Daily Distortions

Saturday, January 14th, 2012 – 8:53 PM PST – (“Back On The Breadline”)

2012-01-14T21:37:00.000-08:00

So December was sotiring that I completely lost the energy to write anything during the entiremonth; however, with a little free time, that won’t stop me from commenting onit after the fact. On Saturday I was laid-off from my IT job in Nookland (yes,I said it was part of chain that shall remain nameless, but I figure I can bevague and direct simultaneously). Instead of the two-week notice I waspromised, I was given all of twenty minutes. Not too much of a surprise from aplace where the HR Director took it upon himself to ask me, in front of his cronies,how I go to the bathroom or whether I was a pre-op or post-op, then relegatedme to the Men’s Restroom because by his standards I wasn’t a woman, on my firstday no less (at the time I would have complained to the ACLU, but at the time Ineeded the job). That aside, I was rather depressed when I was let go by the ITManager. I knew the job was coming to an end, but I wasn’t emotional preparedfor it. The week had been expensive, both fiscally and emotionally.

On Monday andTuesday of that week I had to contest with Groggy-Ego and Podcast. Sundaymorning he had sent me a text with an idea for a photo-shoot for our profileson the social networking sites. To be honest, I always saw the Podcast asnothing more than an elaborate hobby, something I did for fun. I’ll take theresponsibility in the fact that I probably inflated the idea of what thePodcast was to become—although backlogging in my head, I can’t fathom where orwhen. However, I’ve come to think that Groggy-Ego had put more into than I everhad or wanted, believing it to be a shot at something it wasn’t. I felt like hewas incapable of doing something that wasn’t heading towards monetary gain—inan art, I am automatically turned off by that mode of thinking, which Ithought, early on that wasn’t the intention. I wasn’t able to defend myself;despite that deep down I felt I wanted to say he was a cold and callus asshole.I left with him constantly drumming on about making a decision in regards tothe show, reminding me he was doing me a favour and his upcoming schedule—inthe time since the last meeting he has sent me texts and emails in the firstand latter regard.

After leaving inan emotional state on the verge of crying, I had to put the show behind me infavour of focusing on the rest of the week. The following day after work I wentup to TMCC to pay for my spring classes and books. My obstacles of the day weretransferring money from one account to the other, travelling from one part ofDelusional to the other, time, and a snooty clerk in the Controller’s Office’s;the latter two are heavily connected. It had taken longer to get from Nooklandto TMCC because of the heavy afternoon traffic on Thursday. I had forgottenwhat time the Controller’s Office closed—either 4:00 PM or 5:00 PM. I arrivedon campus at 3:45 PM, but unfortunately couldn’t get a close parking spacebecause of New Student Orientations. Not wanting to chance it, I grabbed mycheckbook, my sling bag and my coffee (because that’s how I roll) anddouble-timed it to the main building and up four (or five) flights of stairs,arriving at 3:52 PM. Out of breathe, I staggered to the first availablecounter. The Clerk was quick to point out my condition and comment that: “…Weare two weeks from the semester… we have extended hours.” See immediatelycommented on my use of the stairs: “…We do have elevators!” I pointed out thatI had ran from my car, up the flights of stairs, and to the office whichculminated with my already pre-existing exhaustion from being up since 3:30 AMand riding over 20 miles on bike loaded-down with computer equipment within awarehouse. Her response: “Oh I never run.” Seeing her physical size, which wasmuch larger than my girth at my largest a few years prior, I fought the urge toreply: “Yeah, I can see that.”

As much as I wouldlike to think that was the end of the Customer Service Karma I was beingsubjected for my years of sharing a Randall-like mentality as a Clerk (crossedwith the verbal capacity of a “Blackadder”—the BBC series, not the snake), atthe bank the following day, my chi would take another hit. The transfer from mySavings to my Roth account was only a time consuming affair, nothing more.Depositing my paycheck at the counter, not so much. After my transaction withthe banker I still had my check for that week to deposit. Since I was insidethe bank, I didn’t see the point in going outside and using one of thedrive-thru ATM’s—in retrospect, I wish I had. I don’t know what it is with thisWells Fargo branch in Eastern Delusional (Spanish Springs), but for some reasonbasic customer service always sucks. Instead of one of the attractive/developedwell-kept cashiers, I wound up with the young, right out of college,wet-behind-the-rears with a chip on his shoulder cashier. During the transactionhe had the audacity to inform me that I should be using direct deposit from myemployer: “…It’s greener.” Going on he asked me: “Doesn’t (Nookland) havedirect deposit?” To which I responded, “Kid, the ATM machines don’t talk back.Act like an ATM machine.” Not getting my irritation or just being a littlecocky bastard, he continues on his third-degree from his half-assed training,asking to see my ID only to add insult to injury by saying: “You’re a man!?!”Under my breath I uttered: “Fuck you!” Upon the completion of the transaction,I made a B-Line to a Starbucks for my White-Mocha fix and then to a nail salonto have my acrylics filled, while I read a networking manual on my iPad.(Granted I heard more complaints, but luckily they were in Vietnamese and fromwhat I could translate were of the beautician annoyed at me for not engaging withher in conversation.)

The following day,a Saturday (that Saturday no less), one I had to be at work early, turned outto be a rather busy morning. Had I known it was going to be my last day, Iprobably wouldn’t have been so gung-ho, but I felt I had to be responsiblebeing the only IT person in attendance. And, in fairness, the security of workwas my only means of coupling with events of the past week (or for the mostpoint, blocking them out), especially the show.

With all of thoseexpenses—classes and books, the transfer to my Roth, and let’s not forget theMac makeup (Wild Child wouldn’t let me forget it a few days later)—gettinglaid-off, although I try not to think of money as a dominate force in my life,fiscally came at the wrong time. That, however, wasn’t as crushing as thethought of losing my job, the embarrassment of being reduced to another number,a cog in the unemployment wheel. I hate being unemployed. I hate hunting forwork. I hate seeming and feeling desperate because I know I have to competeagainst other people more qualified, but less dedicated than I. Happy NewYears, you’re fired, does not help the ego in the least. I actually, at some point,started deluding myself into believing that I was going to be a permanentemployee at Nookland that this was the start I needed. (God I felt like aJackass.)

All of this led meto falling off the Red-Rider Wagon, my New Years Resolution to cut back a biton the alcohol in trying times. What led to such a resolve? A few weeks earlierI had over indulged at Wild Child’s birthday party. Vanity and coupling hadcaused me to postpone my senses. The vanity, of course, of seeing wellpronounced sexual forms around me—Wild Child and a friend of hers fromCalifornia. Nothing makes me feel less accomplished than seeing well-formedT&A and styled hair next to my reflection lacking both categories. (Off ofthe hormones, I don’t have the confidence to fool myself into believing I’m intheir league, even when I’m in my skirts.) Added to that, the coupling goingaround didn’t help the ego resulting in me nearly pulling a Belushi anddrinking almost a full bottle of Jack Daniel’s (on top of the three glasses ofwine I had already consumed). Honestly, I thought I had grown pastcodependences, finding the maturity to be devoid of companionship, accepting mylone status. Obviously, I had not.

Loneliness makesme do stupid things. Thankfully I came to my senses before doing something asequally as reckless today. Like sending a message to the cute/exotic Receptionistfrom Nookland with HR dreams. Granted, I probably owe her a response after sheshared a rather personal subject with me (a matter I would want to sharecondolences and my admiration towards her fortitude at a tough time in herlife), I wouldn’t want to compromise a friendship, or more importantly jeopardizemy future employment from some childish infatuation. (If the cosmos isequitable, perhaps something will lead her to this section so she knows how Ifeel. But that something won’t be me.) Oh well, I will have to cherish herpleasant smile and gracious hugs seared into my memories. Pathetic, I know.This is sum of my life so far.

In spite of these set backs, I am stillmoving forward. I had a taste of IT, a taste of what I really wanted to do andI need more. I cannot go back to retail; I refuse to go back to retail. This isnot another of my empty proclamations that never come true; I don’t care if ittakes three months to find another position, I will fight to have an IT career.Goddamn it, it is my time!

Tuesday, November 1st, 2011 – 7:15 PM PDT – (IT, Foolin’ Schoolin’, Playwriting and Podcasting)

2011-11-01T19:15:00.000-07:00

Had you asked me amonth ago I probably wouldn’t think the following post would possible, butthat’s the way life is when you least suspect it. I have a job in IT. I work asa Technician in an IT department. It is part of chain I will reframe frommentioning at this time, but sufficed to say, I am actually working a job Iwant to work. Okay, I am working with printers more than actual systems ornetworking, and only a seasonal (however long that will last I haven’t thefoggiest), but it has only been four weeks so who is to say. A few weeks ago Ieven had an interview with a company to be a volunteer. It is strange to thinkthat quitting the Enemy was the right thing to do (despite the torment it mighthave put me through—I am still trying to get over the trauma of three and halfyears within one of those facilities). I am still in a recovery period over theevents within the Enemy. I’ve already started making an effor at work not tomention them. Even with my lapse in knowledge, from the combination of the oldtech and, believe or not, my customer experience, I seem to manage. Schoolturned out to be a different consequence.

My “triumphant”return to the Graduate Program in the English Department at UNR was anythingbut. Mostly because it wasn’t the work I wanted to do. I want to write playsand stories, while the courses required me to work on literature I had nointerest in. On top of that, I found myself at odds with those who seemed tohave no real world experience. I just didn’t feel like I was accomplishing anything,so I left (however, I still maintain that I am going to class on Tuesday andThursday evenings so I can get out of the apartment—some free time away fromthe bellows of the Old Man). So I am thinking I will probably return to ITclasses in the spring—more to prevent becoming obsolete. A harsh reality hascome to me. My certificates served for gaining an entry level position but if Ido not pursue further, I will be of less value than before (if such a thing ispossible).

But I still wantto do playwriting, yet if I do take anything creative I have vowed to auditsaid classes and reframe from them for credit. Not that I care for my patheticGPA, I want to remove a stress. If I am not taking a course for credit thanthere is no stress to perform (other than what I create). Perhaps I’ll be ableto find something that makes me want to stay rather forcing myself into thecorner of anxiety. If only my memory wasn’t failing me.

