Bi-Polar Bear

I really feel like taking a walk, but my leg hurts.

I take two buses home to get from work. Yesterday, the second bus wasn't running, so I had to walk home from town, which took about twenty minutes. I was a little worried about this because of my leg injury, but it ended up being no big deal. It only hurt a little.

An hour or so later, I met Mike Young at the faux-diner near me for breakfast. It was really crowded, no tables were available, and a lady who was waiting for a table was rude to us, so we walked to town to eat somewhere else. I was cool with it because my leg was ok with walking the first time.

We talked a little about our e-book anthology a little. I think it will be called Dragons with Cancer.

The walk wasn't a big deal for my leg. It only hurt a little like last time.

We ate.

We walked back. My leg only still hurt a little (I like saying "a little").

That's like an hour of walking on a bad leg.

It hurt later. It hurts now. Not so badly though, just enough to remind me that I shouldn't go on a long walk anytime soon.

I am drinking tea right now because I started being tired and I hate being tired. I think staying in my room all night by myself makes me tired. I hope that I don't have insomnia because of the special "gentle on the nervous system" caffeine in my tea. Before I will hopefully not have insomnia, I will take 250 MG if Valproic Acid. I also take a bunch of other pills. They are all involved in my attempt to wake up the next morn..err..night without TMJ pain.

Valproic Acid is the only pill that is not available over the counter. It is prescribed by my psychiatrist. Her office is near the Whately Diner. I will probably need to get a ride from a friend the next time I run out of Valproic Acid.

Valproic Acid is the generic form of Depakote. I get Valproic Acid because it's cheaper. It is a mood stabilizer. My psychiatrist prescribes it to me because I have Bipolar II Disorder.

It's nicer to have Bipolar II Disorder than Bipolar I Disorder. I never realized there was a difference until another psychiatrist told me that I had it a few years ago. Before that, I thought I had just plain old bipolar disorder.

According to Wikipedia, people with Bipolar II Disorder are "high functioning." I guess people with Bipolar I Disorder are emotional wrecks all the time.

I am an emotional wreck sometimes, but not often.

I do not take Valproic Acid because of my bipolar disorder, although this is why it is prescribed to me. I take it to decrease my stress so I can avoid waking up with TMJ pain. If I did not have TMJ Disorder,I would refuse to take any mood stabilizing pill.

I am full of disorders.

I take a very small dose of Valproic Acid. At least I believe that it is a very small dose because I have taken Depakote in the past, and 250 MG is the amount that they started me with and the psychiatrist increased that pretty quick. I think I took three times that amount.

I stopped taking Depakote because it was having adverse affects on my creativity.

I started taking it again in its generic form because an oral surgeon told me that I needed to eliminate all stress from my life.

The psychiatrist wanted to give me a higher dosage, but I refused.

My moods have been really good recently. It may have something to do with the pill. I do not believe it has affected my creativity.

My good moods have coincided with when I started doing overnights at my gas station, so it is most likely because of that. I really like living my days in reverse. I like going home in the daylight and hanging out. I feel like my life is so much better than when I was working nine to five. It is depressing to be stuck inside all day and go home to unwind at night. It is nicer to be stuck inside all night and go home during the day.

I used to get depressed all the time and I could never figure out the reason. This was really annoying. It wasn't so bad though. Just a waste of a day. I would get nothing accomplished because I would think that everything I did sucked. This happened a couple of days a week. I preferred being like this on work days because work days are pointless anyway. I didn't like it when my mood made my days off pointless as well. Although it was definitely nicer to be unemployed when I had days like this because it caused work days to suck even more than they actually did.

Whenever I felt this way, I liked to watch a bunch of bad movies and episodes of television shows. I didn't like to watch good stuff because that would have ruined the experience for me and can only see something for the first time once.

The good thing about having days like this is it was an indication that I would soon have a manic episode since they usually go hand and hand.

Manic episodes are awesome. They are kind of like drinking a lot of coffee and taking Ecstasy Pills (which I learned about in my Drugs and Society class during college, mom). Although sometimes I will get manic before I got depressed, and that would ruin my fun a little because I knew that I'd probably get depressed soon after. It also sucks to get manic near bedtime.

Sometimes I will get manic and depressed at the same time, and that might be the worst thing ever, but it happens so rarely.

So right now, I only get depressed for specific reasons. This is nice. Although I get depressed very easily for minor reasons that really shouldn't bother me. Still, it's nice to actually know what these reasons are. I think my emotions are hypersensitive.

I am strongly affected by Hollywood movies. They are very manipulative. I often find myself getting a little weepy because of the most inane things. I haven't had a full-blown crying fit in a long time though. I can't remember the last time. I used to get those a lot. They felt pretty good, actually.

