Up with it came our pain and fear

A strange combination of clarity and exhaustion right now. Maybe I just need to calm the fuck down.

This was the only compensation for waking up at the ass-end of yesterday morning:

Eat your fucking heart out.

I don't know why every post lately has been titled with song lyrics. I think it may be reflective of my lack of good turns of phrase.

Morning's here.

I dreamt I was being chased by a gang of Evanston science geeks intent on beating me up before they'd let me into their clic. One of them was an old man. It was weird. There were several stages to this dream, but I have to leave the house now and can't go into them.

I do feel a little better this morning. Still emotionally labile, and edgy over Laura - but that's because I can drive myself crazy overanalyzing things.

Momentum makes my head ponderous and heavy.

I'm in a really fucking shitty mood right now. I'm tired, I'm cranky, and the fucking camera I got yesterday won't connect with my computer. Well, it's more complicated than that; to see it work you'd think Canon's software wasn't running and that I had no photos on the camera to download. Fucking piece of shit. Well, the camera's cool, but I don't want to have to buy a fucking card reader for it. It's just making me cranky. I want to fucking cry.

I'm really, really tired. I need to sleep, and sleep. Today, I felt alright during the day, due to my diphenhydramine-induced coma last night. I think I shall repeat it tonight.

Laura sent me a bunch of text messages during my 8am lecture this morning. It put a smile on my face. We traded Rainer Maria lyrics once, and then I had "Planetary" in my head all day. It's funny; sometimes I get the feeling like she's too busy for me, and then she sends me a bunch of messages and calls me "sweetie" and tells me I must be a good dentist because I'm "gentle, personable, soft-spoken and cute." It's the cute that gets me. Right in the chest. But then I asked her this afternoon if she was still free tomorrow - as I'd asked Tuesday if she wanted to get together - and she said she wasn't sure.

I'm probably fucking myself in the head over this one. There's a whole treatise I could write on how past relationship patterns were out the window since the moment I met her, but I'm too goddamn tired. I guess my emotions would be much less labile, as well. Aaahhh, I'm sure I'd feel better if I were more well-rested. That's step one.

If this world blew up, I'd finally get a decent night's sleep.

Fucking shit, I'm tired. I hate riding the edge of collapse for days, like I feel I am right now. I need to find time to sleep. Make time to sleep. Exhaustion makes me unhappy and bitter and pessimistic, and I fuck my own shit up without even caring, and I really can't afford to do that right now. There's a sense of being on the cusp of important things, moreso even than slugging my way through school.

I feel like I'm too tired to carry on a conversation tonight. I was on the phone with Laura earlier and really felt like I couldn't think of anything to say half the time.

I told Liv earlier that I really need to sleep more. My exhaustion was really preventing me from focusing on my lectures today. Well, a little bit of it was the temptation of thinking about a certain person...

She looked at me and smiled; I know that smile's for me...

I swear there's some sort of dead animal in my furnace. Whenever the heat is on for a long time, my office/den/whatever-the-fuck-you-want-to-call-it room starts to exhibit the sickly and cloyingly sweet stench of decay. I've looked in there, but I can't find anything. It's a real off-and-on thing, though. I dunno. Weird as shit.

Laura was over after we went out for dinner for her birthday, and her mom wanted to talk to me on the phone. Her mother kept accusing me of being scared, asked me why I liked Laura, and when I said something about being smart and funny, she asked why I didn't say personality. Don't smart and funny refer to that? Why should I be vague? Anyway, the conversation went fine; it probably helped that I had a beer in me. She asked if I was funny, and I said I was "trembling with trepidation." (Once I pointed out the alliteration, Laura laughed) She asked if I had any tattoos or piercings; once I said no, she said I was okay.

I haven't even told my parents about Laura. I suppose I will the next time I have cause to talk to them; aside from my dad calling last weekend some time to ask if I needed new gloves - a 47 second call - I haven't talked to them. I'm sure they'll call within the next few days - my mom can't keep to herself for much longer.

Anyway, Laura and her friend Sarah headed out to celebrate, and I've really got to piss my two beers out. Due to the nap I took this afternoon, I'm not that sleepy, but after I shower, who knows? I'd like to be not exhausted tomorrow morning.