First my stresscaused me to be photosensitive in my eyes and skin, then before I left theEnemy it cause me to have tremors throughout select parts of my body, now it iseffecting my memory. At times it is just small things like names and faces,certain numbers, you know the usual forgetful stuff. Now I forget tasks and thecontinuation of others. Today, I forgot my badge for getting into work andclocking in (luckily, unlike the Enemy, not having my badge doesn’t effect myability to access the systems). Maybe it is just this time a year. The stressof this season tends to take its toll. Yesterday being Halloween was no help.All the years I missed it that made me feel absent of being a member of mypeople and then a year I could do it I chose not to because it didn’t seemright. (I’ll blame it on body image, if anything.)

The odd feeling isthat the year is drawing to a close. For some reason that feeling of lack ofprofessional accomplishment has started to fade. It is there, don’t get mewrong, but not as bad as it used to be. Creatively I would like to be moreprolific, but I don’t feel as pressed as before. However, that feeling is beingreplaced by something else. I hate to admit it, but I think it is filled by alack of personal accomplishment, you know the temped loneliness that beingsingle bares. Yet, as much as I wish I could be with a significant other, aftera lifetime of being around a stress causing other, I am not sure how I couldbring value to another.

November 1st, 2011 - 7:00 PM PDT - (October Bi-Pass)

2011-11-01T19:12:00.001-07:00

A few things did happen in October, unfortunately, I didn't post in time for them to be part that month's post.

September 5th, 2011 – 7:04 PM PDT – (Class assignments – “Desert Character” & “Desert Hierarchy”)

2011-09-05T19:38:00.001-07:00

The following are assignments from my English 675b class – Literary Non-Fiction. These two analyses are based around the collection of essays: “Land of Little Rain” by Mary Austin.

Desert Character – 01 September 2011

Through vivid images, Mary Austin wants the reader of her work to embody the "life" of the desert as one would a living creature. Her system of beats at the start of almost every series of description drives on focus, in a sense of "you are here with me" be it from the time of year: "From June to November it lies hot, still and unbreakable, sick with violent unrelieving storms,'' (pg. 2), to the landscape, "There are hills rounded, blunt, burned, squeezed up out of chaos,'' (pg.1), she sets a stage of passion in poetic verse. If this were fiction, one could argue desert were a character, a backdrop that accents a plot point or an arena that aids or hinders a protagonist's motivation. In the spotlight we follow the story in the geological scale, the ever-evolving surroundings with humans, without humans, an atmosphere of its own life. Austin goes to painstaking lengths to show the desert is not a wasteland—it is vibrant and alive. Proving that in her words that desert "...is a loose term to indicate land that supports no man," (pg.1).

DESERT HIERACHY – 06 September 2011

Reaching the essays “The Scavengers” and “The Pocket Hunter”, by titles alone, one might assume that Mary Austin has returned to the crass nature of her earlier work; a first impression that is far from the truth. Unlike her first essay in the series, “Land of Little Rain”, she seems to be taking a softer approach by bringing us the systems of desert life. Beyond stage setting, she delivers a unique ecosystem hard at work—the hierarchy of Carrion crows and coyotes. “Probably we never fully credit the interdependence of creatures, and their cognizance of the affairs of their own kind,” (pg. 20). Per usual fashion, though, she maintains that sarcastic tone towards those who underestimate the environment. “It is the complaint of the ordinary camper that the woods are too still, depleted of life… Put out affal away from camp over night, and look at the foot tracks where it lay,” (pg. 22). Even the Pocket Hunter isn’t spared this judgment from his misunderstood dependency. Yet, it is not intended to be scathing, she is reinforcing the arrant lands as exactly what they are. Even the tales of the prospector’s journeys, an individual who wore “…a weather shell”, (pg. 26), illustrates to what is needed to survive in variable circumstances. Within the desert hierarchy, Austin gives us a glimpse into the looking glass of an “economy of nature,” (pg.22). And that scavengers, be they in the search of affal or precious metals, are “…no stronger than (their) destin(ies),” (pg. 29).

Not my most cleaver works, but I would read them. Isn’t that what counts?

September 4th, 2011 – 10:46 PM PDT – (Kobayasi Maru – Year Five Begins)

2011-09-05T19:34:00.000-07:00

Well this is a first. I skipped the start of a year in my calendar. I guess it is only fitting, all things considered. The past few days as I start down a new journey, or to be more precise, restart one, I have been a bit lost in a peculiar train of thought. What else is new, right? This time I find myself questioning my motivations for writing. On Thursday I had a class and near the end of it I was exposed to a piece about writing, a marketers ideology of what is important about writing. As many things do, it harkened back to my frame of mind from the “W years”. I am not even going to pretend and say I thought I was over that time in my life, but the notion the work had laid out was exactly the nonsense I had been force fed by any number of screenwriting text and works. Since I never took a course in screenwriting or filmmaking, I feel disconnected, but at the same time, as strange as it may sound, free. A feeling that didn’t come to me until I was meditating during Yoga (an activity that is new to me that has become a new addiction).

For a moment, over the past couple of days, I was going to analyze my motivations for writing. After pondering it. I decided against it because I do not want to it affect my current actions or make a proclamation towards something that may not come to pass. So instead, in the next post, I am going to start posting some of the writing I am doing for my current classes. Unlike the title of this entry, I don’t believe the classes are the Kobayasi Maru, the no win scenario, but I do want to keep track of my evolution in this year.

On a side note, I must acknowledge the “Star Trek” references I have been making lately. “Star Trek” the series is forty-five years old this year. My references are not a celebration of that, nor are they a means of coming out as a closeted Trekkie—my sci-fi geekdom is well cemented. I think subconsciously I am attracted to the franchise as a result of current circumstances, both internally in my own life and externally from just how bad things have become. The ideology that Gene Roddenberry set down, now that I am old enough to understand it, was rather profound. The concept of a society that wasn’t limiting in any fashion, one that allowed people to better themselves, a utopian exploration based world, is dream that truly is “The Final Frontier”. As bad as things have been getting it can be difficult to image a world without hate, a world without ignorance, a world of equals is paramount to the human condition bringing to foundations of Hope. As I have quoted before and I will quote again: “…Hope is a good thing, perhaps the best of things, and no good thing ever dies,” (King/Darabont, 1994). It is my hope that this type of science fiction or storytelling in general would return.

Taking a term from “The Daily Show”, and now your moment of ZEN…

August 21st, 2011 – 9:55 PM PDT – (Year Four Ends, Year Five Begins)

2011-09-05T19:26:00.001-07:00

In a few days, year five begins, but I will probably miss it as I have a few other occasions in the past year. I thought of marking the next year by starting a video version of this, however, as my attempts before have proven futile, I am just not as self absorbed as those that occupy the majority of social sites and YouTube. I thought of doing video as an alternative to this because the past events are coming and going; this still seems appropriate. Though, approaching Year Five I am rather anxious. After all, most shows or storylines start to go downhill around or after the fifth installment (e.g. “Star Trek V: The Final Frontier” (1987); thank god for “Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country” (1989)). My fear stemmed from the fact that things have rather changed (even with a number of results remaining the same) and I just wouldn’t have time to devote to this. Then again, I have yet to face the fact that no one reads this other than myself; this is my diary not a product of entertainment—I wouldn’t know how to market it even if I tried. For the time being, this will continue for as long as it has to.

So what happened, what happened that would cause the change of heart? For starters, I quit the enemy. July 9th, 2011, was my last day after the events of July 8th. I did something and unlike Mistake Day where I performed an action to “save” myself, this time around I didn’t. For the most part, I could’ve kept my job, I could’ve gone on working for the Enemy only to wind up living into the reality of my character Kay Lawson—an individual of many regrets, one of which never getting out of his retail lifestyle. At first, I’ll admit, that’s what I thought I should do (the economy and all). However, in a moment of pure insanity, I decided not to, I thought back to a discussion from the Psychology Class I had taken the summer prior. The Doc of the psychology class had mentioned an aspect of human character that relied upon motivation and action, as people we usually don’t go after what we want without something pushing us. I had been down that very road many times before. I had repeated that same act of self-preservation many times before only to regret it later. This opportunity for a way out wasn’t going to present itself again and being how I am, I would’ve fallen into a life that would’ve eaten me away, as I had seen from those who resided in such.

That wasn’t to say a found employment right after, far from it. I am now part of a statistic, a member of the unemployed. I have been looking for a part-time job to replace my former so I would have income, but to no avail. Perhaps it is because I have been looking in the two fields I feel I more part of then general labour—Education and Technology. The former has proven just as difficult to get into as the latter.

August 17th, 2011 - 8:49 AM PDT - (Year Five Coming Soon)

2011-08-17T08:48:00.000-07:00

I don't have a post just yet. Until then, here's a piece of video from my favourite online cartoon I wanted to share:

If only, eh?

COMING SOON... YEAR END AND THE START OF YEAR FIVE!!!!

BE THERE!

August 17th, 2011 - 8:48 AM PDT - (NO July Post)

2011-08-17T08:46:00.000-07:00

No post for July because things just moved so fast that keep track. Frak me!

June 23rd, 2011 – 4:35 AM PDT – (200 Beasties)

2011-06-23T09:11:00.000-07:00

Two months between posts, that’s a new record, although it wasn’t without cause. Every time I tried to write something either the event I was complaining about would be countered (such as a declaration of defeat at the cost of the podcast, which seems as if Groggy-Ego knows what I’m thinking) or another set of delays are put into place (such as with the whole getting into teaching, thankfully I am not so easily deterred as Kevin was). My health, however, has not been so accommodating.