I don't get depressed very often anymore because I usually don't have a reason to. I avoid people and situations that will make me depressed. I am pretty quick to make changes to my life. I avoid negative thoughts that trigger depression. I've been avoiding depressing movies and books lately, although I really like sad movies that are comedic.

I don't think about suicide a lot like I used to. I have things that I plan to do before I die. When I accomplish those things, new things will pop up in their place. I think I would choose immortality if possible so I can complete this infinite amount of things.

When I'm in a really bad situation, my life becomes exceedingly difficult. I turn into a raving lunatic. But I have not been in a really bad situation in many, many years. I avoid things that can turn into really bad situations later. This is why I am not all gung-ho about dating.

I have had a lot of slightly bad situations recently. I can deal with these things in a sane manner. With chainsaws and machetes and automatic weapons.

TV Snorted My Brain

I'm posting chapters of my novella (or maybe novel) as I complete them. I'm using a new blog. It is private. It can only be read if I send you an invitation. If you would like to read it, send me an email containing the email address that is associated with your blogger profile. I will send you an invitation. I have already sent it to a few people.

Reading-wise, I think the novella is pretty internet-friendly so far.

I don't know why I think having audience during a work-in-progress will motivate me. I think all my blogging has turned me into this sort of person. I don't even like reading novels online.

me=hypocrite

I've just been saving chapters in private entries on my livejournal since I'm paranoid about a hard drive crash. I thought it would be cooler if other people could read them, if they wanted to read them.

I've already posted the first two chapters in this blog, but I've made a lot of changes, so I posted them again in my new blog.

this entry is a little boring is some paragraphs

I just ate breakfast at a diner near me, although I doubt it's validity as a dinner because it shares a building with a DVD rental store and an asian food market. All the customers were elderly. That was a little weird. I wonder if no one my age who lives near me eats out at eight thirty in the morning. I guess they are either sleeping or commuting to work.

My roommates are leaving at the end of this month. The Prince of Candy is replacing them. That will be nice. I like the Prince of Candy. It will be the first time in a long time that I will be living in a place that feels like it's "mine." Since my current roommates lived here before me, it feels like their place. My house before that had five people, so it did not feel like "mine." I moved into it with a friend, his friend, the friend's brother, and the friend's workmate. A lot of people moved in and out while I was there. My friend joined the Peace Corp and moved to Romania.

I think the only time that I've ever lived in a place that was "mine" was when I summer subletted two different apartments during college.

The Prince of Candy is probably my oldest friend. I met him when I was eighteen. I think he might have been like twenty-five, but I forget. He would be the adult guardian to my alcoholic beverages that he purchased on my behalf at a goth club.

I think he moved away the next year. He lived in Brooklyn in a neighborhood that was filled with hasidic jews. I visited him there once or twice or three times. Once was around my twenty-first birthday. We went to see Einstürzende Neubauten the day before I turned twenty-one. We found out it was a 21+ show and the doorman was very anal retentive. He would not let me in. The Prince of Candy claims that I then pretended to be retarded to get the doorman to let me in. I do not remember doing this, but it did not work. The Prince of Candy did not abandon me to see Einstürzende Neubauten by himself, even though he likes them a lot (at least I think he does). That was nice of him. After that, I lost contact with him until a couple of years ago. He lived in a bunch of different places, including Korea.

I used to not be good at keeping in contact with people. This is before I used the Internet every day.

Two years ago, I stumbled across The Prince of Candy's profile on Friendster in the Cool People in Your Area section. It said that he was twenty-eight, which was two years older them me. I wrote him a message. He claims that it only consisted of: "You are SO not twenty-eight!" I do not remember it only consisting of that sentence, but the thought of that amuses me.

Ever since we started hanging out again, he refuses to tell me his real age. I would guess that it is thirty-six. We have a shtick going on between us regarding his fake/real age. I think he enjoys this shtick, so he will not tell me his real age so we can continue with our shtick. I vow to find out his real age this summer while he is living with me. He will find clues around the apartment. I will discover these clues. I will triumph. I am a master detective. I am Sherlock Holmes and he is my Moriarty.

He says, "Not to expect him to stay past August."

This is boring, but stressful:

I found out yesterday from my building's real estate office person that getting onto the lease for my apartment in order to renew it in September is not as easy as my roommates told me it would be. My weekly income needs to be equivalent to one month's rent in order to be on the lease by myself.

Two people can also be on the lease if their combined weekly income is equivalent to one month's rent. But The Prince of Candy does not want to be on the lease since he's probably not staying past August.

So we're now officially summer subletters.