Danny's going to come on the Three Floyds ride on Sunday. I think I'm going to head up to Performance and pick up some good lobster mitt shells to go over my neoprene gloves, since it's supposed to be a freezing "wintry mix" on Sunday, according to the weather forecast. Should be fun.

My Symarip CD is done, and that's my cue to go.

How's your fake life going?

I'm reading Mortified, this book Trish gave me for Christmas that is pretty much a compilation of journal or diary entries from years ago that different people submitted. There was one paragraph that was just spot-on:

I am so tired of fantasizing about all the conversations we could have and then fucking it up in real life. I wish I were as good in real life as I am in fake life.

Thanks for the book, Trish.

I've got a socialism of the heart

I'm beat, but I was able to finish my presentation for tomorrow. I had one patient, and she failed - again. Plus one patient with a displaced wire, which I ingeniously stabilized. The technique was so simple and useful that I'm going to repeat it on other patients.

My chest has been trying to explode since this morning. Dana told me I look different today.

Laura left around 1:30 last night. It was totally worth it, but I was - and am - a bit tired today. Tonight I'm going to try to kick in early.

I had a bunch of shit kicking around in my the last few days that I wanted to get down, but I can't remember any of it at the moment.

Billy Bragg's "Upfield" is getting firmly lodged in my head.

Their faces shown and they were gone and I was left alone
I walked these ancient empire streets 'till I came tearful to my home
And when I woke next morning, I vowed to play my part
I've got a socialism of the heart, I've got a socialism of the heart

I must drink wine now

I headed out to school this afternoon to finish up the presentation Nyasha and I have to give next week. Thank fucking luck that Therese was there to bring up that I have my laser presentation to give in two days!

So the 45 minutes of work I thought I had turned into about 300 minutes of work. Laura called and is going to come over with a bottle of wine. I've been totally dehydrated and exhausted all day, it feels like. Feh.

Yeah, I do kiss and tell. Is it really surprising?

Laura - the new Laura I met last week, not one of the three other Lauras I know - came over last night. She just left. I still have her menthol lip gloss on my lips.

Soaring...

We've got nothing better to do than watch TV and have a couple of brews

Torpor and apathy have taken hold of me. I was going to head up to Evanston for their Critical Mass, but after a nap and meeting my parents at Uncommon Ground for dinner, I'm just sitting in tonight, watching DVDs I borrowed from John. I was thinking of heading out to Delilah's for Elvis's birthday, but after last night's, ah, indulgence, I decided maybe that wasn't the best idea. Oh, if I had gotten ahold of anyone I wanted to ask to go with me, I'm sure I would've gone.

The girl I met last Sunday still hasn't returned the message I left on Tuesday. I don't know when I should let my hopes decay...She was friendly and smiling and gorgeous, and whenever I think about those moments I want to see her and talk to her again. And maybe another hug. And I know next to nothing about her. I'm either going to fly high or crash land.

Life is great.

Pat Robertson is a stupid dumbfuck...

...as well as being bat-shit crazy.

"I found you in Hell. Don't you think I could find you in Jersey?"

After a pretty stellar first few hours of the New Year, today hit like a brick. Not a ton of bricks, though; just one. There were so many avoidable problems regarding equipment during my first patient appointment that it pissed me right the fuck off. Happy Fucking New Year's, now deal with last year's bullshit. Luckily the rest of the day went better. I threw off getting any non-clinical work done and came home early.

I rode home a little after four o'clock. It was still light out, which is a rarity for me. It was kind of nice. I really like the windbreaker I got for bicycling, although I found grease stains on it (as well as two of my couches!) earlier. Ah, well, stains add character.

Since I got home, I've pretty much been listening to Billy Bragg and cleaning my monkey nest. It's looking much better. Of course, I spent almost an hour on the phone with friends (which is kind of a rarity that I miss, now that I've been doing it again).

While I was cleaning, I kept coming across things that remind me of my cousin John. I saw the photo we took in Tremblant four years ago, when the whole family except him was there. He was healthy then, but still rarely spent time with the rest of us, it seemed. Most of the memories I have of him are childhood ones, before he became super-prep venture-capitalist.