It has become a fight to get out of the Enemy, excessive stocking and nightly work has made recovery rather difficult. Sleep helps but to a limited effect—whatever is wrong with me is advancing, rapidly. It is no longer of if I must quit, but when, and how much longer is an even greater question. Originally I was hoping I could last until after the holiday season, unfortunately, I’ve gained more and more problems from my shaking digits as well as paralysis extending to more areas at random. Without an ability to pay for any medical assistance to be sure what is wrong with me all I can do is speculate and hope it is not the worst (either Parkinson’s or ALS). I’ve noticed my emotions severally affect my physical state, especially when I’m frustrated, embarrassed or angry. My calm states are a given, but I can not maintain them indefinitely without distraction—the only reasonable distractions stem through shows I enjoyed, one’s I like to bitch about (i.e. the fay nature of “Smallville”’s lead), coffee trips or teaching something that inspires (hence my true motivation of my efforts, I could care less about the pay). Though, my physical abilities are becoming increasingly compromised, thankfully I am at a time where I can pursue my efforts via the Internet. I will admit, I feel I must drop FaceBook for the same reasons I dropped MySpace.

For a place on the Internet it really serves no purpose—I can’t make sense of half of its goings on. It is obviously a site intended for people even more pathetic than I or another form of promotional consideration (for the podcast, the account I’ve created for it will remain but there’s point for my own). Apart from all the nefarious dealings of the site, be it the privacy issues or its CEO, personally, I just don’t get it. Maybe I am getting too old for that or maybe I just don’t care, but I don’t see the point in spending the time updating something I don’t use. I wish I could say that about Twitter, but I have found myself using it as a portable version of this when I don’t have long diatribes to go off on. I think before I leave I’ll make one video for those won’t bother reading my notes. Granted, most people won’t care, but if it gets a bit of my free time back and promotes another piece than it will be worth the irritation.

Finally, according to Blogspot, this is my 200th, post, although I probably passed my 200th entry a while ago and I wish I had something as memorable as the SG-1 200th episode, I got nothing. So here’s a montage from said series that makes up for the lack of two months:

Unending

April 14th, 2011 – 5:46 AM PDT – (Central Perk)

2011-04-14T07:29:00.000-07:00

(Before I start, I had to actually look that name up. In the ten years “Friends” was on, since I never watched an episode, I didn’t know the coffee shop they met in was called Central Perk.)

Where to begin? This past month has had it fill of ups and downs, mostly downs. A few days after I wrote the last entry I took the Praxis Exam. My hand was far from cooperative; it was cramping and shaking throughout the three tests (reading, math and writing). Once it was over I had an idea of my score and knew the next month would be a microcosm of its own hell. Soldering on, I spent the next few weeks using my personal time to write a few scenes of a play, look up places to submit, and get caught up on my reading.

Then vacation week came, accompanied by bad weather and coastal destruction; I found myself in the worst situation: stuck in Delusional and alone with my thoughts. So I spent the week drinking, sleeping, reading and watching bad sci-fi, adding a few pages to my “play” during the interim. Of course, at the end of my week, I made a mistake that led to a rude awakening. Not as grandiose as the circumstances surrounding Mistake Day, which was where the Praxis test fell. As you might have guessed, I saw Wild Child in another blasted Pho restaurant. Her attitude had far from changed, nor did her understanding of travel time in Delusional from apartment. She was short with me for being late; I was short with her for the attitude and the noise from enclosed, which was causing me to lose control of my limbs.

When all was said and done, which was nothing more than a subtle repeat of the last entry, I found myself at a lack of inspiration in regards to the play I writing, especially after I tried to explain it to her. She definitely lacks an ability to inspire—just as my father and Sin she manages to have the ability to suck it away. At that point I couldn’t even think of the story let alone continue writing it (a feeling I had for “Duality” when I tried explaining it to her); however, hours later I found myself writing a few pages of dialogue I wished I had said to her over the past couple of years—like “The Next Counter”, because it is based in reality, I could probably develop it. Alas, because of her, I started a Twitter account—the micro-cousin of this—a place I can say whatever nonsense comes to mind and not worry about a response.

Meanwhile, certain development had to be put on hold as the work on a Podcast took place. For the past three weeks I have been working on a Podcast with Groggy-Ego and sufficed to say it is proving its purpose but becoming just as time consuming. In the vain of something like Smodcast, I thought it would be more of a weekly bullshit session. I neglected, however, to take into account how out of touch Groggy can be to modern media, or the offspring so to speak. He was aware of social networking sites but he didn’t know about podcasting. Before I mentioned they were like an Internet radio show, that’s where I should have stopped. I’ve should’ve learned by now. Chances are if someone doesn’t know what you are talking about, especially in a creative capacity, it is probably not a good idea to start something creative with that person—Christ, in the past week, I’ve worked as much on the damn podcast as I have at my own job. My reasoning for working with Groggy was because I think he would be entertaining to talk to for a podcast. For that I was write, however, we tried to put the show in the capacity of a more traditional radio show because he wants to pitch it around to the various radio stations. I saw it as something much simpler, both recording and the final product. I should’ve known something was up when he didn’t bother to watch on of the resources I sent him (mind you, I put in a great deal of research), and of course, what always happens when I collaborate with Groggy, somebody at his end dies. (Not the clearest bellwether, per se, but it is a good idea of how things are going to go.) My other reason for wanting to start it was to get my creative mojo back. Boy was I deluded.

Over the past week and a half I’ve been in this funk a bit. I’ve been feeling beaten down by life in general—re-listening to a political segment about the current economy didn’t help matters either. You know it is pathetic when you no longer have fantasies of anything grand and large. Mine of late have been of a coffee shop (hence the title of today’s entry), a simple place with no bullshit. I’ve also been haunted by the reality of my personality and actions. I’ve never really wanted kids and in turn mocked those who wasted their time with those who did have them. Them Enna’s, my Grand Niece, birthday pictures arrived. My head jumped back in time to the day I met her and held her. For a brief moment I understood what it was all about. A part of me, no longer obsessed by the world and by my own trivial pursuits, thinking of her I would hope the world would become a safe place for her, without war and disease, where she is fed and can read. A pipe dream, but one I hope knowing in a demented way that she’ll be the closest thing I’ll ever know to having a child. The cynical part left over from my youth would say, my thoughts will change when I see her again in a few weeks, or if time elapses and she’s older, but I’m ignoring that voice.

On the other side of that, part of me releases the torch has been passed and I no longer responsible for carrying on a dying ideal. Frankly, when it comes right down to everything, I just don’t give a shit anymore. I would like to just get through the day, which is funny that I say that because my test results came in yesterday and I passed the reading and writing (by pathetically narrow margins) but would have to retake the math again. I am too tired to keep starting over and the world just seems to be getting darker. Like the coffee shop in my dreams, I could settle for my own piece of the world with a few trees outside, a Delusional Perk as it were.

AC211 March 10 – 3:44 AM PST – (Endless Waltz)

2011-03-10T05:25:00.000-08:00

(So in case you’re wondering what’s up with the date on this entry, it has to do with the title. “Endless Waltz” is the name of the "Gundam Wing" movie, but the date has more to do with "Gundam Wing" in general. AC stands for After Colony, which I suppose means after the colonization of space. However, unlike the old Stardates in "Star Trek" which made no frakkin’ sense or the new stardate form (e.g. 2011.3.10), it is basically the production year minus the second number, such as, Gundam Wing came out in 1995 and the year in the show was AC195. So, if somehow the show was on for another sixteen years, this would AC211 instead of 2011.)

Originally I was going to write a comparison of TV show endings and their film conclusion counterparts (for example, “Stargate SG-1”’s conclusion next to it’s two movies: “Ark of Truth” and “Continuum”, “Red Dwarf” and “Back to Earth”, “Firefly” and Serenity”, “Daria” and “Is It College, Yet?”, and of course, in relation to the title of this entry, “Gundam Wing” and “Endless Waltz”—yes, mostly science fiction, and that it is a surprise to who?), but as a number of things in my life that never come to fruition, I decided just to write my normal diatribe. Yesterday, after cleaning up the apartment and purchasing some new cheap lamps, I met with Wild Child once again for lunch, a late one at that—her idea. I wasn’t really hungry and wasn’t really in the mood for Vietnamese food, but did manage to consume some soup. She seems really addicted to Pho places in Delusional—for reasons, I haven’t the foggiest. (Taking a step back: Why are all the people I know in my life are obsessed by food? I would like for once just to know someone who didn’t care about filling their gob, or the very least someone that accommodate me by getting a cup of coffee with and not worry about the effects of the caffeine. To put this on the record, although I have probably said this before, I do not value the activity of eating, nor enjoying watching the action or being watching performing the act. Eating is not a social event, nor is it a reason to carve time out for an essential activity or create a holiday around; it is just an annoying necessary bodily function.)

I agreed to the meeting because I was curious as to result of the shopping trip for her night out—how pathetic is that, like the Old Man, I am getting amusement from other people’s entertainment. Her “details” were anything but—she had more information about Valentine’s Day festivities, which was rather vague at best (despite her enthusiasm). So, of course, the conversation shifted my way. I wanted to say how pissed off I was at her impatience—in my head I kept thinking she was as bad as a boy when it came to matters of meeting and eating—but out of kindness I didn’t. I really should have because out of discussion of a birthday present for Nach, I wound up talking about my depression from the past year—the highs of going for the certificated that started, the low that ended as a result of my piss poor health, and why I was pursuing my substitute teaching license. On top of that, I discussed my body’s tremors. For all intensive purposes, it was like a conversation we used to have any night back when she worked at the Quickstop (or when I used to text her on a phone that met an unfortunate fate via a floor and my temper). I wanted to do my best not to make the conversation one way, but all she cared about doing was eating, tossing items from out of her soup she found “icky” (no joke) and making slight comments about getting older, saving for bigger boobs (another woman in my life obsessed by tit size) and wanting to get married (whether it is her current beau or not has yet to be seen). Honestly, I am not trying to paint the image of a vain setting, but it really was nothing more than an excuse for her not to feel guilty for going out for Pho alone—despite her admission to how often does. From what I’ve seen and what I remember from before, it probably has nothing to do with the actually meetings but rather her focus on stuffing her face—it is not as if she is very talkative during lunch. The only other thing I remember being said was her complaining about another friend of hers, one lacking attention. If she were smarter I would think it was a slant at me, but I don’t think so.

