask her to fill the fourth position, but she didn't pick up. I was out of time, so I left without the license and immediately ran into the freshman on the way out of my building. But, alas, she was busy! I continued running, convened with Maggie and Grace, and made tracks to The Pageant. And though we had to stand the whole time, it was absolutely thrilling (with the notable exception of the opening group, the female string quartet that plays behind Sigur Rós).
I wasn't done with my homework until 2:30 a.m., at which point I stepped into the bathroom to have my pre-sleep piss and, lowering my pants, I heard the tap of plastic on the floor behind me. I turn to find my driver's license, fallen from some hidden inter-dimensional space within my pants. I think it would have benefitted my sanity more to have simply lost the license, rather than finding it where I looked most extensively. Though, with that done, I passed out and got a much-earned five and a half hours of sleep.
I'll keep you posted on the freshman. Cross your fingers, I guess.
-Alfonzo
posted by Alfonzo Debussy | 1:59 AM
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