I had originally thought that I might need to find a new place to live after the summer because the process of finding a roommate through a Craig's List ad would be annoying since I might tell someone that I'm down with living with them and then they (or both of us) might not get approved for the apartment. So then I would have to find someone else (assuming I would have been approved). That is very annoying and stressful. So I thought it would be easier to find a room in a new place. Taking over someone else's lease or whatever.

But now I have a new idea. I think I will try to get a teaching job in Korea. I have been thinking about doing this for years. I have been very wishy-washy about it.

I emailed my mother about it:

I think that I'm going to try to find a job in Korea for September and teach there for a year. I have a friend in Korea who thinks he can get me a job. I really want to do this.

I'm getting tired of this place (although I would be happy about returning for grad school). I don't want to have to look for a new place to live again, and that would most likely happen. I don't want to work at a gas station for another year, and that's assuming I get into grad school. I want to actually use my college degree to advance myself career-wise. I want to get some teaching experience (since I want to be a creative writing professor). And being a teacher will look a lot better on a grad school application than being a cashier at a gas station. I really want to do something with my life besides write and edit. Those are the only things that I have accomplished since graduation.

Plus teaching in Korea pays well and I would like to pay off my credit card debt and start saving for grad school. I can't really do this from working at a gas station. I just make enough money to live off of and pay the minimum monthly payments on my credit card.

September is the ideal time since I won't be tied down to a lease and if all goes well, I will be going to grad school the following September. And the teaching contracts in Korea are for one year.

She hasn't responded back yet. That makes since because it is still a little early. She probably won't be too happy about this decision.

Update: My mother seems to be ok with it. I think she may be tired of telling people that her son works at a gas station.

I still need to email my friend in Korea about it. I have not written to him in a while.

I also told my mother about my novella.

I just started working on it again last night. I feel like it will be easy to write. I really like my main character. The writing process for it is fun. I now have an outline that is over ten thousand words long. So may it will be a novel rather than a novella.

The chapter that I wrote last night was extremely short. Maybe 450 words. I think it took me an hour, which is a lot quicker than normal for me. The two chapters before it are significantly longer. I've written about 3,452 words so far.

I'm going to wait for notes from my mentor before I begin writing the third act. He is very busy. He won't be around to help in July. He's ok'd the first two acts. I think I will try to write a chapter a day. I think there are thirteen chapters in the first two acts. It shouldn't take very long to write.

I will work on it at work and after work. I believe I am incapable of waking up early to work on it before work.

I waited until last night to work on it because I have this thing about waiting until a night off to work on my writing when it's something new or something that I've been away from for a long time. I have been away from writing fiction for a bunch of weeks. I think this book is easy enough to do at work.

I should have written more than just the one chapter last night, but I was tired and didn't want to drink my caffeinated tea in fear that it would give me insomnia. Plus I am a little stressed out and wanted to take it easy.

I also replied to a few emails, watched Diary of the Dead and the last episode of Lost, and did laundry. I do not understand how all these things added up to an entire night. One day I will try to figure out where all my time goes.

Diary of the Dead was surprisingly good considering how much Land of the Dead sucked. It was not as good as George Romero's three famous zombie films, but pretty close. Some of the acting could have been better. It was also surprisingly good because I think most horror movies being made these days suck. They're just so unpleasant. I think I've only seen one other one this year that I liked. And I used to love horror movies when I was younger. I think at this point of my life, I'd rather see movies that make me happy than depress me with their violence.

I like writing long blog entries. Go fuck yourself.

Sorry to be rude. I imagine all these people complaining about reading long blog entries. They should go fuck themselves.

food

I had to take two buses to get to work on Sunday night.

I had to wait forty-five minutes for the second bus.

I decided to go to Subway. I bought a six inch veggie delight with "the works." The works are all the vegetables except the spicy stuff. I asked for Balsamic Vinaigrette or something that resembled it. I also asked for American Cheese, even though I want to eliminate dairy from my diet.

Baby steps. I just bought soy milk from the grocery store.

I bought a Sobe drink when I got to work. I forget what it was called. I think it might have been the last one. Something berry-ish that lists a bunch of vitamims on the front of the bottle and tastes so good that I assume it isn't very good for me.

I also bought a ninety-nine cent bag of pretzels.

The woman/girl/whatever who I was training offered me a Milano cookie. I said 'no thanks.' It was mint chocolate I think.

I always feel weird saying 'woman' when I'm describing someone who is younger than me.