By the end of it, I realized it was another mistake—I tried explaining to her what Mistake Day was but again, either she didn’t understand or didn’t care (more the latter than the former). Granted, it wasn’t like I had too much to do, but I’d rather had slept than ate soup. As for any future interaction with the Wild Child, we’ll see. Chances are, it’ll probably be very minimal, apart from a few texts here and there, I highly doubt it will be much more than that—truth be told, I text her more than she texts me. At this point, not just from her, but everyone who I waste time with by texting useless messages for a response (mostly getting none), I’ve considered opening a Twitter account for no other purpose to save myself the texting charges and to encounter nameless comments from strangers (if any—I mostly text to vent at that moment in time since I can’t run to a computer and type this, and typing long messages on the iPhone is a pain in the ass). Then again, that’s kind of the purpose of this, but this is more thought out (to an extent), and despite the title and my habit, it doesn’t have to be daily (or weekly, or monthly).

In other non-bitching, I was supposed to hear a follow-up message by now from Groggy-Ego in relation to a project, but his family issues, I’m sure, are preventing it. If I don’t hear anything within a week or so, I send him a message. Which reminds me, I forgot to finish the synopsis for playwriting contest. (Let’s face it, if I am still writing this next week or month, chances are I probably won’t do it.) On top of that, this Saturday is test day. I’m feeling a bit apathetic to it since it is during to the middle of my workweek and a few days before my vacation. Vacation, that’s a joke. I set this time because that week will be Spring Break but my crap health caused me to drop out of the class, unfortunately I had already set the time and couldn’t cancel it (besides, considering where I work, if I don’t use any of my time-off, I lose it). Chances are I’ll probably sit on my ass the whole week or be forced to go places I have no interest in going. What I really want to do, a drag night out won’t happen thanks to V’s lack of communication (I’d ask Wild Child, but why bother). And, with gas prices being what they are, getting into the Shark and setting course to somewhere green probably would be more of an expense than I can muster. Anyway, as the old adage goes: “We’ll see.”

March 3rd, 2011 – 4:13 AM PST – (Duck)

2011-03-03T06:03:00.000-08:00

If I had to script the past two years of my life, chances are I probably wouldn’t have completed that script. Nor do I think I could complete one that was a positive foreshadowing because it would be nothing more than a fantasy. It seems I make a majority of my mistakes around this time of the year or are influence by this time of the year. Yesterday I signed up for a test for substitute teaching (one I should have taken years ago). By this point, through so much disillusion and disappointment, I signed up sooner than I probably should have because I just want it to come to an end. I am tired of reading that damn book and I am equally tired of seeing my efforts go nowhere. The same feeling I had seven years ago on the original mistake day; however, instead of an act that would lead to my near expulsion, this one will merely cost me $245.00 if I don’t past it. Part of me wonders what I was thinking when I went on this little quest. Actually, I know exactly what I was thinking; I wanted to do something that would cause me fewer health problems, my stress level being the greatest contributor to my poor health. Then I flashback in my head of the day I past the last of the Nevada Constitution Exam, as my last entry gives a brief description of “colleague” from the past seeing me and the horror of my presence painted across her face, the similar portrait was shared by those who were already certified teachers, seeing me exit from the testing room, the same face I have been “privileged” to see upon IT people and every job interview I attended.

Here I sit in my office thinking back on the past, as I most often do. The TV show analysis I borrow from Nick Hornby as a symbol of my life is not without precedence. The reruns my mind plays out are more reminders of what I am not, what I am incapable of doing, the impotence of pleasure and peace. In the end I keep going around and around in the same drifting circle. Better writing would prove an example, however, I have been down this road so many times before and have written about it just as many that I can’t bring myself to repeat that piece of depression.

In an effort not to acknowledge the poor decision I made nearly two years ago, I’ve spent these past couple of days off doing nothing but sleeping, eating poorly, and trying to make sense of the thoughts in my head. When the latter failed, I managed to finish an email that involved a partner from the past and watching episodes of “Gundam Wing”. Sufficed to say, no matter what I try, no matter what I do, I am haunted by that decision, which brought me back to the mental state I thought I had escaped three years prior. Mind you, I am not the most positive person, but looking back at that time, it looked as if my thoughts started to collect themselves, I had gained some focus. It is all lost now—between aches and pains, or ungodly hours, I have no ability to structure whatever I do because deep down I don’t see the point. Unlike before, I can’t bring myself to go on some stupid crusade. Many times I find myself hoping for a macabre miracle, a morning after work and many to follow without bellows or aggravated speech or discussions gone by from the corpse that has robed me of my youth and freedom, but life wasn’t that forgiving then, nor will it be so now. It seems, as before, I must give up on many of my hopes if I am regain some semblance of my freedom.

With days so miserable, there are few things these days that either entertain or surprise me. The only surprise came to me this “weekend” via a movie I purchased on iTunes. Yeah, I actually bought a new movie after god knows how long. It was a low-key indie film called “Duck” (2009). Nothing to really write home about in regards, essentially it is about an old man who takes care of a duck after his wife dies and he becomes homeless. In vain of “Harry and Tonto” (1974), it is basically about this man’s odyssey as he and the duck make their way across Los Angeles to the beach. A bigger movie would’ve had a bigger resolution to the story, but it was what it was. It was the distraction I needed to write this entry. Unfortunately, it turned into my usual depressed diatribe of regret and times past. These days, distractions are all I can ask for, hence, while in the same effort to go for a teaching certificate, I have been prepping “The Next Counter” for a playwriting competition. I know I don’t have a chance in hell, but it is a distraction if anything.

Finally, I have to acknowledge a loop in judgment. I have let Wild Child back into my life, again. She contacted me via FaceBook a few weeks ago. I sent her a reply including my phone number and, of course, the texting started back up. Unlike before, I am keeping my distance—well except for a shopping trip for a date of hers (likely I didn’t have to spend any money this time). She has allocated me the “Gay Friend” since I was giving her fashion advice that her other girlfriends wouldn’t give her. Chances are, she’ll probably do something to piss me off again, but at least I know she occasionally responds to my texts.

Mobile DD - February 8th, 2011 - 12:32AM

2011-02-10T06:00:00.001-08:00

As I have suspected... Not entering information into my texting field leaves little recall for my presence by those who use it. Quitting it is an effort I must make, removing myself from the wasted effort, it makes me realize not everyone wants to read or hear every idiotic thought I have. It is about time I restrict my writing effort to my blog for the bullshit thoughts and playwriting for the existential.

Update - 9:32 AM

More proof that what say doesn't matter... Broke sobriety of lack of texting by sending an image and got no reply.

Update - 1:04 PM

A gaze of shock crossed an old acquaintances face. Shawn, an acquaintance from the music video and SNCAT days.

January 13th, 2011 – 1:27 AM PST – (Unending)

2011-01-13T02:55:00.000-08:00

(Yeah, I know, I am titling this after the last episode of “Stargate: SG-1.” Well “The Inner Light”, the nearly twenty year old “Star Trek: The Next Generation” episode or “A Look At The Shape Of Things To Come” from the unaired (at least in the US) episode of “Caprica” didn’t seem appropriate, and I’ve already used “Tapestry” a couple of times, not to mention, I couldn’t really think of any episode titles from “Battlestar: Galatica” and “Sliders” titles are too locked into the theme of the show.)

My days off resulting in as much disappointment as my workweek; I can tell that because looking back the entries over the past few years they all seem to be written on days off. However, this entry is not a self-analysis of my diary but rather dire circumstances that produce it. So yesterday (or earlier today, depending on how you look at it) I was denied not only the right to legally change my name (frakkin’ gallbladder), but I was also denied having proper information on my driver’s license thanks to the modern bureaucracy as a result of the damn day that won’t stop haunting me; not Mistake Day but rather 9-11. Ten frakkin’ years later and I still can’t escape the repercussions of that attack, an attack I felt nothing for then and still feel nothing for now (just as I feel nothing for that BS in Tucson). The attack affected Kevin’s life—every time the subject was brought up he would show utter disdain for the events, remarking his lack-a-daze reaction by thinking it was “Die Hard 4”. Now it has affected Keira’s life, in the event that she doesn’t have a life because legally she doesn’t exist. Legally I do not exist I am merely a collection of writings and ideas, an alias for an individual I haven't favourable attachment.

Being what I am and being treated so shabbily, I have high doubts of my efforts in the coming weeks. You see, before the start of the new calendar year, following the events of a trip to San Francisco and a lackluster reply from employment in Delusional, instead retracing my steps with the call centre West, I decided to return to a subject I wasn’t suited for three years. I’m probably not suited for it now but my mind and body are giving me little choice—between the shaking in my hand, my legs and my lack of emotional suppression—and options for employment, at least for me, are few and far between—shit, I can’t even escape from this horrible place. So I thought I would go get for my substitute-teaching license. After today’s events and a lengthy Google search, despite the work that go into it, I am not sure I will achieve anything. However, instead of prolonging the torture, at least I’ll get an idea in two weeks when I go to take the test—not the tests themselves, but rather the reaction I’ll get from the proctors at UNR. Then if that doesn’t pan out. Programming I guess, web design, I don’t know, I really don’t know anymore.

Perhaps it is just depression talking, perhaps I am really exhausted, but I am having trouble holding onto hope, any hope, hope to go on. What my life is becoming or has become is nothing more than a joke, a parody of a bad 1990’s indie film or experimental Off-Off Broadway play or poorly written pulpy tragedy of airport fiction. (Probably the latter knowing my life.) To be honest, I am not sure what to go for anymore. If this is my only achievement in life, then perhaps I’ll keep it going for one more season. After all, as I have probably said before, most long lasting shows are only good for the first five seasons, after that they become meaningless. I would proclaim that year five will be the last year, but I cannot promise that. I cannot promise any foreshadowing of future events. The only thing I can say for certain, if I experience another big let down, in the next few weeks or coming year, then I am just going to stop, just stop, stop trying to be a part of society or anything else, to put an end to anymore embarrassment.