I remember when I must have been two years old, and it must have been his seventh birthday party. December, 1980. I remember it was a wood-paneled restaurant, and I was asking my mom where John-John was. "Jon" is a term of endearment in Farsi, and this nickname - universally used in my family - meant "John, dear." I remember when I was barely five and he was nine, and we were at my maternal grandparents' farm in Minnesota. The first time I heard "The last one there is a rotten egg!" was when his fourth grade legs challenged my kindergarten legs to a race back to the farm house across ditches and open land. Needless to say, he kicked my ass in that race. That's the memory that came to mind at his funeral in July, and that's what I put into the memory book. I also found the card with waterfalls on the front that were available at the funeral. That's now posted in my kitchen doorway; the photo's tacky as hell, but it's something I have of him, as much of a commodity as it is.

I had a half-bottle of Riesling in the fridge; it was stoppered with the glass fish bottle-stopper from Ramin's wedding. John was the best man; I remember his speech was written down on notecards for completeness. I have absolutely no recollection of what he actually said.

Fittingly, the glass fish was involved in letting me get buzzed tonight. I was in Minneapolis when I found out John died, and I just wanted to get pissed. I met up with Phil that night (as previously planned) and was suitably distracted watching a cute girl in our group, and had a few beers without going overboard, thankfully. (I did get toasted on Mickey's on the flight to the funeral until the flight attendant took it away.)

I watched What Dreams May Come earlier while eating. Movie heaven is bullshit - but comforting bullshit, in the end.

DInner and a movie

I'm eating a piece of lamb right now, and it's pretty cool to see the artery and vein I just cut through.

What Dreams May Come is making me cry.

I've got one hundred resolutions, but I've got no solutions.

Woke up, it was the last day of the year.
People all around acting pretty weird.
Living off of memories and recalling their regrets,
Remembering the good and bad, planning their amends.
-Youth Brigade, "Last Day of the Year"

Four years ago, I joined my family in Quebec for skiing and multiple nights of fine dining over the holidays. I flew to New Jersey and was planning to drive up with Parvin, Paul, and my grandmother, but my dad forgot his passport and was stranded at LaGuardia the night before, so he drove up with us. Five people, skis, snowboard, and luggage packed into a landrover heading up I-87 toward Montreal. On the way up, I heard on the radio that Joe Strummer had died. After we hit the Canadian border, weather started to turn bad as the sun went down, and by the time we were past Montreal and on our way to Tremblant it was a whiteout. Still we kept on, slowly, and it cleared a bit and we made it OK. Parvin broke her leg skiing on Christmas Eve, which was also her birthday, and so I spent my New Years out in Jersey, helping her out with things.

Three years ago, I spent the holidays with Marta's family in upstate New York. We spent two days at Hossein and Linda's in Andover, Mass., but left earlier than planned since my parents were being pretty bitchy toward Marta. On New Year's Eve, we spent the night at the house of one of her friends. We zipped two sleeping bags together and made one big bag. That's the only time I've ever done that.

Pop open a bottle of bubbly.
Here's to another goddamn New Year.
And outside, two million drunk Bostonians are getting ready to sing "Auld Lang Syne" out of tune.
I sit there in my easy chair, looking at the clouds, orange with celebration,
And I wonder if you're out there.
-The Dismemberment Plan, "The Ice of Boston"

Two years ago, I spent the holidays at home alone. I didn't want to go to my parents' in Oakland with my mom's side of the family there to annoy the shit out of me. I turned down an invitation to go out to Marta's family since I felt that was a bit too dishonest, considering I'd told my family I was on call and couldn't make it (although I could have). On New Year's Day, I picked Marta up at O'Hare. She really had nothing to say to me that whole day. I had no idea why. She appreciated the roses I got her enough to smell them, but she was just blank toward me after that.

New Year's Eve was as boring as Heaven.
I watched flies fuck on channel eleven.
There was no one to kiss,
There was nothing to drink,
Except some old rotten milk someone left in the sink.
And there's no ringing, there's no ringing
On the phone anymore.
There's no reason to call;
I passed out on the floor.
-Alkaline Trio, "Private Eye"

Last year, I spent New Year's Eve at my parents' house in Oakland alone. I was way ready to come home. I got home late on New Year's Day, and although I was supposed to meet Dani that night, she couldn't make it, which capped a pretty disappointing week.