I do not feel like an adult. I feel like I am in my twenties. I am in my twenties. But not for long. I feel like I should be in my twenties for a lot longer. I feel like I've accomplished little in my twenties besides writing and editing. My mother told me when I was young that the years feel quicker when you get older. This is true. I do not feel like it has been eight years since I turned twenty-one. I feel like it has been two or three. Except for the writing and editing aspects of my life. That feels like eight years. Maybe more. I feel like I am living in two different lifespans. Like my writing/editing is counted by human years and my actual living is counted by dog years. I think it may be all the phases of employment and unemployment that I have gone through. This has sped up my life. Mostly the tedium of employment. I can be at work and feel like I've never left. I think worktime should be measured in a different amount than non-work time. Many months at one job can seem like an excessively torturous week. School went by so slooowly. Because there was so much going on, I think. I want to go back to school. To slow down the pace of my life.

Near the end of my shift, I walked across the street to the Cumberland Farms gas station. I bought a turkey wrap. It had tomato flavored mayonnaise. I am not sure if mayonnaise is dairy. I don't think it is. I think it is poultry. The wrap was very good. It is odd that a gas station has good prepared food.

A couple of hours after I got him, I toasted a plain Lender's bagel that I bought in a package of six (maybe?) from the supermarket. I put Smart Balance's buttery spread on it. It is supposed to be good for my cholesterol. I don't eat it for my cholesterol. I eat it because it tastes better than regular butter. Also, it is dairy, but I think it is better for me than my usual cream cheese.

Tonight, which is the night of the morning that I ate the bagel (and my next shift at work), I forget to bring food as I had intended. I went across the street to Cumberland Farms. I bought a steak wrap. It was good, but not as good as the turkey wrap from the night before. I also drank another Sobe's drink. I have the empty bottle in front of me: "Black and Blue Berry Brew"

Below that, it says this in a slightly smaller font: "Blackberry and Blueberry"

Below that, it says this in a really smaller font: "With other natural flavors"

Below that, it says this in a much larger font: "Flavored Beverage"

Below that, it says this in a non-bold font: "with a blend of guarana, juniperberry & vitamins C & E.

I am not going to tell you how many fluid ounces it contained.

Below the bottle cap are these words: "RESPEK THE LIZARD"

I felt the urge to write "sic" after "RESPEK." I fought this urge.

I meant to get whatever flavor I had last night, but picked "Black and Blue Berry Brew" instead. This is because I don't think there were any left of last night's flavor. I am repeating myself again. I liked "Black and Blue Berry Brew," but not as much as last night's flavor. But it was a nice change, because I drink last night's flavor a lot, whatever it may be called.

ouch

Got into a car accident today.

During: I thought, I am dying, how odd.

I did not die. I have a nasty bruise on my leg.

It was not fun like the only other car accident that I had, ten years ago.

I have never been in the same room as an airbag until now.

The car is fucked.

This laptop that I'm typing on right now also did not die.

I am getting the nasty bruise on my leg checked out by a doctor in a little more than an hour.

It will be during my bedtime.

This is unfortunate. I could not get out of work tonight. Although I got the OK to show up a couple of hours late.

I hope I can walk. If not, I do not think I will be showing up a couple of hours late.

Gah, I do not like public transportation.

I am afraid of driving now though, so we must learn to love each other.

I do not think I want to drive again for the next one two three...rest of my life.

A car hit me while I was turning and then I hit a bus that was standing stationary at a bus stop. I will wait at this bus stop tomorrow for the bus. My roommate was in the bus at the time. I find this very amusing. He might as well. The bus got away on its own four wheels. I think I might need to make a bus my own personal vehicle. I would prefer it if the bus was my own personal jesus. But I would like it even more if it were my own personal pan pizza.

I would like to hear Eric Blair's Personal Pan Pizza song right now.