January 3rd, 2011 – 10:50 AM PST – (Reel World)

2011-01-03T13:19:00.000-08:00

So I had an epiphany last night while getting ready for work (as I so often do, during and exiting the shower) in regards to my participation as a film audience member in relation to my job and own ambitions towards that creative world. Now I wouldn’t call it sour grapes, suffering the complete and utter disdain of patrons at one point I would call colleagues—every insult slung at my competency, my sexuality and my gender issues—it has all been a “joy”. However, I realize looking back at 2010 that I only saw two movies in theatre and nearly as few on DVD. Most movies I saw I already owned or I opted to watch old television shows. Aversion to seeing movies on the larger screen came from something deep down, that sooner or later, be they good or bad, I would have to put up the very I had seen. And from that, no matter the true quality, instantly they would become of “thumbs down” quality because sooner or later I would have to deal with the same group that I sat beside in the theatre.

Now I know my tastes were part of that decline in movies, but for a while I was on a real watching tear. Once a week I would make an effort to see a new movie in the theatre (indie, mainstream, what have you), read reviews and watch trailers online, and then watch five to ten DVD’s at home from either $5 bins, previous viewed from video stores and/or new releases. It even became more when I wanted to get into filmmaking. I believed I had to see and know everything about film. For a brief time I had a slump around the time I was writing screenplays, or more to the point, the time I was giving up, but I would go right back to my addiction like a crack addict. Even when I started my transition my movie addiction was prevalent; however, it did start to slip. I thought the slip might have been from the hormonal influence (if that were the case how come I saw more chick flicks before I started taking ovarian and estrogen?). The true cause was less dramatic. On the contrary, more dramatic if you look at it from a stage/screen standpoint.

Setting up movies on a weekly basis for three years straight has taken its toll. When I was first in electronics, my love of technology had waned for a while, but that soon turned around when I found a way to cope, a means to interact with the technically challenged. As for video games, I fell out of love of those long ago—cost prohibitive so speak—except for the obsessions that came my via the Nintendo Wii and the now Xbox 360 Kinect, and explaining ad nausea the functions of the PS3 and the PSPgoPhone, it was mostly negotiable (with exception for the time a customer threatened to kick my “faggot ass” for not having “UFC ‘09”). And I won’t go into iPods, iPhones, and iPads; although, I am getting rather tired of explaining our store doesn’t carry the iPad, you can’t fit an iPhone in a iPod Touch case, and that Apple discontinued the previous generation iPod Nano and didn’t send us the new signage for the new Nanos. Movies were and are a different matter.

Every week there are new releases and every month there are different promotion deals, and every couple months a special seasonal “event”. With that in mind, it shouldn’t require more than simple planning. That would be the case if restocking of the “homes”, the items main locations, were not always in flux, the people restocking them knew what they were doing, management and corporate weren’t throwing their two cents, and on top of it all customers weren’t providing their own unsolicited commentary (not to mention looking for titles that the Enemy has never and will never carry due to content or popularity). Something seemingly simple shouldn’t be fraught by so much pearl, nor as complicated, alas, as most activities in retail, it is. Honestly, I have nothing truly against the task; it is just something I do. In fact, I have gotten it down to certain science—on the night in question, start it before anything else. Unfortunately, I dread it more than anything, and being the last day of my week, it makes me dread my Fridays, but neither compares to how it makes me feel about movies themselves.

I look at movies now and I can’t feel enthusiastic in the least—they all look terrible, even when I don’t know what they’re about. They all look like wastes of money and time, especially the later. (The fact that I am spending the time typing this instead of sleeping is mind-blowing to me. I mean, who gives a shit?) . But what inspired me ten years ago to go on a crusade to create my own now makes me feel apathetic. Which is horrible because every so often I think back to the conversation Groggy-Ego and I had in the Denny’s back in May, added to the fact that he keeps sending me emails about his current music endeavors. I’m afraid if I listen to them I’ll write new screenplays and history will repeat itself. What stops is the inner reminder of my failures coupled with the fear I experienced from mindsets, such as that in “Swimming with Sharks” (1995), the short film “The Sharktank Redemption” (2000) (yes, a “Shawshank” parody) and the ever so present horror stories repeated in certain episodes of Smodcast and other Kevin Smith commentaries. And from all that fear and loathing, the apathy grows stronger.

Will I ever be able to be a movie watcher again? I don’t have an answer. Normally I would make some bold proclamation, but I am kind of short of those these days. I would like to think once I’ve stopped setting up PDQ’s and other displays of movies, stop having to print out tags for the various pluggings of them, standing on my knees for hours, cutting my fingers on steel and nickel and plastic, and opening box after box explosions and headshots that I’ll be able to enjoy them again, but that seems like a pipe dream, and a shitty one at that. Perhaps I can convince “Nach” or “V” to join me to a play?

January 1st, 2011 – 12:00 AM PST – (2010 in Review)

2011-01-03T13:18:00.000-08:00

I was planning on doing a full review, in-depth review of 2010, but I figured why bother. So I thought the following paragraph will cover all my bases.

2010 was mixed bag. The first half was cool and the second half sucked. I rebooted my IT career by taking an A+ class, got my A+, Network+ and Security+ certificates and studied for a number of others certs. I got a makeover, a new haircut, started my hair removal treatments, had my nails done a few times and I bought a few new skirts and lingerie. On top of it all I made some new friends and I got laid. Then the other side, I got sick, had my gallbladder removed, had to stop taking my hormones, my laser hair removal treatments blew up my face a few times, I caught the flu twice, I failed a few certification exams, took far too many trips into California, didn’t get hired in IT, and on top of it all I had my education and efforts belittled (my chronological age in most instances wouldn’t be a factor, but apparently I’m a bit old to be entry level in IT).

No monolith, no second star, no properly functioning disc of Series VI of “Red Dwarf”, what a jip. Here ends the 2010 review.

October 28th, 2010 – 2:11 AM PDT – (All of this has happened before…)

2010-10-28T01:53:00.000-07:00

Looking at the lists, I skipped an entry for September. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I wrote one but couldn’t bring myself to posting (or completing it for that matter). After all was said and done. September proved to be part of the larger story. A few days I sent that story out, unintentionally, in a message to the (New) Doc. I did receive a response and then spent a week replying to it. Reading the original message back, I couldn’t help but see it as a treatment. That mode of thinking not being part of my life anymore, and before I find myself pursuing something I shouldn’t, I decided to post it here, plus it covers my basis for a posting for October. I have removed the elements that make it a message, but the body should suffice:

So, after class concluded, I had my second laser treatment, which you know, and then spent all of July studying for the Network+ certificate (a little refresher, it is the vendor neutral certificate for network administration in IT). On July 28th, I passed the exam with a high score on a single attempt. After a little bit of celebrating and rest, I started preparing for the next certificate to study for, Security+ (as the name it is a security certificate for the IT and networking field; not an entry level as A+ or Mid-level as Network+). Two days later, after being woken up mid-day by someone asking to borrow my car, I was suddenly overwhelmed by a pain in my side that felt like someone had walked up and punched me really hard. Fearing it might be appendicitis I went to the emergency room only to find out--after an X-Ray, a Catscan and later an MRI--that it was my gallbladder which was chuck full of gallstones the size marbles (or ball barrings, they didn't give me a good idea, but sufficed to say it had to come out). In the pain, exhausted from lack of sleep and dehydrated from lack of water or food, while shaking in fear of the pending operation, I did what I normally do in crisis and tried to act as business as usual and started listening to the Audiobook for the Security+ exam on my iPhone (while responding to the ten or so texts people kept sending me, wondering why I wasn't at work). Honestly, I couldn't concentrate, perhaps it was the goings-on or the rather nassily voice of the book's narrator voice, I was not into it. Then at 5:00 PM the following day, I had the operation...

Hours later, as I was being carted back to my room, wrapped in blankets with a sizable bandage on my side, and a sharp pain that was worse than before, from the doctor I would find out it was my HRT (Hormone Replacement Therapy), the Ovarian and Estrogen I was taking, was the cause. Devastated, I vowed I wouldn't continue my un-assisted HRT (in fear of losing something else, or at least essential in my case), going so far to tell my father to throw out my "stash". After I returned from the hospital, I was off from work for a month and spent it recovering and studying. Meanwhile, I went through so of a withdrawal, or flushing period as my body was excising the excess hormones from my system. The physical discomfort had an impact on my routine, exercise, my usual running wasn't something of ease anymore, in fact walking was (and still is) all I could handle. What made things worse, my concentration wasn't there. Oh, I read thousands of pages of material but for the first time in a year and a half, since I started my HRT, I had no "crutch" to fall back on. On top of that, because I was at home, a great deal of traveling occurred courtesy of my hunt for a job in my field and my father, of course, increasing the amount of pain I endured. Then at the end of August, the first day of classes, was exam day (at least the first attempt)...

Well on the day in question, it was like out of a bad 80's comedian's monologue, like the Wedding Sketch from Rowan Atkinson, where the groom's best day of his life turns out to be the worst as well because everything that can go wrong does. It wasn't a good day by any stretch, but it wasn't the worst day I've ever, it would rank in the top ten though. First my alarm went off an hour later than I had set it. Next, the treadmill in the gym kept accelerating without my interference. Later in the shower, a full conditioner bottle falls on my spiget down, breaking my large. With that injury, the only comfortable shoes would be my large boots, which wouldn't remain when the factor of walking was involved. Not soon after, I rushed to car with an hour to spare, only to end up fifteen minutes for the test as a result of three accidents, construction, and a bad parking situation at the Old Mall (where the testing facility is located) caused by a job fair at the Atlantis (go figure). As you can guess, I failed the exam, missing it by five percentage points. Filled with breo and dread, I was ready to retake the test, only to realize I had no time to sign since I had to get to class...

