The Moonlit Path

"My brain says I'm receiving pain, a lack of oxygen, from my life support, my iron lung." -Radiohead

About ten days have passed and I find myself awkwardly restructuring every routine that I have grown so accustomed to in order to recondition my daily life into this new, almost alien-like, way of living. I am slowly peeling away from something that was such a big part of my life--something after years and years had become so normal to me, second nature if you will. I did not realize how taxing this would be to me mentally, however I will note that it has become less and less demanding as days continue to pass. While the sun still rises and falls valiantly with the moon against the horizon and the world around me resumes itself in perfect harmony, my body does not--it lays still, frozen within a zone of discomfort and dumbstruck at the realization that I do not know what to do with myself during long periods of passing time. There was a moment the other day just after I had gotten myself dressed for work that I sat in my chair for an entire hour, staring at a blank wall trying to figure out what I should be doing. Almost everything that I have done up until now has been associated with smoking in one way or another and there is a challenge in filling that absence with something else "healthy." I am hoping that sudden urges or peaks of high stress will not get the best of me and I realize this will take some time to finally master. Fortunately it seems that I have more than enough of it.

Often times I think about things that could have been. Questions such as why am I here? and Am I missing out on something? occasionally surface when I am contemplating about such aspects of my life. This perpetual quest to find some sort of meaning to my existence is unremitting. No, my life is not filled with ornate luxuries, a wall full of admirable trophies or an abundance of wealth in which I am able to expend on society's more extravagant expenses, but does that really measure the quality of life I have lived and am living? Recently, I have self-examined myself and have mused over the many "things" that have brought me happiness, both genuinely and superficially. After much brooding, I have concluded that I have repeatedly searched for happiness and meaning in all of the wrong places. Perhaps when I am much older, when I may have fine-tuned this idea of mine--that true happiness comes not from material possessions and the things that I own, but from the abundance of experiences that I have lived through, the lessons I have learned, the wisdom I have passed down to others (knowingly or unknowingly) and with whom I have shared them with--can I truly be absolute in saying that I have found the reason by which I exist; an eternal place of my own in this life alongside the infinite number of those who are searching for the same truth. In the meantime, I can only live for the now, be happy for what I do have, appreciate the people among my small circle of friends whom encompass me and share in my experiences, and just expect that tomorrow will bring the unexpected. As Christopher Johnson McCandless has written in his journal:

"The Joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun."

True happiness is to live, to be and to closely share it with others, nothing more. It is all the seemingly small things that make it all so worthwhile.

Every Saturday night, almost religiously for the last several weeks, Robbie, Vivien and I gather at my house for good company and Absinthe. One of the great things about ingesting this once illegal substance is that it always invokes very vivid, psychotropic-like dreams. Once I am wide awake, my dream usually begins to fade unless I immediately write it down. I am then left with only fragments of the experience which is both frustrating to remember and somewhat unsatisfactory. I decided this morning that I should begin documenting my dreams so that I could later analyze them in hopes that it might reveal some profound insight into my life, or perhaps I will come to a conclusion that they are just a series of random and meaningless visions that entertain me while I sleep. Whatever the case, I suppose they still remain to be interesting stories to tell.

Note: The dream in which I am about to tell will mention the names of several people; their stories and how they relate to me in real life will not be fully explained. I am just documenting this experience for myself and not necessarily telling a full-blown story.

"As soon as I get my head round you, I come around catching sparks off you, I get an electric charge from you, that second hand living it just won't do, and the way I feel tonight, I could die and I wouldn't mind, and there's something going on inside, makes you want to feel, makes you want to try, makes you want to blow the stars from the sky, I can't stand up, I can't cool down, I can't get my head off the ground."