Tim Sheldon

This post is dedicated to Tim Sheldon

Tim Sheldon is mentally ill. Tim Sheldon only takes baths. Tim Sheldon will not like it when you call him Bath Boy. Tim Sheldon will masturbate in your room while you're doing your first graveyard shift in your life. Tim Sheldon will download viruses onto your computer in the form of pretty, naked girls. Tim Sheldon will sweat so vigorously that he will open the window in your room when it is almost zero degree temperature outside. Tim Sheldon will not close your window so you will have to wait a few hours for your room to warm up before you're able to go to sleep after working the first graveyard shift in your life. Tim Sheldon will cause you to put a password on your computer, the first time you've ever done this in your life. Tim Sheldon is a member of what used to be your favorite local band, Fat Worm of Error. Tim Sheldon will make it so you're unable to stomach listening to Fat Worm of Error. You have heard that Tim Sheldon has fistfights with his band members whenever he disagrees with them. Tim Sheldon will go into your room while you're doing a graveyard shift at work and rummage through your CDs. Tim Sheldon will steal your CDs. Tim Sheldon will look really embarrassed when you catch him rummaging through your CDs on your night off. Tim Sheldon will say 'It's just that I get so bored sometimes' and ask to borrow your Best of the Talking Heads CD. You will say 'Ok.' Tim Sheldon will never return your Best of the Talking Heads CD after you ask for it back. Tim Sheldon will dump your wet laundry out of the drier. Tim Sheldon will make sure your wet laundry ends up on the floor. Tim Sheldon will call you the shittiest person that he has ever met because your wet laundry is on the floor. Tim Sheldon will lose his job. Tim Sheldon will not pay rent. Tim Sheldon will not smooth things out with the landlord. Tim Sheldon will be deathly afraid of the landlord. Tim Sheldon will depend on you to smooth things out with the landlord. Tim Sheldon will expect you to do this every month. Tim Sheldon will give you the constant fear of eviction. Tim Sheldon will not pay the heating bill in the winter. You will be stuck with paying his share of the heating bill because the account is in your name. Tim Sheldon will end up owing you about three hundred dollars. Tim Sheldon will not answer his door when you knock on it. Tim Sheldon will sometimes shout unintelligible things through the door and refuse to translate. Tim Sheldon will make you very mad. Tim Sheldon will send emails that call you a 'fucking faggot' and your female housemates 'cunts.' Tim Sheldon will peek his head out of the door every time you go into the kitchen. Tim Sheldon will put his head back into his room and close his door without saying a word. Tim Sheldon will start to really freak you out. Tim Sheldon will lock you out one night when you're in the backyard with your friend even though no one in your house ever locks the door or carries a key. Tim Sheldon will say that he thought you were a 'stranger.' Tim Sheldon will think that it's 'no big deal' to find replacements for three roommates that are leaving your shithole of a house. Tim Sheldon will tell you that he wants you to stay because 'you are a good roommate, you are quiet and keep to yourself.' Tim Sheldon will yell at you for cleaning up the backyard after your landlord asks you to clean up the backyard. Tim Sheldon will say 'you're just trying to save your ass.' Tim Sheldon will steal the really yummy ice cream that is the only cure for your TMJ head pain besides tying something tightly around your head. Tim Sheldon will use your body wash during his baths even though it has a very distinctive smell, which you notice every time he has finished taking a bath. Tim Sheldon will attack your laundry while it is being washed in the machine. Tim Sheldon will throw in crap from the drier's lint drawer, an old shoe, and weird mechanical things. Tim Sheldon will put his wet clothes that he left in the washing machine overnight into the dryer and go back into his room. Tim Sheldon will not be worried that you will do the same to his laundry. Tim Sheldon will make you a little uncomfortable while you wait for the gas service guy to come to your house and turn off the gas between 8 AM and 1 PM. Tim Sheldon will invade your dreams and turn them into nightmares. You probably do not want to live with Tim Sheldon.

Update: I have been told that Tim Sheldon once had a house meeting with his housemates in one of his former houses. He disagreed with what his former housemates had to say. He left in a huff. He went outside. He probably slammed the door. He turned the gardening hose on. He brought the gardening hose inside. He covered the room where he had the housemeeting in water. Perhaps he covered his housemates in water too.

This was told to me by a source while we were having breakfast at the Route 9 Diner.

Everybody's happy when the dead come home

I have been reading a lot of Richard Brautigan lately.

I know I said in an earlier entry that I wouldn't write about books anymore.

I lied.

I do this a lot.

Right now, I don't seem to like any author who isn't Richard Brautigan.

I am going through a phase where I get really excited about an author and read everything that they have written in record time (it is too bad that Richard Brautigan is dead).

This has happened a few times in my life. Let's see:

Tom Robbins, Kurt Vonnegut, Mark Leyner, Steve Aylett, Steve Erickson.

I think that's it. What are the chances that two of the authors would be named Steve?

Sometimes I wish my name was Steve.

I am reading Trout Fishing in America for a second time. I have ten pages left. I was not crazy about it the first time, so I'm reading it again since I'm more excited about Richard Brautigan than I was the first time. I like it a little more, but I am still not crazy about it. It is funny that Richard Brautigan's most popular book is the one that I like least. It is the same way with Kurt Vonnegut.

I think I saw him a few months before he died. He was walking into Broadside Books as I was leaving. I don't know if it was him though. I would have known if I had paid more attention. He has a distinctive appearance. I once saw him give a lecture to a couple of thousand people at Smith College.