The next few day were nothing but a blur. A Microsoft certification class on Monday, a Linux and programming class on Tuesday, the same Microsoft Certification class from Monday again followed by a five-hour CISSP (advance security certification) class, and then the dropping of Tuesday's programming class followed by my return to work on Thursday. I couldn't think of the events. Even returning to work at Wal-Mart seemed nothing had changed (except Christmas material was already arriving). I could only think of retaking the Security+ exam again. As soon as I got my verification from Comptia, I immediately resumed restudying for the exam, ignoring that I had three high profile classes in the works, had to re-adapt to the chaos of retail, not to mention a looming medical appointment: my third laser hair removal treatment. Bare in mind, these event are all occurring during the course of two weeks (the end of August to the start of September). After weighing it, I figured after passing the exam I would get caught up on the classes and manage my sleep after work (as I did during the summer), so I set the retake exam on a Monday, three days after my treatment. Well my treatment was on a Friday morning, that when things went south...

After my treatment, which hurt more than the first two times (apparently they went deeper), I was advised to put some Aloe Vera cream on my face (something I hadn't used before). In pain, I immediately went home and went to bed. Hours later, when I woke up for work, I was having trouble breathing and my face was still hurting. I looked in the mirror and my face was swollen and I was feeling sick on top of that. I had an allergic reaction to the Aloe Vera (on par with poison oak or poison ivy, both of which I am violently allergic). I was bedridden for a few, got the flu on top of that, missed some more work (except for the release of Halo:Reach because I stupidly promised to be there), and I missed the retake. I also missed more classes. By then I was three weeks behind which, being the level of classes, was like missing half a year, thus I had to the drop the other three. Mind you, during all of this chaos I was still studying for the test. Then to add to the fire, my father starts having his health troubles, while I kept fighting a mental battle of who and what I was. All of this together pretty much pushed me to the brink of a nervous breakdown (almost on par with the one I had before I started my transition). Then the issue came up of moving for both our mutual health, driving very long distances in a very uncomfortable car (his Impala). Then my health starts getting back on track, both physically and mentally (almost), the latter thanks to long coffee/walking/talking sessions with Victoria (pseudo therapy sessions as it were). All recovering, until last week...

With little going on in my life apart from studying and going to work, I figured my contact with people would be at a minimal. Not the case, once this quarter started, more people starting showing up at the woodworks--people arriving for games, for movies, and the crap that goes with them. Then I got a cold from someone, with my ammune system working in overdrive the past couple of months, it couldn't handle the extra work so I've had to endure those days. And, of course, I came down with the symptoms a few days before, you guessed it, the third retake of the Security+ exam. Well by that point, I was growing exhausted. I was taking and retaking practice tests for the exam, but my scores kept getting worse and worse, in fact, I would miss questions I was previously getting right. So by Friday, I said: "To hell with it," and stopped studying for the test. Instead, I spent a few days trying to take care of myself--I watched some bad Sci-Fi on DVD ("Caprica" and "SGU") when I was awake before and after work, I'd go to work and take my time with the freight and at lunch I wouldn't try studying on my iPad, I would watch a movie. Frankly, I tried to do as little as possible because each day I was getting worse. Then Monday on the morning of the test, I got off work, I felt like shit (there's no clean way to put it). I had a temperature 102, my sinuses were flooded and my lungs were full of fluid. Driving from work to the Old Mall was a bit tricky--I had to play the loudest crap on my iPod to stay awake. Then I ran into the traffic at the spaghetti bowl and instantly felt a moment of Deja Vu, which would be perpetuated even more by bad decisions on the surface streets. However, I eventually arrived at the Old Mall more than an hour in advance of my time. I made use of the facilities inside of Raley's and then bought an coffee/energy drink because I was running on fumes at that point. I then planted myself on bench outside of the testing facility, waiting for it to open, watching a video from Youtube on iPhone about people being slaves to technology.

Once the facility opened, I staggered in, even though it was still half an hour before my time, I didn't care, I just wanted to get it over with (be it pass or fail) and then get home and go to bed. I took the test in little more than half an hour (which is odd since that is about how much I usually have by the end of those exams). I marked ten out of a hundred to review at the end, although I'll admit I don't think I was even reading, but rather blindly answering them to get the hell out of there as soon as possible. I took the fifteen minute follow-up survey in about seven minutes, then to got my results to the test to find...

I had Passed. Only for my victory to be bittersweet, as my time in that small room, my body temperature had gone up a degree. (From my appearance of sweat running makeup, messed hair and box shavings on my shirt added to my constant coughing and hacking, the person I shared the room with had put up the effort to make as much distance between him and myself, while firmly gripping the cross that dangled around his neck. If he started chanting, "The power of Christ compells you" at great repetition, in some faux exorcism, I wouldn't have been surprised.) I walked out of the testing room, collected my result papers, collected my items, signed out and walked out. Immediately thereafter, I texted Victoria and called my Dad to let them know I had (finally) passed the Security+ exam. I thought of celebrating, perhaps view of clothes or shoes, but after letting out a cough outside that caused some great concern to the smokers I passed, I thought against it and drove home.

On the drive home, I started thinking about the course of the past couple of months, then I started thinking about the test itself. Except for a few questions from the first time I took it, I couldn't remember any of the test, yet somehow I passed. Then it dawned on me, I remembered something from psyche that you brought about "state of minds"; I thought to all the times I was studying for it, for most of it I was ill (recovery from the operation, withdrawal from the hormones, the face, flu, and so on), which except for the first day in question, apart from my broken toe, I was fine (hence why I remembered those questions). It reminded me of that kid in class who admitted to getting high before tests and he'd pass the test, but had no clue how.

What I neglected in this message, would be something I wasn’t willing to admit until the reply:

Although, I'll admit, my recovery would've gone a hell of a lot faster had my father not taken my weaken state as an opportunity to try and convince me to stop being trans and go back to being male, going so far to enlist the aide of my oldest sister-- she stopped calling me Keira--both going to the point of saying that what's preventing me from getting a job in my field. Both failing, of course, but pissing me nonetheless.

Some life I am gaining. I guess things could be worse. I just want a less hectic life, is that too much to ask?

August 31st, 2010 – 9:23 PM PDT – YEAR FOUR – (Why Bother?)

2010-08-31T11:37:00.000-07:00

So I was tempted to bitch about yesterday and the pain in the ass it had become—broken toe and so forth—but after thinking about it and reading what I had typed yesterday, I figured what’s the point. What happened, happened and I have to move on and do it again. I mean, I didn’t bother mentioning much of the beginning of month with the removal of my Gallbladder or being a month off of work in previous entries because I didn’t feel like mentioning depressing bullshit. Lately I haven’t felt like going into the depths of depressing crap which is ironic since that was what kept this moving this diary forward—even moreso ironic since I am going back to work at the Enemy on Thursday night (my Monday). I don’t know, I’ve been feeling there has just been too much negativity in life (possibly from the past month of Fox News exposure).

What is funny, the last day of year three (August 26th, 2010) I had nothing to write for the year-end finale; and the following day, the first day of year four (August 27th, 2010), just when I was going to sit down to write something, instead I went out to run errands and then spent the day with V. It wasn’t a day of rollercoaster events, it was a calm day—we drank coffee, we walked, drove around Delusional, hung out and that’s about it. It was a good day. When it seems like there are so many bad day, even a lazy day, it is good to have a good day.

So what prompted me to write today (apart from what I didn’t post last night)? Well of all things it wasn’t my normal motivation, in fact, had I had a choice I would’ve avoided it. However, an odd set of circumstances weaved itself into my moving tapestry. A class, my Linux class, requires I have a blog for it. It is funny how things work out.

August 17th, 2010 – 8:00 PM PDT – (“The Next Counter” Pt.3)

2010-08-17T19:49:00.000-07:00

In many of my efforts, I didn’t think I would continue this so soon, but to put a certain daydream to rest I felt the need to continue sooner than later, especially with the approaching start of year four, the start of the fall semester, my return to work. The not so surprising that a feeling I’ve had about the last article. Will I be able to do it? Looking at this section and those to follow I am not so sure since, right now, but something will change.

COMMENTARY:
By far, this is my favourite section. This is a real insight into Kay’s character, but it is also a look into the aftermath of a bad decision. Granted, I never made the decision that is examined in this scene. This scene plays not only to the conflictions of the past and the future but what both efforts task on the present. And through that, out of love and/or a misplaced view of morality and dedication, which I am sure I would have made, regret and confusion would stem.

This is a vague explanation, but once you read the scene it will make sense. So without further ado, here’s part three…

“THE NEXT COUNTER”
(pt. 3 of 7)

SCENE III:

RAISE LIGHTS:

PRESENT:

Kay is standing in front of the PDQ as he was before.

KAY
Shows what I know.

Marley walks up.

MARLEY
New release?

KAY
I’m afraid so.

She picks up a copy of the movie.

MARLEY
A horror movie?

KAY
Yeah.

MARLEY
Is it scary?

KAY
Not sure...
(Sighs)
I could probably tell you the ending if you like. (If he hasn’t changed it.) Save you the twenty-five bucks.

MARLEY
Christ!
(Scoffs)
Kay, you don’t like the same movies I do. You think “Fast and the Furious” is stupid... I think it is the greatest movie ever made... You like to dwell on sappy crap like “The Shawshank Redemption”.

KAY
Excuse me... I haven’t spoken about the Shank in years.

MARLEY
Yeah, whateve’... You cling to it.

KAY
I do shed a tear every time it shows up in the value bin... Then again my opinion is a bit outdated and bias.

MARLEY
They’re your addiction, darling.

KAY
That they would, be it another day, but I haven’t seen a movie in a while.

MARLEY
What a week?

KAY
Try years.

MARLEY
You mean in the theatre, right?

KAY
In the theatre, on TV, on the net or on DVD.

MARLEY
DVD? You don’t have a Blu-Ray?

KAY
I didn’t see the point of upgrading.

MARLEY
Okay, you’ve been lazy. How does that make you biased?

KAY
It doesn’t...
(Puts away the movie he’s holding)
I tried making these things.

He heads towards the open floor.

Flabbergasted, Marley is taken aback.

She follows him out.

MARLEY
A movie? You tried to make a movie?

Kay shakes his head.

MARLEY (CONT’D)
Where? When?

KAY
Locally in Delusional, of course... but that was another life, another time.

MARLEY
(Scoffs)
You spend far too much time thinking about the past. You remind of a goddamn history class.