-"Head On" by the Jesus and Mary Chain

Last night's dream begins with a group of friends. Robbie, Vivien, Erika, Jacob and I are walking through a parking lot as we leave a local bar after getting absolutely plastered. Jacob had just finished saying goodbye to someone he had known. As soon as that person was no longer around, Jacob then began to make weird hand gestures; it was somehow his way of non-verbally explaining to us how lame that person was when they are drunk. I then remember that he has to work very early the following day, but he was now too drunk to do so. I turn to him and tell him that he better start calling people and get that shift covered because there was no way I was going to go in for him. I am not sure if he was even able to reach anyone that late at night. Luckily, Erika suddenly decides to be the nice one and volunteer herself to cover for him since she was not as drunk as he was. Jacob suddenly disappears from my dream and Erika leaves as well since she now has to work the next day. The rest of us make plans to clean out my closet in the morning. I believe we were going to sell whatever stuff I did not want at some garage sale that we also were planning to have. Robbie, Vivien and I are instantly transported to some room that supposedly was mine, but obviously did not look at all like what my room looks like in real life. Without having any idea just before, I suddenly am expecting Monica to come over and join us. When she arrives, I see her strutting down the hallway and as soon as she makes her first step through, the song "Head On" by the Jesus and Mary Chain begins to play as if it were her theme song from a movie soundtrack. We all start to talk again about our plans to clean out my closet. Supposedly I had helped Vivien do hers the week before and now they were going to return the favor and help me. All of a sudden we decide that we are hungry for fruit. We begin to talk about apples and oranges and pears and I tell them that there is a place I know of where I have taken some before from people's gardens when they are not at home. I realize by this time that Robbie is no longer in my dream and I remember later that he had gotten tired and decided to go to bed. Vivien and I decide that we should be the ones to gather the fruit. Suddenly we are transported outside and are walking down the side of the street. Monica by this time is also no longer in my dream. I am not sure when and where she went, but I recall later that she had stayed behind and was waiting for our return back in my room. I remember looking at a blue dumpster parked on the right side of the street as if I were in some familiar place, but I cannot seem to recollect where I have seen it before and why it was so memorable. Perhaps I will have Déjà vu and experience being in the same place again sometime in my waking life. Suddenly as if we were in a movie, my dream fades into the next scene and Vivien and I are now arriving in front of a row of houses in which we are to "steal" the fruit from. We walk to one particular house which had a couple of pillars in the front where the patio was. It was a humongous white Victorian mansion. For some reason I somehow knew that the owners were not home. I think we walked in through the left side of the house where a huge garden resides. In the middle there was a magnificent tree that resembled the White Tree of Gondor as it starts to finally grow again at the end of The Lord of the Rings. We go around to the surrounding trees and begin to pick apples, oranges, pears and bananas off of them until our arms could not possibly hold on to any more. We then walk over to the side against the wall of the mansion, sitting down upon a patch of un-mowed grass, and begin to eat the fruit. We were eating mostly pears, which was really weird because I am not too fond of pears. They are delicious but there is something about the texture that I just do not like. Another strange thing was that these pears unexpectedly had the texture of apples which is probably why I liked them so much in the dream. We suddenly get startled by a noise coming from the front of the house that sounded like the rustling of leaves. Vivien and I both stand up in synchronicity thinking that we might have sat there a little too long and that it was now time for us to start heading back. We both nervously peer out towards the front expecting to perhaps see something or someone. I then begin to look at all the windows on the neighboring mansion to my right and in one particular window I notice that there is a curtain that is shaped as if two hands were spreading them open. I take another look and focus intently on the window and realize that there is a face there with bulging eyes staring at us. At first I think it is some terrifying demon but later I realize it is some woman thickly covered in one of those green mud masks glaring at us from what must have been her bathroom window. In a strange slow motion sequence I turn and start to yell "Ruuuuuuuuuuuun!" Vivien, on the way home, keeps constantly asking all panicked like "Is she there? Is she there?!? Where is she?!?!?!" We both run as fast as we can as if our lives had depended on it and as we get closer to my house we both start to laugh hysterically at ourselves and the situation we were in. We barge inside the house, throwing the front door open and slamming it closed, into my room and collapse to the floor sweating profusely and trying to catch our breaths. I don't remember dropping the fruit, but we somehow lost them along the way back. Monica suddenly appears in front of us as if she had been with us the entire time and we begin to tell her the story. I remember taking her through every step in detail, even mimicking with my own hands how the curtain had looked using my window. She gasps and says, "Oh my God, that is so scary" in that "Monican" way of hers. We then decide to go to bed and make plans to have breakfast together in the morning. I suddenly remember waking up in the bed with Robbie in real life half-dreaming thinking to myself, we need to wake up now so we can go have breakfast with Vivien and Monica. I fall back asleep and my dream continues: I am waking up and Vivien is suddenly gone. I think she might have gone home sometime in the middle of the night. Monica and I start to get dressed so that we can go somewhere and get breakfast. We begin to talk about toast, omelets, linguiça, chorizo, marmalade and hashbrowns smothered in ketchup. Just thinking about it now is making me so hungry. Immediately we are transported to another place. We are at a Starbucks and we see Erika working behind the counter helping customers. It is unfortunate that she could not join us for breakfast. We say hello but she does not seem to see us. Suddenly, Monica disappears from my dream and I am now in another house. Again, it is my house but it is not the same place I was originally at in the beginning of my dream. This house seems very new and very bright. It was a place that seemed as if it were bought with a significant amount of wealth. I enter a room full of children and now with me is Larisa, Nikki, Erika, Alfie and Vivien. I suddenly think to myself that I need to wake up Robbie so we can go and have breakfast. I realize that I may have to wait since it seems as if some sort of birthday party is being held in my house, but I do not know whose. The room is all of a sudden decorated with a variety of balloons and we are all playing with them, fascinated by the different shapes they have come in. There were big ones, small ones, round ones, elongated ones and ones that have been decorated and crowned in fancy tinsel like material. As I am playing with the balloons, Larisa begins to take pictures of us with all the children. She begins to call my name until finally she has my full attention. She suggests that I pose for the camera as I play with the balloons. Two kids suddenly walk toward me, both holding onto a clear, glass bowl which they hold in the center between them. They set it down in front of me and Larisa strangely suggests I stand on the rim of the bowl. I stand on it and I again start playing with the balloons but I tell her how stupid this is and to just take my picture doing something naturally. Carol all of a sudden appears, says hello to me and then asks if Larisa is being her crazy self again. I say yes in absolute annoyance and I tell her about the idea she had just come up with concerning her picture taking and wanting to pose me standing on a glass bowl. Suddenly, I wake up thinking to myself I need to write down this incredibly ridiculous dream so that I will remember it. After recording the events of my dream onto my computer, I lie back down on my bed and wake up Robbie. He turns, looks at me and squints his eyes half-sleepily and I ask him, "Want to go get some breakfast?" He extends his body to its full length, lets out a creaky stretching noise and says, "Yes."