I'm empty of answers,
Don't nobody search me.
The long-neck's a twist-off,
You don't need a church key.
I'm still full of questions
But can't quite see clear,
So twist off another
And bring on next year!
I'm always amazed
By what can take place
Within the space of three hundred,
Three hundred sixty-five days!
-The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, "365 Days"

This year, I spent New Year's Eve watching about 5 hours' worth of Billy Bragg footage, and reading some creationist IDiocy for entertainment (although it did more angering than entertaining). I also went to the Metro to see the Smoking Popes and Alkaline Trio play. The Trio played From Here to Infirmary in its entirety, which was sweet. Even sweeter was this girl Laura who spontaneously wiped my sweaty face with the shirt in her hand, and gave me a kiss on the cheek for sharing water with her. We danced some, and got another peck after sharing more water. There was a time I was in the pit and again started doing the robot, only some other girl joined in this time. Awesome. After the show I asked if she wanted to get coffee sometime, and she took my number before I got hers. So we'll see where that goes. A pretty damn good New Year, hopefully, judging from its first few hours. Today I rode about 35 miles, including the rambling 20 with the Chicago Cycling Club ride up to Evanston. It's really only about 45-60 minutes up to Evanston, and maybe I'll have occasion to take advantage of that someday if I have to go up there.

Another explosion of silence.
I think I'm going deaf,
Or maybe I'm just yelling less.
This year I'll try to only listen to myself.
This year I'll try not to think so much.
This year I'll try to stand up for myself.
This year I'll live like I've never lived before.
This is my year for sure.
-The Lawrence Arms, "100 Resolutions"

Bikes, friends, beer and tamales

Critical Mass last night was a blast. We went west, which is pretty rare for the Mass. Out past UIC and then north and by the United Center right as people were going in for the Blackhawks game, then north and west to Humboldt Park, then down to the Garfield Park Conservatory and back up through Humboldt, and then east down North through Wicker Park and Old Town to the beach. We did a good five-minute hold-up of the Damen/North intersection; a huge bike circle and bikes in the air, at least until the cops showed up and started circling the intersection with their sirens on...some girl Linda had cupcakes at North Ave. Beach, and I had about six of them.

I headed up to Danny's afterward, and hung out with him and Dani and Jenny, and Dani's friend Kathleen and Danny's sister Lisa. After they all left, Danny and I rode down to Club Foot where we met some of his friends, and I ran into these kids Frank and Michelle I met last summer, and got invited to Frank's birthday party next weekend, which I may be able to go to...some Mexican guy was selling hot tamales out of a portable cooler - it was just what I needed. Delicious.

Today I want to try and clean up - we'll see how successful that venture is.

The chain that fell off my bike last night is now wrapped around my heart.

I've been listening to Billy Bragg all day; since I woke up, pretty much. It's relaxing after listening to so much Alkaline Trio and Smoking Popes this last week, and several hours straight of loud ska last night. And Billy Bragg's music is so clean. I feel like its simplicity and elegance strips away a lot of the bullshit. Anyway, it's had the paradoxical effect of making me feel optimistic and melancholy.

Delilah's was a blast last night. A bunch of people showed, and I was able to talk to some of them a little bit. There was a gorgeous girl sitting right next to the DJ booth for most of the night, and we talked a bit, too, when her friends weren't around. Perhaps my melancholy is due to the letdown of seeing such a vision coupled with the realization that she had absolutely no eyes for me.

Or perhaps not.

Sometimes I feel like I'm a secondary character in people's lives. I told Laura once that I feel like I've had to rebuild my life a few times in the last few years. I'm still currently rebuilding, only this time, there's a much sturdier foundation and it should hopefully last much longer. I'm still amazed (and appreciative) when people I don't think consider me that close a friend make the effort friendship takes.

Dani showed up at 2am, right as I was walking out of Delilah's. I was able to give her the gift I had for her, and we went two blocks up Lincoln to the Golden Apple, where I had french toast and she had a vanilla milkshake, and we were able to sit and talk for a good while. Her brother's doing better, which was good to hear. We talked about life and relationships (or lack thereof) and it felt great to see her again. Like putting on an old comfortable pair of shoes, emotionally speaking.

I fixed some leg of lamb for lunch; it was delicious. I think my pudding is probably set now, for desert. In less than two hours I have to head out for tonight's Critical Mass entertainment. I may curl up for a little nap first, though.