Kay is perplexed.

KAY
I don’t follow.

MARLEY
You know how they talk about people and places and like they matter... Who gives a shit how people died in some time in some country that doesn’t exist anymore, speaking a language that no one understands?

KAY
That’s ancient history. There are more current events.

MARLEY
Like what?

KAY
Both world wars... they happened last century...

Marley shakes her head.

KAY (CONT’D)
The Vietnam war... both Gulf Wars.

MARLEY
Oh my god. Is that all?

KAY
Well there’s the Emancipation Proclamation...

She continues shaking her head.

KAY (CONT’D)
Women’s Suffrage... The Holocaust... The Civil Rights movement... The Fall of the Berlin Wall...
(Sigh of defeat)
(flat)
Nine-Eleven?

MARLEY
Of course I know about Nine-Eleven... I started working for the company the day before.

KAY
Of course you did.

MARLEY
I don’t remember all that stuff happening then.

KAY
Not really. They happened mostly over the course of the last century.

MARLEY
Nuh-uh... the didn’t happen in the last ten years.

KAY
The past ten years?

MARLEY
The past century.

KAY
You mean decade.

MARLEY
No century.

KAY
No... a decade is ten years. A century is a hundred.

MARLEY
No... a century is ten years... A millennium is a hundred.

KAY
A thousand... a millennium is a thousand years.

Jim walks up.

JIM
Hey Marley, it’s quitting time.

MARLEY
Yay... I can’t wait to leave... I can’t stand hearing the professor’s lecture here.

JIM
What are you bugging her about, now?

KAY
I’m not bugging her--

MARLEY
--Yes you are! Talking about wars and the last millennium.

KAY
Last century.

MARLEY
See.

KAY
I can’t help correcting grievous errors.

MARLEY
Who cares?

JIM
Don’t mind the professor, Marley; he likes to think of himself as a smart guy.

KAY
Well I am.

MARLEY
Oh yeah... If you’re so smart, then why are you working here?

Kay is taken aback.

JIM
Oh snap. She got you.

MARLEY
C’mon Jim let’s go clock out.

JIM
Yeah. Night, boss.

KAY
Night.

Marley and Jim exit.

Kay rubs his face in exasperation. He doesn’t notice a woman around his age, RACHEL, standing at the counter.

RACHEL
My father use to ask that same question.

Kay opens his eyes. He’s surprised.

RACHEL (CONT’D)
Although I never had a problem with what you did for a living. “A job is a job after all.”

KAY
Yeah well...

RACHEL
I know you only said that because you were hoping for bigger things.

KAY
I hadn’t planned on making a career of this.

RACHEL
Do you still write?

KAY
As always... I eventually finished my book.

RACHEL
How well did it sell?

Kay sighs.

RACHEL (CONT’D)
Dumb question... I know, sorry.

KAY
No worries.
(Sighs)
Did you need help with something or...

RACHEL
You know why I’m here.

She holds up a card.

KAY
Right, my birthday. How could I have forgotten?

RACHEL
But it’s you’re birthday, you can’t forget your birthday.

KAY
Birthdays and holidays are you thing, not mine.

RACHEL
The only holiday I made you celebrate was New Years.

KAY
I preferred Halloween.

A young child, DAISY, walks up.

DAISY
I do, too.

KAY
(to Daisy)
You like Halloween?

DAISY
Oh yes I do. That’s when Mommy let’s me wear a costume.

KAY
(Looking to Rachel)
Really?
(To Daisy)
Do you go out as a princess?

DAISY
No way! I go out as a vampire.

KAY
(to Rachel)
A vampire?

Rachel shrugs her shoulders.

KAY (CONT’D)
(To Daisy)
Well I’m sure you’re a cute vampire.

DAISY
Oh no. I’m evil.

KAY
Ye-ah... Evil or not, you’re probably pretty cute.

DAISY
That’s what my Mommy says.

KAY
I see.

DAISY
(to Rachel, pulling her)
C’mon, Mommy, there’s a game I want to show you.

RACHEL
Sure, Baby... But you go ahead and play one of the games and I’ll join you there in a few. Okay?

DAISY
Okay.

RACHEL
(to Kay)
It’s okay if she plays?

KAY
Sure.

Daisy runs off towards the games.

KAY (CONT’D)
You’re really a Mommy.

RACHEL
Yeah, I’m really a Mommy.
Rubs his arm)
I’m still looking for her Daddy.

Reluctant, he catches her hand.

KAY
I know...
(He looks to Daisy)
She’s very beautiful... She takes after her mother.

RACHEL
Oh, I think she’s got some good attributes from her father.

KAY
The hair and the eyes, maybe.

RACHEL
She likes weird stuff.

KAY
Looks who’s talking.

RACHEL
Touché... She likes things that should be beyond her age... old movies, old music, old shows, old plays, old books, the BBC, the CBC... she really likes thrift shops and she definitely get her dark side from him.

KAY
Yet you named her Daisy?

RACHEL
I thought it would brighten her disposition.

KAY
I’m sure it does for those around.

RACHEL
I’m sure she’ll grow out of it.
(Scoffs)
She’ll probably go by Daze as a teenager.

KAY
Don’t think that way.

RACHEL
I’m not, but I know you are.

KAY
You got me there, Love.

RACHEL
Do I, sir?

Both stare at one another and sigh out of exasperation.

She hands him the card.

She nods to him to open it.

He opens it carefully. The card is rather plain.

He reads the card to himself.

He takes a breathe, closes the card and puts it back in the envelope, carefully setting it down. He turns to her.

KAY
I still do... I never stopped... but I’m still not sure... I still have to think about it.

RACHEL
It has been how long?--

KAY
--I know, I know--

RACHEL
--A girl can only wait so long.

KAY
--I know.

RACHEL
Isn’t that enough of a reason?

KAY
Yes but I want it to be the right one.

Rachel sighs, resting herself on the counter.

RACHEL
That’s probably why I’ll wait some more.

She pulls him forward, kissing him for a spell on the forehead, as to say: “I Miss you, I love you.”

RACHEL
Happy Birthday, Kay.

She releases him and heads to Daisy.

The two exit the stage.

KAY
Happy Mother’s Day, Rachel.

He walks out of the podium.

CURTAIN.

CLOSING COMMENTARY:
Although I am not too particle to how the scene starts my attachment is to the implied mistake. Just to clarify, I don’t have an estranged ex-wife and child, although it does share a parallel with my own existence and as the old statement goes, history has a way of repeating itself. When I wrote it I knew there was an inherent strength to it—when I shared this with Beka, she nearly teared up. I cry just reading it myself thinking about the decisions I could’ve made and the ones I might have made for something as trivial as a story—hell I did it for a number of scripts. Knowing how I was, I might have done something selfish in place of being a responsible spouse or parent—it was similar feeling I had when I started my transition/ascension, especially when I considered the actions of those before me. From draft to draft, this scene changed very little, except I removed the dialogue that obvious abundantly clear.

TEASER:
On the next installment of “The Next Counter”, it is less about the past and future and more of a joke of the present. How serious is Kay’s back trouble? And what happens when he is caught in the middle of an injury? Find out in part four of “The Next Counter”.

August 15th, 2010 – 5:38 PM PDT – (“The Next Counter” pt.2)

2010-08-15T20:39:00.000-07:00

Part two, wow, I didn’t think this series would actually go on, considering all the attempts seem to fall on their face (okay, because I get bored of the effort required behind them). It is funny that would be the section that would follow my previous post—the conversation of my ill-fated would-be film career to V. This is definitely one for the ages.

COMMENTARY:
Responsibility is kind of my Achilles Heel and for Kay it proves to be his motivation, or at least he perceives it as such in this section. In reality there was a real “Forlorn” being produced by a colleague (the real Rich). Throughout the time I knew him, on and off he was working on his short horror film. It wasn’t really what you would call a friendship, if not more of a self-imposed rivalry—I wound up making “Idlewild Park” as a competing idea. The irony being, I would never finish it because I don’t know if he ever finished his. Now we met from a mutual friend Lisa and then later he would introduce me Groggy-Ego and through Groggy-Ego I would hear periodically of his progress.

Now the conversation in this piece never happened. It is really just an amalgamation of a number of conversations he and I had over our tenure. Though I did see him before I gave up on film and this conversation is made up (possibly one I imagined having during my time in the archive), at the back of my head I did have the fear that he would finish his film or it would become something bigger. The reality of this scene: a flashback in the play and a fantasy/nightmare in my Delusional.

So without further ado, here is “The Next Counter” Part two….

“THE NEXT COUNTER”
(pt. 2 of 7)

SCENE II:

MORE THAN HALF A DECADE AGO:

LIGHT is focused on the computer aisle.

Kay is in everyday clothing and his hair is out. He is walking down the aisle with a short man wearing a handmade Forlorn T-Shirt. This man is RICH, the one with a produced film in the present.

Kay is reading through a script, pretending to listen to Rich.

RICH
...So I think it would be great to have Cole stand in front of a mirror and see his reflection...

KAY
Uh-huh.

RICH
...And then have the glass shatters to the many overtones of the ghost’s voices...

KAY
Uh-huh.

RICH
...Then I think it would be great for him to spread his arms like he is being crucified.

KAY
Crucified, yeah that’s real... original.

Rich realizes Kay isn’t paying attention.

RICH
Then Richard Nixon and Optimus Prime will duke it out reffed by Kevin Smith in Vietnam.

KAY
Kevin Smith the ref... It’ll be pretty hot in Nam with that coat... That’ll be a hell of a dream.

RICH
(Stops walking)
Dammit Kay! You’re not listening.

Kay stops and turns to him.

KAY
No, I’m not.

RICH
What the hell? I haven’t seen you in over a year, you have me meet you here and then you act like you don’t care.

KAY
Well...
(sighs)
I don’t.

RICH
Dude!

KAY
Don’t dude, me... Christ, Rich--

RICH
--Hey! Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain.

KAY
Seriously... Not my god, man.

RICH
Atheist!

KAY
Yeah and?

RICH
(Scoffs)
Nothing.