And yet another night of restlessness drags on. It seems strange to me that time is not flying by like it normally does. Perhaps it is the lack of not knowing what to do with myself. Everyone is at the Bistro, and like a typical Tuesday night, I am here at home all by my lonesome. I just finished my routine workout--my body still "high" from the endorphins coursing through my veins--and I cannot seem to find anything to occupy me in this energized state. On the other hand, I feel almost paradoxical in the fact that I want to do something, yet I really feel the need to just sit here and relax at the very same time--do nothing at all if possible. Suki and Atrus are staring at me, relentless in their meows. I guess that is one thing I can go do--feed the cats. Funny how Atrus, with his own bowl full of food, likes to stick his head into Suki's bowl while she eats, wondering if her food is better than his.

What to do, what to do...

I just finished reading Beautiful Boy by David Sheff. Although I don't want to make this any kind of book review, I would like to say that it has been quite an exceptional read. Mr. Sheff provocatively takes you through his harrowing experiences as a parent with a drug-addicted son. I could not help but be thoroughly absorbed, finding his story dramatically riveting and searingly honest as he weathered his grief and worry onto paper while watching Nic, his son, deteriorate. At the same time his writing could be found quite therapeutic and highly informative for those who are suffering from similar situations. It has brought many things into perspective and has even given me a bit of insight into my own past addictions. I can admit that by the end of the book, my eyes had begun to well up in tears, crying for a father, a son, their family, their friends and everyone else who had been caught up in the midst of such a traumatic journey that was both unrelenting and unpredictable. David Sheff illustrates views from both himself and his son, and for this I could say that the grass is not at all greener on the other side--it is ravaged and desolate, overrun by despair, anguish and ruin. Now that I have completed Beautiful Boy, I can begin reading Nic Sheff's Tweak, a memoir of his experiences through these trying times. Nothing here is more concise than when Jasper, Nic's younger brother, explains in his own words what he thought addiction meant. "It's like in cartoons when some character has a devil on one shoulder [...] and an angel on the other."

As much as I love the rain, somber skies and winter's cold fury, I think now I am ready for a little sunshine. I was dismayed this morning to find out my new car was dripping wet, drenched and dirty from last night's rain. After a week of warm weather, who would have thought this would happen--overnight even. California weather is consistently unpredictable. I have been outside for the last half hour or so watching monolithic stratocumulus clouds reeling in from the west with the bitter chill of the wind cutting through the flesh of my face like jagged, virtual razorblades. Even as I am garbed appropriately in a fairly thick sweater with the hood draped over my entire head, I cannot help but allow my body to shiver, uncontrollably and seizure-like. At work, at least during the last several days previous, the sun rising in my direct view and beaming blindness into my eyes had been a welcomed annoyance. The warmth has been refreshingly invigorating and I never thought I would ever say this, but I cannot wait for summer, when my body is sweltering and hot bands of heat is permitting half-nakedness around the house and preparing me for the beach. Even as I say this I am laughing to myself, knowingly when the time finally comes, I will probably have already thought differently. But until then, winter's overlong reign has overstayed its welcome.