Ska is the father of rocksteady, grandfather of reggae music

As soon as I'm done writing this, I've got to take off for Delilah's. I've got a mug of tea steeping at my side, which will join me in the car. I've a feeling I'll get there a bit early, but that's good since I'm sure I'll need to familiarize myself with the new setup.

I finished my bike maintenance, about 6 month's worth, give or take. It took fucking long enough, and I'll see how much more fun it is to ride tomorrow. Ah, well. That, combined with getting my shit together for tonight's DJ session, seemed to take most of the day. Well, I didn't get out of bed until noon. I dunno.

Yeah, I really don't have time to write anything really good, despite some things that have been percolating around in my head for a few days. Maybe tomorrow.

Pick it up!

I miss riding my bike.

Today I had planned to change the flat tire on my bike and then ride out and run errands. But...I was taking the tire off the rim, and saw that I'd shredded part of the tire as well as poke a gigantic hole into the tube. So I hustled everything back into my storage locker and drove out to run my errands (including buying new tires for the bicycle).

I ended up dropping two hundred bucks on bike stuff (including a jersey and somewhat reflective windbreaker, and maintenance armamentaria). I then went to the Rugby shop in Lincoln Park to return a sweater. That place made me want to puke. It's like Ralph Lauren is trying to capture the "wild youth" market. The logo is a skull and cross-bones on ratty preppy shit, way over-priced. It didn't help that the clerk looked like a certain fat hyperbeerhotic dickhead I intensely dislike, either. I just got a dress shirt, which is about all I could stand there.

After I got back, I started the bike maintenance. I put together the quickstand I bought, and started putting shit together:

1. I cut my hand with a screwdriver while prying open a plastic tab to adjust a light strap.
2. The hex heads on my rear fender were stripped out and I had to take out round-head bolts with a big wrench.
3. The holes on my rear fork for attaching the cargo platform I bought are too small for the screws! I have to get some longer bolts to wrap around the frame tomorrow.
4. The goddamn tires I bought are too fucking big!!!! I have to exchange them tomorrow.

The bike is still in pieces (somewhat) and still requires a good degreasing of the derailleur and chain as well. Tomorrow hopefully, I'll have time to finish it.

I met Paul and his friend Keith for dinner, which was pretty good, then headed up to SmartBar where Chuck Wren and the Mustard Plug guys were spinning. Chuck wasn't spinning much, though, and he walked out about the time I finished my beer. I walked out with him, and bought Vols. I & II of the Billy Bragg Box Sets off him at wholesale prices, too. Maybe I'll be able to listen to it this weekend...

Tomorrow I need to get all the music together for my Delilah's stint. I'm looking forward to that. Right now I really need to sleep, though.

"It's like West Side Story with Nazis."

I think I'm finally able to spend some time at home on my break, now. I haven't even had a chance to check my voicemail or e-mail today.

I met my family for lunch at Noon-O-Kabab, then gave Linda, Hossein and Natasha a tour of Chicago, including Lincoln Square, Lakeview, Lincoln Park, Wicker Park, the Medical District, and of course my place, before we headed up to Lincolnshire to see All Night Strut. The show was OK, nothing great. Maybe I just should've blown it off. I dunno.

I must've gotten a pinch flat last Friday when I was jaunting about town pretty hard, because my rear tire was flat today. At least this tube lasted two or three months. Tomorrow is bike maintenance day and then bike shopping day. And maybe also return-the-sweater-I-don't-like day. I need to also get some track listings together and start consolidating CDs for Delilah's on Thursday. I'd like to start back to school with shit in gear.

I was in Quimby's today with the relatives on our tour, and I wanted to buy so many books, but really, I need to read the shit on my shelf, first, before I buy any more. It was kind of enlightening to see the city with others with me; I definitely saw things differently. It's a sweet-ass city, that I can say.

You know, there were things I wanted to write, but can't remember now, despite all that shit I just put down. Or maybe I just have to go to the bathroom too badly to take the time.

Ain't nothing on the airwave in the despair we feel.

Driving home from my parents' tonight, I was listening to the radio (MP3 player battery was dead since it sat in the cold car all day), and sandwiched between Led Zeppelin and Tommy Tutone was some station motto about redefining new music or some shit like that. Riiiiight.....