I first read Richard Brautigan in 98 or 99. It was a three book collection - the one with The Abortion. I liked it, but not enough to read more of his books. I don't remember very much about it. I think the protagonist of The Abortion worked in a library of imaginary books or something. The last novel in the collection really stood out. It was depressing, unlike the other two books. Richard Brautigan is not usually depressing. He makes me feel happy. This might be why I like him. I like happy stuff.

The last story I wrote had explosives inside the skulls of dead babies. You know, happy stuff.

But still, it is a fun, zany story.

I dated a girl for a year during college. She would/will freak out if she finds out that I'm writing about her. So I will not type her name. She would/will freak out a little less because of this. But I will say that she has an Indian first name, but she is half Jewish and half not-Hindu. Richard Brautigan was her favorite author. The collection with The Abortion was her book. She is the only woman who I have ever loved.

She is the reason why I broke me word about blogging about books. I broke my word about blogging about books so I could write an long intro that led up to her.

I think her dad gave her the Brautigan book as a gift. I think her dad liked Brautigan before she did and he got her into him. Her dad wrote a novel. I read it. It was published by one of those fancy NYC publishers in the early seventies. It did not get a second printing. It was about his relationship (and possibly marriage) with a superstar of literary theory.

I just wrote a few sentences that gave clues to the identity of the superstar of literary theory, but I deleted them. I thought they might make my ex-girlfriend freak out some more.

I met her during the summer before my freshman year. I saw her on the bus with her friend. She looked kind of scary and gothy and wild animal-y and attractive.

I think she would freak out a little more if she read that I called her attractive, but I am not going to delete it. She is disgusted by how people are attracted to physical appearance. She is disgusted by biology. She claimed that she was not attracted to physical appearance. She used the word "aesthetics" a lot.

It was pretty nice not having to tell her that she was beautiful all the time. The girl that I dated before her left me for another guy. One of the reasons that she gave me was "He tells me that I'm beautiful all the time and you never do."

That is pretty lame and pathetic.

I assume most of the world places more importance on personality than appearance. If everyone wanted to be in a relationship with a beautiful, dull girl, the world would be a very boring place.

So I heard about aesthetics all the time and had to sweep my filthy biological imperative beneath the carpet in order to continue dating her.

Ok, back to after I saw her on the bus - I mentioned her to my roommate. We went to a party a few weeks later. She was there with her friend. They were inseparable that summer. I pointed them out to my friend.

My friend was a social butterfly while I am very shy. I probably wouldn't have ever talked to her if it wasn't for him.

He talked to her and her friend. He convinced them to leave the party with us to go to the Whately Dinner. We had a good time. We left. We didn't have anywhere else to go. We drove around all night, talking and listening to the same cassette over and over again. This was back when the cost of gasoline wasn't fucking ludicrous.

The cassette was a compilation of "alternative music" from the eighties. It had Love and Rockets and Elvis Costello and Peter Murphy and The Church and Shriekback.

After that, I saw her and her friend every day for the rest of the summer. My roommate and I would go to their apartment a lot, wake them up, and convince them to hang out.

Later, my roommate and my ex hated each other.

I told her that I liked her a while later when we went for a walk in the woods together. I think it was the only time that I could talk to her when her friend wasn't around. It was a little awkward. She kept saying the same thing over and over again. I forget what she said over and over again.

I think I kissed her for the first time in my room while a party was going on the day before I moved out. My roommate and I were living in a summer sublet. We received an eviction notice about a week before the end of our last month. The person who we were subletting from had neglected to pay the rent. We were not concerned with leaving the apartment in a state of cleanliness. Our friend, who worked in a Mafia-run bakery, brought over lots of pastries.

Later, he accidentally killed someone with his car. Oops.

There were too many pastries to eat. People thought it would be funny to hide them around the house in things like the ceiling vents since we were getting evicted anyway.

I knew what was going on, but I did not really care. I was too busy kissing my ex in my room.

The person who we subletted from ended up giving the rent that we sent to her to the owner. She did not get evicted. Instead, she had a lot of rotting pastries hiding in the walls. She threatened to sue my roommate and I. We ended up just paying the cleaning bill.

The morning after the party, I dropped my ex at her apartment. I told her that I hoped we could find time to see each other again. Later, I found out that upset her. I said it because we went to different colleges, although they were nearby. It was a pretty silly thing to say.

Then I went to visit my parents for a week before the start of the semester.

I came back. We found time to see each other again. We found time to live with each other.

I was supposed to live with my roommate, but he flunked out, so the administration ended up assigning me to a triple. I lived with two numbskulls. I did not like these sleeping arrangements. I slept over my ex's every night and used my room as a closet and a place to take naps.