I always wanted to be an Astronaut when I was a kid. I had a growing fascination for space and humankind's collective desire to explore the unknown. I would stare into the sky for countless hours at night, mesmerized by the otherworldliness that somehow felt so close yet so far away. The millions of stars spangled in the sky were like tiny pinholes upon a sheet of black construction paper draped above the quiet suburb where I had lived, hiding undiscovered secrets behind its total blackness. Almost every evening, probably since I was ten years old, I would direct these fixations into the open expanse of the universe above and wonder, sometimes out loud, whispering softly: is there anybody out there? And often times I would answer myself: there must be.

The first time I had actually seen some sort of alien-like phenomenon was when I was twelve. I remember while staring into the sky one summer evening as I was playing with a handful of robot action figures on my front porch, a bright ball of light appeared slightly above where the sky abruptly hits the horizon. The oval shape radiated brightly in the distance and hovered in a particular spot for at least five minutes. The brightness fluctuated as it stood suspended in mid-air until finally it drifted sideways, a few feet to the right and then disappeared. At first perhaps I thought it might have been an airplane or some sort of military aircraft, but a few seconds later, a second light appeared in the same exact place the previous light was and once again slowly drifted to the right and disappeared. I wasn't sure what it was, but I knew what I saw was not "natural"--and it terrified me. I ran in the house throwing my Transformers into a pile on the ground, slamming the door behind me and headed straight for my parent's room. My mother, laying on her side underneath a thin blanket and eating soft batch cookies from a package of Almost Home, was hypnotized by the television set and immersed in an episode of Jeopardy. "Who is--hey, stop running in the house!" she yelled, looking at me in that firm parental scowl. I nodded submissively while catching my breath and slipped under the covers next to her in comfort that she would protect me. I never said a word about what I saw, not to her or anyone else for that matter.

Until I was about nineteen or twenty, I would wake up from mid-sleep to visions of grey, shiny-skinned figures with triangulated faces, bright hospital-like lights and strange noise that resembled whispers and clanking of metallic "tools." During that period of my life I was thoroughly convinced I had been abducted by alien life-forms--probed, tested and experimented on--until I came to the realization that those horrifying visions were just interpreted hallucinations from a disorder I had been suffering from called Sleep Paralysis.

As an adult, my condition has significantly diminished to once or twice a month, and even though I know exactly what it is that I am facing, I still frighten myself on occasion. To this day I continue to lose myself in the night sky, contemplating the possibilities of whether there is some sort of intelligent life-form existing beyond the infinite boundaries of the universe. While there is no physical evidence, I cannot deny the feasibility of such a thing. If we humans are here today in this world, intelligent as we are, it would be arrogant and ignorant of us to think that we are the only ones. If we are here now, then so are they (wherever they may be.)

I have been listening to the Cocteau Twins non-stop the past two days and I feel as if I have rediscovered one of the greatest bands of my lifetime! I cannot help but reminisce. I can remember all of the times Julie and I have driven around in her car listening to them even if we had no real destination; sometimes half-intoxicated, sometimes not, but always having a spiritual experience. She'd wave her hands around gracefully, intertwining and encircling one another in dance, and sometimes I would join her. I also use to sneak into her room to join her every time I heard her playing them on her vintage record player, as she often did when I blared them on my cheap twenty dollar portable stereo which I rigged to output the audio through one of my practice guitar amps because the speakers had been blown out, the result of playing my music way too loud on such a small system. We would sit there hypnotized by the music, smoking cigarettes and conversing about deep philosophical sentiments that we had about the world around us, recent events from our daily lives or just random chit chat. I also remember the time we had seen them in concert together. She dropped acid that night, or perhaps had taken mushrooms, and consequently had to ride back home on her then boyfriend, Ryan's, truck-bed in the cold of the night from San Francisco all the way to the southern part of the East Bay. It's amazing how listening to music can bring back many recollections of one's past, however big or small they may be. I haven't kept in touch much with Julie since she married and had her baby, and I miss her company and all the incredible moments we had shared together. She will always hold a special place in my heart.

The list of reasons why I like to smoke is quite long, but the reasons why I should stop is even longer. Upon further absorption of such thoughts this past week I have emerged strong and fully prepared to extinguish that flame. I have tried before and have failed with the realization that I was not ready to make that change, nor was I willing. But today I can truly say that this battle will soon come to an end and my victory will be absolute. After careful consideration, I have come to an understanding that I will need enough time to prepare myself mentally and physically, anticipating every possible repercussion that may take place. My date is set! On April 14th, the day after my birthday, I am going to quit smoking--cold turkey! You think I can do it? I know I can!

I am being consumed by manifestations of some insatiable craving for something sinfully sweet during this late hour of the night and I think I am driving myself crazy. I have been walking in and out of the kitchen, almost obssessive-compulsively, opening the refrigerator and cabinet doors only to stare at the open packages of candy, chocolate and Oreo cookies. I gape over it in hopes that perhaps it will be enough to appease this hunger. My eyes dart back and forth toward the Oreos and then to the jar of chunky peanut butter and then back again. Together in a pool of milk they are heaven! I feel almost like Louis from the Interview with the Vampire whom is challenged with the duality of his undeniable appetite for human blood opposed by his retained compassion for the people around him. I want it, almost need it, but I know I shouldn't. One bite will lead to (too) many. Despite having cooked up a fantastic dinner of curried vegetables and a pan-seared steak of tuna, this sudden desire is almost physically overwhelming and hard like a thrust to the gut. I think I will just go to bed to soften the blow. Sugar is pure "eee-vul!"

Communication is one of the most important and intimate interactions we as people need in order to experience some sort of "human connection" and understanding. However, it is sometimes hindered by barriers such as cultural differences, ethnicity and in this case, deafness which make it often times difficult in doing so.

"Sign Language" can mean different things to different people. I didn't realize until now that the United States has several different sign systems such as Manually Coded English (MCE,) Signed Exact English (SEE) and American Sign Language (ASL.) While MCE and SEE are structured similarly to spoken English, ASL is unique in that it is its very own language; and like English, it has its own slang expressions and dialects which vary according to a signer's background. These are often referred to as "regional signs." Although American Sign Language is the type of sign language often used by most deaf people in order to communicate, the language is not universal. Just as there is no universal spoken language, ASL users will not understand British or Japanese sign language users. Many people falsely believe that ASL is merely a system by which a person can "finger spell" English words, but in fact is more than just a set of signs made with hands. It uses the accompaniment of facial expressions, head movements and various gestures, which differentiates certain signs that may seem the same or at least very similar. I think it is unfortunate that not every high school makes it mandatory to teach American Sign Language as a "foreign language" elective, which is primarily dominated by courses in Spanish, German and French, because I believe it is probably the most important of all the languages and certainly the most useful. This year one of the goals that I had made to myself was to learn American Sign Language, or at least the basics. I often interact with many people from the deaf community when I am at work and I thought it would be make it a far greater experience for them and for myself if I could speak to them, even if just a little, in their own language. I contemplated taking a college course to help me learn but realized that at this point in time it might be a little hard to fit into my schedule considering how early I have to wake up for work, my second job, my commitment to my workout schedule and while still having some time for myself, my friends and my partner, but at the same time I also did not want to give up in achieving this goal. So, after considering all my options, I decided to take it into my own hands (no pun intended.)

I was at the local bookstore the other day and while browsing through various books and products, I came across a "Learn American Sign Language" kit that teaches how to sign basic vocabulary including the alphabet, numbers, useful words and a few phrases which I thought could be an ideal alternative to taking a class. I figure I could learn a few signs each day and doing so in my own pace. So, far I have learned several pronouns and have been practicing the alphabet over and over. I realize that this definitely is no easy feat and it will probably take a very long time to master, but I imagine if I can dedicate myself in learning the basics of ASL that eventually I will be able to at least have some form of conversation with another signing person, however basic it may be. While understanding another person is a significant part of humanity, being able to communicate back to them is equally, if not more so, important. The deaf have been learning the language of "the hearing" for the past 150 years, I think it is just as critical for us to learn theirs.