I am now writing this essay at a different location. First I was at work, now I am at Panera Bread. I like Panera Bread, I think. I could have bought an egg sandwich at Dunkin' Donuts for half the price, but Panera Bread egg sandwiches are more delicious and the place has free wireless and wall sockets and boring music (I like boring music sometimes) and it's relatively quiet since it's still early in the morning.

So my ex-girlfriend. Yeah. She had this complex where she didn't want me to look her in the eyes. Or she would freak out. This scarred me for a while. I did not look at people's eyes when I was talking to them for a few years after the end of our relationship. People probably thought I was even more socially awkward than I actually am, which is pretty socially awkward. I grew out of this habit eventually.

I had to close my eyes during sex too.

I was so incredibly happy on one day during our relationship and so incredibly depressed on another. She was always breaking up with me and deciding to get back together with me. I had to worry about pissing her off all the time. Usually, she broke up without telling me why and I never found out why. And then she got back together with me for some unknown reason and she never told me why.

This made my life a lot of fun.

My life is very different now. Being single. Being celibate. More due to my passivity than choice. Feeling lonely and depressed once in a while. Relatively content. Not having to deal with the hassles of a relationship.

While during my relationship with my ex, I went through days of extreme happiness and sadness.

Which one is preferable?

I don't know. I'd like to think that my life at the moment is preferable, but I wouldn't take back what we once had.

I had this feeling of contentment with my life back then. A different sort of contentment than I the one I have now, which I would describe as a state between happiness and sadness. While I was in the relationship, I felt fulfilled. I didn't feel a drive to do things like write. There was something very nice about that. I am never able to feel fulfilled anymore. I will complete one project and feel the urge to immediately start another.

I also became a vegetarian because of my ex.

We were sitting at the Whately Diner. I was eating a grilled cheese sandwich with ham.

She said, "Are you enjoying your flesh sandwich?" really loud and grating-like.

I do not think she expected an answer.

She was a veggie-nazi.

I became a vegetarian soon after.

It was easy. She had this thing set up with the dining hall where she wrote a grocery list once a week and a lady bought everything she desired at the local organic grocery store. I forget exactly why the dining hall people did this. Perhaps she had a doctor's note that said she couldn't eat their food. Or maybe they were satisfied with the excuse that she could not eat it for ethical reasons.

The dining hall lady bought her a lot of food. More than she could eat herself. I helped her eat this food. It was very good. I liked eating good vegetarian food.

It was not as easy being a vegetarian after she broke up with me for the final time. I did not have much money. It costs a lot to be a vegetarian and get all the stuff that you need nutrition-wise, at least if you don't know how to cook. I don't know how to cook.

After the end of our relationship, I was a vegetarian for about four or five years. Eventually, I got tired of feeling weak and crappy.

We spent every waking hour with each other when we weren't in the classroom. She skipped a lot of her classes though, so I guess it's more like when I wasn't in the classroom.

I had a really good time with her, except for when I did not.

I feel like I'm saying a lot of bad things about her. I feel like there were a lot of good things as well, but it is more difficult to express. It is like how I can read a good story and write ten pages about the things that I didn't like about it and write two sentences about what I did like.

I think I might dwell on the negative. This might have something to do with all the editing that I've done over the years.

She once asked me to write all the reasons why I had feelings for her.

That was a good time.

Maybe if she asked me now, I would write something like this: "Listen. This is stupid. I have these feelings for you. Overwhelming feelings. Feelings that I've never felt about anyone else before in my life. It's pretty fucking terrifying to me. I can't stop thinking about you when we're not together. I can't stop thinking about you when we're in the same room. Your presence makes me feel joy. Is this love? I don't know. I don't know if love exists. But that's the only word that I know to communicate what I'm experiencing. Explaining the concept of love seems more difficult than explaining the concept of God."

And then I had this agnostic thought process about everything back then. I could never give her a straight answer to any of her "What if?" questions.

"Would you still want to be with me if I was horribly burnt in a fire?"

The correct response to this was "Yes." Not "I wouldn't be able to answer that question unless you became a burn victim. I think that I would probably still want to be with you, but I would never truly know unless I was faced with the situation."

She also kept a diary and recorded many things that I said and would point it out whenever I contradicted myself, saying that she had proof that I was lying.

Because people never, never change their minds.

We stayed together for about a year. We lived together for real in the summer. That's when she broke up with me for good. I'm still not sure why. I have a clearer idea than the many temporary break ups. This is what happened before she said something like, "We're finished,"

We were talking. I said I had more fun with my the girl (it feels weird to type woman) who I dated before her: the one with the new guy who would tell her that she was beautiful (and gave her a child, unless it was a future guy who told her she was beautiful that she dated soon after him).