Sometimes it seems as if there is nothing more physically and mentally demanding than getting out of bed. In fact I was quite surprised that I even got to work on time considering I only had three hours of sleep (two hours uninterrupted.) It was one of those mornings when the constant buzzing of your alarm clock goes in one ear and out the other; it wakes you up momentarily, but only enough for you to turn it off with one swift push of a button. The memory of it is always so unclear and no matter how hard you try, you never really seem to recall waking up at all. Luckily after passing out for another forty-five minutes, my body was suddenly startled in some urgent frenzy to check the time as if some inner subconscious voice was yelling at me to get up. The fuzzy glare of light emanating from my phone's display screen is quite blinding when it is the very first thing you see after your eyes have adjusted to the blackness of the back of your eyelids. After a few seconds of adapting to the dark, I realized I had exactly ten minutes to brush my teeth, wash my face, do my hair and get dressed in some sort of reasonably professional manner in order to get myself to work on time. It is times like these that your heart begins to beat a million times a minute due to the fact that you are trying to do everything all at once and you constantly swear to yourself and out loud because every tiny obstacle presents itself whether it is a cat walking in your path or whether you just can't seem to get one arm inside the sleeve of your shirt. I don't know how, but I did it. I arrived at work just in time with even a couple of minutes to spare. The rest of the day flew by faster than I thought it would, even though I felt brain dead for most of it.

I have been trying to read Veronika Decides To Die by Paulo Coelho but I cannot seem to get into it. The synopsis is very interesting, but as soon as I start reading, it becomes almost a chore. I think perhaps I just need to be in the right state of mind. For the last month I have been trying to find something else to read in its place but after several attempts to uncover a new book at the local bookstores, I always end up leaving empty handed. Until today, I thought I would have to wait until Scott Heim's new book We Disappear was released in order to satiate this compelling urge to find and read another good book. (His previous works, In Awe and particularly Mysterious Skin, are both emotionally complex and works of genuine beauty.) As I sat down this morning eating Kashi Go Lean cereal (what people at my work like to call a bowl full of cardboard) during my lunch break, I noticed a hard bound, plain white covered promotional copy of a book sitting at the edge of my desk with big and bold lower case letters that read Beautiful Boy by David Sheff. Seeming as I had nothing else to do in the next thirty minutes, I picked it up and started reading. I read the first introductory pages and I was suddenly engrossed in this powerful story that was beginning to unfold. According to the quick synopsis, it is about "a father's journey through his son's meth addiction." Even as my break ended, I could not stop and put the book aside without forcing myself. I was anxious and excited to have finally found a new book to satisfy this sort of need to read. I later found out that David Sheff's son, Nic Sheff, also wrote a book called Tweak which is a memoir of his experience during those trying times. Beautiful Boy will not be released to the public until Tuesday, February 26th so I went ahead and ordered both books on Amazon.com. I guess I could have easily waited four more days for the actual release date to pick them up at my local bookstore, but I figure I can wait. Next week will be another busy week for me with more meetings and promotional set-ups to complete. In the meantime I can finally take that bookmark out from page eleven and give Veronika a chance to rest. I can't remember how many times I have gone through her initial suicide and I think I would like to wait a long while before I go through it again.

I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow. I have to get up at 3am in order to get myself to work by 4am. As soon I get off work, Robbie and I are planning on heading over to the hospital to see Kevin and Kristy. She just had her baby three days ago on the 17th and we wanted to take some time to visit them and their newborn baby girl, Kaitlyn. Later in the evening I will need to head over back to work to attend a meeting at 8pm which is scheduled to last until 11pm and then head back home to try to get a little sleep before I have to go back to work again at 4am the following morning. I should be preparing myself for bed just about now, but I can't help but get consumed by the television and particularly the show, Supernanny. It's fascinating (almost to the point of sickening) to see how many parents there are out there who cannot understand how to supervise and discipline their own children. It angers me to think that there are thousands of parents out there who let their children get away with the most alarming things like allowing them to run around screaming and throwing objects around like silverware in public environments like restaurants or do absolutely nothing when their own kids blatantly hit them or talk back to them. These children are suppose to be our leaders of tomorrow, but how can we possibly expect them to take care of our world's future if we cannot even show them how to respect the environment around them now, let alone their own parents. I don't deny that having children is no easy feat, but there has to be some point in time when a parent, whose own child is behaving inappropriately, should stop and realize that they need to regain control. It does give me a little perspective on all the difficulties that may arise when raising a child, and I am glad that I don't see having one of my own in the near future. Don't get me wrong, I love children and I love being around them but I personally am selfish with my time and I know I wouldn't be able to give them the full attention that they would need from a parent. I often times hear people criticize another person's child by referring to them as "the kids from hell" when in reality it is more fitting to refer to the adults as "the parents from hell." Hopefully Kevin and Kristy are better prepared and will have a little more luck than some of the parents I've seen on this show. I would hate to see their bundle of joy become that monster under the bed.

Eat, poop, sleep and repeat. Suki and Atrus have it so easy; No work and all play, and I am convinced that even they know how easy they have it.

It was quite strange calling my store today for my schedule tomorrow. I had gone the last nine days pretending as if that place was non existent, and it was great. I have enjoyed every moment of not having the weight of responsibility hanging over my shoulder this past week, but all good things must come to an end. I suppose tomorrow isn't so bad after all. I know a handful of people who just despises Mondays, yet for me it's actually one of the easier days of the work week. My schedule tomorrow confines me behind a desk for eight hours filling out paperwork, managing payroll, burying myself in a pile of reports and staring at a computer. It's sort of a transitioning period that slowly prepares me for the rest of the week. Real mental drainage begins at 4am, Wednesday morning.

Looking back on the past week, I feel as if I have accomplished a lot, probably more than I originally thought I would: I have completed my 2007 tax return, Robbie and I have done our grocery shopping, I have made some time to hang out and have some fun with my friends, I have gotten back into writing and keeping a journal of my thoughts, I have leveled my new World of Warcraft character from 34 to 41, I have made some extra money working a few extra days at my second job, I have gotten this blog site to look exactly the way I want it and I have finally thrown out some trash and gotten my apartment cleaned up (Thanks for the help, Viv.)

So, with the last few minutes I have remaining, I think I will try another hand at stage 18 of an awesome online game called Bloxorz. It's a free puzzle game where the object is to figure out which direction to tumble a rectangular block along a predetermined set of tiles in order to deposit it into a square hole. Using the arrow keys, guide the block along a series of bridge-opening switches, block-splitting switches and transporters to proceed to the next stage. Compared to the hundreds of lame and unengaging flash games on the web, this one will actually make you think, and yes, it's quite addicting. Check it out and enjoy!

UPDATE: Stage 18 - FAIL! This really is the end of all things! Good night!

In all honesty I really do love my job. But I have come to a realization that my "vacation" is almost coming to an end and I just really am sick of "working" in general. The one panel comic strip I found (posted to the right) explains more of how I feel in full color detail.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a lazy person but in the past week while I had been doing absolutely nothing but working out and blogging, I feel more accomplished than I have in the last year. The following few paragraphs were actually suppose to be posted yesterday, but alcohol is a purely enjoyable "eee-vul" that has inadvertently thwarted such plans. So, pressing on, here is yesterday's unposted post:

Strangely enough, considering that I am on "vacation," I went in and "worked" last night at "the Bistro," a fairly new wine bar in the newer section of the "Auto Mall" shopping strip in Fremont. I have to say I was pretty impressed. Unless it's a late Friday evening, I can almost assure you at least one tumbleweed sighting, but business last night was unusually very busy for just a weeknight. I suppose it was due to the fact that Audrey (the owner) was hosting her very first "Murder Mystery Night." There was a great turn out for the event and the crowd seemed to have been really enjoying the game as I could hear their boisterously nonsensical conversations and constant "Ooooh's" and "Aaaaah's" through the kitchen door, even over the loud hiss of the overhead fan and the blaring of my iPod. Unfortunately, it seems that she had accidently gave away "who dun it" halfway through and ruined the game. Luckily everyone left in high spirits and no one was offended or went away feeling cheated.

Halfway through the night one of the customers tapped me on the back and greeted me with a "Hey how have you been?" I paused for a moment and hesitantly turned around for I wasn't sure who or what to expect but was pleased to find out it was Bruce, a very old customer of mine whom I've met when I was just a barista at Starbucks and whom I haven't seen in the last three plus years. I was slightly shocked that he actually remembered me but even more so I think I impressed us both by remembering his "then" regularly ordered drink: A Grande (sometimes Venti) nonfat Latte. "We always remember the people we genuinely like," he said to me and I thought to myself, such small and simple words weigh a ton in absolute truth, but all I could say in return was "For real." We continued to chat momentarily while I ordered a glass of wine and parted words before I made my way outside to smoke a cigarette with Vivien and Erika. I didn't intend on staying for as long as I did but Bruce later joined us as he was leaving the bar. We immersed ourselves in what I thought was a drunken exchange of words but things had begun to get very interesting as our conversations progressed. It seems that Bruce is really good friends with Michael Goorjian, an actor/director who is better known by his character portrayals in Party of Five and SLC Punk. He went on saying that he has a small part in a new documentary directed by Michael Goorjian called You Can Heal Your Life, and when invited to a "table reading" at Sophia Coppola's house, was asked to play a small part as an "annoying accountant" in an upcoming movie. He also said that he would try to convince Michael in screening the documentary at "the Bistro" sometime in the near future and perhaps even have a "Q&A" session with Mr. Goorjian afterwards. As cool as that may be, I have taken that comment with a grain of salt. Nothing interesting or nearly that cool ever happens in Fremont. All in all I just thought it was very interesting and pretty darn cool how directly or indirectly connected we are to the multitude of people we interact with on a daily basis without even knowing it. Now if only I could find a connection towards paid bills for no work, free rent, a clean apartment and to master the art of "Cobra Kai" style Karate so that I could "sweep the leg" without hesitation. Defeat does not exist in this dojo. Does it? No, Sensei!