Well, yeah, it was more fun. She wasn't...intimidating. I didn't have to worry about getting dumped all the time. I didn't have to walk on egg shells around her. And when she broke up with me, I was bummed for a few weeks. Not a few years.

I still don't think I'm over her. But I'm ok with not being over her. I'm able to cope with it. I'm not an emotional mess.

After she broke up with me, we lived together for another month. That was uncomfortable.

And I still do not understand the concept of post-break up sex.

That last month felt like we were still dating, except it will very very uncomfortable and I was very very sad.

The next two years were not very good. She continued to be my best friend. She dated someone else throughout the majority of them. She borrowed my car a lot. I should have broken off contact. The next two years would have been less painful if I broke off contact. I would have gotten over her quicker.

And then I graduated from college. And then I went away and she stayed in the area to go to college for an extra year because she fucked up. And she moved in with the girl who I dated during my last year in college.

I was not happy with this.

I got my revenge later. I moved in with the guy who she dated after me. The guy who I hated and who tried very very hard to be very very nice to me. I lived with him and his wife in Salt Lake City. Obviously, I like him now. Our ex must have flipped out when she found out. We kept it a secret from her at first. The guy said that she was worried about what we were saying about it.

One time, he said he dated her out of pity.

I was thinking, "Why did you even date her if it was out of pity? You could see what me and her were going through at the time."

Occasionally, it was a little love triangle-ish.

I do not think he dated her out of pity. I think he was talking out of his ass. I don't think he would have stayed with her that long if it was out of pity. Although she probably would have been with someone else if he wasn't around. So whatever.

While I was living in Salt Lake City, she sent me some strange, cryptic emails. One of them said that she was going to send all of my CDs that she had. I had wanted to get them back for a long time. The guy who I lived with did not want her to know our address. I told her that I still lived with my parents in NY and gave her that address. She never sent my CDs. I never heard from her again.

I'm home now. I can't stay at a place for longer than an hour or two or I go stir crazy. Except for my room, I guess. Oh the adventures I've had since the end of the last sentence! First I was partially blind and now I can see again (I had my glasses fixed).

Maybe a year later, I posted a comic book script on my livejournal. It was a script that had never been drawn. It was a parody of a slasher horror movie. It was about a man who was being stalked by his sentient, severed penis, who wanted to anally penetrate him. I wrote it for an anthology of offensive horror stories. I swiped the title of it for my novel because my working title did not end up having anything to do with the book. I think I was going through a sentient penis phase. I think I wrote the script first. I don't think I even remembered it when I came up with the sentient penis idea for the book. I have a bad memory.

After I posted the script, I received an anonymous comment.

They quoted my introduction to my post:

"I'm going to start posting some comic book scripts that artists aren't adventurous enough to touch."

Then they wrote:

"Alternate idea: No one wants to illustrate it cause it sucks. Mature hairy boy"

I looked up the IP address. I found out it came from my ex's college where she was going to grad school. I either discovered that through the guy who I was living with or google.

I thought the anonymous poster might have been my ex. I asked them if they knew her.

They responded:

I’m her partner…

"Wanted to read what her talentless comic book writer with a phony broken back eX was churning out… obviously shit…. And he has taken up talking to himself… poor sloth. I'll let you get back to it then..."

Which was weird because they mixed togethr things about me and the guy who I was living with. I thought it might have been her, doing some weird confusion act. But I thought it was more likely to be her new insane boyfriend.

I wrote something mean and gross. I regret it a little, but I was trying to be mean and gross to the boyfriend rather than my ex:

"Wrong person, fucknut. The guy with the messed up back is the one she had after me. Is she so schizophrenic these days that she's combined her ex's as one person (hint: this is a rhetorical question)? Good luck with the relationship. I see she's already driven you to wallowing around her ex's journals. Not a good sign. And always remember, SHE WAS COVERED IN MY JUICES FIRST.

"Note to (ex): Keep your pets indoors and away from me."

This was their response (I should have payed more attention to the word "partner"):

"Juices ...ew... no wonder she gave up men."

I was a little mean again:

"Heh. Thought you were being pedantic with the usage of the word "partner." Ma'am, I'd like to thank you on behalf of my gender. You've done us all a great service."

Anonymous didn't write back.

I felt bad about being mean. I didn't want to be mean. But when someone's an asshole to me, I'm going to be an asshole to them back. And when they're some anonymous person who I don't know anything about who is dating my ex, it is time to bring up my love juices.

Anyway, I really miss her terribly. I will always miss her terribly. It's a shame that she was so not right for me.

I wonder if she has given up on humans yet.

I wonder if she reads my fiction.