I woke up this morning dry mouthed and thirsty. Last night's drinking has left me drained in spirit and physical energy. It is also a little discouraging waking up to the mess left behind from the night before, which of course is piled on top of the mess left behind from the last week or so. Seriously, I have made plans tomorrow to really clean this place up. I just need to make sure I don't let anything distract me from finishing (or more so "beginning") the task. And Vivien, I'm still going to hold you up on your offer. So expect a call from me sometime in the early morning! ;-P

Although I am sad to see this week come almost to an end, I am really glad the weekend is almost here. I always treat myself to a nice fatty meal at the end of each week. After a week of healthy and nutritious food and protein shakes, I have been holding back on an intense craving for a real Mexican entrée. So, I think tomorrow I am going to splurge on more than a few tamales, perhaps from El Patio. So, Robbie, if you are reading this, let us feast on some tamales tomorrow!

Tonight I'm working another shift at "the Bistro." As much as I love the people that work there, I have to say there has been more than enough times I've hated going in to pick up the slack of the previous cook and "undo" a dirty kitchen. I hope Manny is feeling better and doesn't call out sick again. I have to admit, he is the burst of energy that helps time pass by and gets me through working a second job. Perhaps I'll run into someone else I know. If not, I know I could always look forward to the free alcohol per after shift and another night of drunken fun!

There is nothing like being woken up at four in the morning by a pair of paws and relentless unworldly meowing begging and pleading, "feed me! feed me!" Even with my head under the covers, they "know" I'm under there. Who "needs" an alarm clock when you have two cats who have retained the exact timing of when they will get their next bowl of dry, tasteless (yes, I have nibbled on one just to see what the big fuss was about) kitty chow. Just train your kitties to swap at you at whatever time you choose. What a bunch of geniuses!

Today is officially my first day of so called "vacation..." And I'm still up at the butt crack of dawn! Besides relaxing throughout the week, I have plans to finally get this place cleaned up. Let's hope I don't push that project aside until the very last minute. Well, I've gulped down 16 ounces of my vanilla flavored protein shake+1 and am now ready to complete another routine workout. Time to endure a couple hours of squats, lunges and other tiresome lifting. At least it's paying off. Later I think I will finally go and get my hair cut. It's becoming too much of a nuisance in the mornings trying to get that one part to just stand or sit right. Even a handful of "hair gum" sometimes just doesn't do it! Enough said, time to crank up the music.

This is epic! I have always wanted to start a blog site just so that I could document the random series of events, interests, obstacles or whatever else it is that this life is going to hurl at me, but I "suppose" I had just been too lazy to really go and find out where and how to do it. With a little help from Phluid, I am proud to say that this site is now up and running, and while I am still in the process of learning how to use the different elements of blogging, I now have somewhere I can record an online journal of my life... this journey onward... this "moonlit path." Although a handwritten diary of events is somewhat more intimate, who likes "writing" anymore anyway? Besides, too much "writing" can get quite tiresome and typing it all is far too easy not to.

In due time this site will soon come along. So far I'm happy with the layout and placements and such, but who's to say where it may go and when I will change my mind? As it is, it's already making me feel giddy and funny inside, as if I have uncovered something monumental; some secret treasure of some sort. It's like "needing" a smoke just when you have run out and finding that one last cigarette hidden inside one of many seemingly empty boxes piled on your desk. Or maybe it's like going into Dynamis in Final Fantasy XI Online hundreds of times and "finally," that final hour passes when you feel as if your eyelids and fingertips are about to just fall off and somewhere in the very back of your head a voice is trying to convince you to manually "D/C" but out of nowhere, a Summoner's Horn drops and you are now 5 out of 5 on your Summoner's relic pieces. If you've never experienced something like that, in Layman's terms it is pure "awesomeness!" \m/(>_<)\m/ And I suppose that's how blogging should feel.