KAY
Exactly, nothing.
(Short Pause)
Rich you have been working on that movies for what? Five years now?

RICH
Four!

KAY
Four years... wow, that’s...
(mulls over)

RICH
What?

KAY
Stupid.

RICH
Stupid?

KAY
For something as insignificant as a movie... a single movie.

RICH
You feel that way about your stuff but I don’t feel that way about my films.

KAY
Four years is a great waste... a waste of time, a waste of effort, a waste of everything... So much has happened... and so much could have happened.

RICH
I’m sure you’re right, but I’m also sure taking this long happened for a reason... God has a plan for me, Kay, a plan for us all... I’m sure he has a good reason for all that has happened. I don’t care if it takes ten years to finish my film, come hell or high water I will finish it.

KAY
Well... “God” Bless you, man... you have a level of tenacity I don’t think I ever had.

RICH
That’s not true.

KAY
I think it is. I can’t put off growing up forever.

RICH
You think I’m not an adult?

KAY
Doing ghost stories are--
(Changes his train of thought)
Look, man, you and Lisa want to be kids for the rest of your lives... She wants to take classes towards no end and you want to make movies. Which is great for you guys, but I feel like I have to be responsible.
(sighs)
And that’s kinda why I’m here today, not just to meet with you, but to swallow my pride and get a job... an actual job.

RICH
Well good luck with that, dude... just don’t grow up too fast, otherwise you might grow old before your time.

KAY
Yeah...
(Scoffs)
We’ll see.
(short pause)
And, man, good luck with the movie. I’m sure something will happen with it.

RICH
Even if it is stupid?

KAY
What do I know, man? You might be right.

RICH
Thanks for saying that.

KAY
Yeah.

RICH
(Extending his hand)
Good luck, Kay.

Kay shakes his hand. The two hug as brothers.

KAY
You too, Rich.

Kay pats Rich on the back and the two part offstage.

LIGHTS FADE.

CLOSING COMMENTARY:
Re-reading this myself, I am actually surprised by how good-natured I made the conversation. The way Kay is admitting to “swallowing his pride” is how I felt at the time when I went to get a job at the Enemy. Rich really was someone who believed God was guiding him—I’m not sure about that, but you never know. I don’t really have much to say about the technical of this, except that I took out most of Kay’s dialogue and allowed Rich’s character to speak more. In fact, what I do remember from the handwritten draft was a bit with a Clerk but I took it out to contain it to just the Kay and Rich. After all was said and done, at the time I wrote it, I figured it was the best means of facing a fear, even if there was a chance of it coming true.

TEASER:
Back in the “present”, Kay will comfort more layers of his past, but this time another desire that went downtrodden. Stay tuned for Part III of “The Next Counter”.

August 15th, 2010 – 5:33 PM PDT - (Jailbreak)

2010-08-15T15:28:00.000-07:00

Not as overdue as last month but inspiring nonetheless. I was gratified to find out that Jailbreaking of devices was no longer considered illegal. As soon as I could, I Jailbroke my secondary iPhone and, when all was said and done, didn’t really notice a performance difference other than a minor crash when the phone was first broken—although that iPhone never worked all that well to being with. But this entries title has more than just an ode to phone piracy to its ilk. What has happened in the past month and few weeks is more than ample to the title.

I spent all of last month studying for the Network+ test and passed—first try, no repeats. I am still waiting for my certificate to arrive in the mail from Illinois, but that is one less thing to worry about. After I passed it, I started studying for the Security+ exam, which I will be taking at the end of this month. Not the most riveting reading, nor is the audiobook. The narrator, I swear, has the prototypical nasally nerd voice you would expect in this field—my god, it is like listening to PC Guy from the Apple Ads recite Shakespeare in a monotone, no emotion just one term after another.

Before all of that monotoned fun and after the success, my rejoice became short-lived as I had my gallbladder removed. You read it, my gallbladder. To be honest, I didn’t know what the hell a gallbladder was, but apparently I had contracted gallstones and on a night a couple of weeks ago, my gallbladder attacked, which seemed to happen just as Sin was calling to borrow my Saturn. (A “NO” followed the latter.) The shocker that came was what caused my gallbladder to be blocked was my taking of unsanctioned hormones, the ones I purchased off the Internet. Apparently, I am within that fifteen percent of transsexuals with health risks. On top of that was an unexpected weight. Not a slight one, but a significant one (over a hundred pounds). So I had stopped taking them and had the Old Man throw them out before I went home from the hospital—a hospital stay that was hell within itself (the night people were fine; the day people sucked). My recovery is coming along, but I could go back to work right away, which is ironic since my second vacation was to start a few days after my operation.

Being off the hormones and going through surgery had put my mind into perspective. It is not like I had gone through SRS, but the aftermath was more than I was expecting. When I’m awake, I find myself stuck between my usual daydreams but not living in the past as much as once before, except one day when I went out to see “Inception” (2010) with V, a friend from the psychology class. I actually found myself telling the story from my filmmaking years, my depression and later realization that I would’ve denied. Getting it off of my chest was a relief I wasn’t expecting, but was grateful for, especially because I could say it without writing it. Now, when I am asleep, that’s what takes me back. Still no serious surreal happenings, only new takes on currently reality as opposed to past. Other aftermath seems less psychological. Now from orders of my doctor, I have to see a physician for Gender Reassignment and a therapist. You gotta love the irony of the situation. What I tried to avoid now I am required to do otherwise my actions would have killed me.

Of course, around this chaos, I still had a number of other obligations to fill. I had testing appointment with AT&T for a job I had forgotten about. I passed their test and have still yet to hear back from them. A week after that, I had an appointment with a partner of theirs and got hired, but not fully because their training schedule conflicted with my fall class schedule—now I have to call back every so often to find out when they have a better training schedule.

But between those sidetracks of employment, I went to visit my Great Aunt. She didn’t recognize me, she had no idea who I was. (Of course, she wasn’t that sure either.) I didn’t bother me at the time because I knew it was inevitable, not just from my transition, but her Alzheimer’s erased me from her existence. It would come to bother me later when I would find out that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer, at which point I found myself getting drunk and texting V about times gone by and my guilt for wasting the money she gave me as a child on frivolous pursuits (practically finishing the conversation from the other day).

Once I got out of the fog, I went back to a few of my selfish tendencies and prepared for the Gay Pride Festival on Saturday. I went and got my nails done again, getting acrylics (which I would later discover were longer than I got before). I didn’t get my hair done, but instead worked on my makeup for said event (all in the mean fantasizing about meeting interesting people). N, who was supposed to go with me, later dropped out, but I didn’t care and thought of going alone. Then Saturday came and… I injured myself trying a few new exercises. For the first time in a long time my knees felt like they couldn’t support my body. The pain wasn’t as bad as my gallbladder but walking seemed out of the question—in the right shoes I though I could walk it off. Then, I looked at the heat index and said no and spent most of Saturday reading my boring Security+ text.

Missing the Pride Festival, I was a bit pissed off, but then I started thinking about all the other times I missed it and the Wedding I missed as well that I was obsessing over before my operation, and the shit I was tempted of causing at Wild Child’s Quickstop (which was in the same neighbourhood as that second job) on the Friday before. I couldn’t help ask why to the latter two things. On top of that, I found myself corresponding with a Japanese Girl from the psychology class, which, me being me, triggered a number of unwarranted fantasies—even though her correspondence was for nothing more than learning to make cookies. Then I thought, fuck it all. I can do nothing but go on, or as Master Bra’Tac would say: “…(I’ll) cross that bridge when I come to it”. All-in-all I’ll be glad when this summer is over (more importantly when 2010 is over). Although I will admit, this has been one odd ride. I never thought I would be working my ass of this much, nor did I think I would want to kick Kevin’s ass for all of his laziness in my past life. It is the same feelings I have had for giving up on the Northwest and the same feelings for never achieving an occupation in the creative field, but as I have said before this is my life, Keira’s life, not Kevin’s.

August 8th, 2010 – 1:21 PM PDT – (“The Next Counter” pt.1)

2010-08-08T16:39:00.000-07:00

Saying goodbye to an old friend is never easy. From what I’ve found out, saying goodbye to an old ambition is losing a part of yourself. Saying goodbye to my love of movies, art and creative writing in general is like closing a door to who I was. When I was Kevin I dreamt about being a filmmaker—I wanted to be a filmmaker. But as time went on, like being Kevin, that wasn’t my future. I had thought of putting up a series of video blogs as a way of saying farewell and posting the films themselves, but the amount of work was unrealistic to do it (considering how little free time I usually have—right now would be different but you never know). So before the ignition of Year Four, I’ve decided to post my last work, no not the children’s novel, but the play “The Next Counter”, in Seven parts.

Now in seven parts because it is really seven scenes, even though it is over seventy pages. Even though I wrote these under the name of Keira Lewis, I still feel that they are part of Kevin’s works; therefore, a formal farewell is in order. Before and after each part I will provide my little commentary. So without further ado, here it is… my last written work, “The Next Counter”….

COMMENTARY:
What you’re about to read is part one, the opening of the play, which takes place in the future, or a depressing future of sorts. My place of mine at the time was more or less hopeful. I set the play on my actual thirtieth birthday (May 8th, 2013), however, I wrote this one year and two months (March to April 2008) before my mental thirtieth birthday (May 8th, 2009)—that whole four year thing. So I was feeling the end of my twenties coming and I felt that youth was at an end. And, to me, what would be more depressing than still working at the Enemy at age thirty and on top of that, my birthday gift being the announcement of an element my youth being ripped apart by Hollywood like every other piece of garbage they’ve released lately. As you probably know, “Back to the Future” (1985) and its following movies made the trilogy that made my life, so a radio announcement of the remake starring Hannah Montana as Marty in Alternate reality version to be released on the movie’s thirtieth birthday is more insult to injury. I guess it really shows what I cared about, even though at the time my love of movies was on life support. (Of course, as you know, even after “The Dark Knight” (2008) the plug was still pulled.) Anyway, there are other jokes I can mention, but I’ll let the work speak for itself.

"THE NEXT COUNTER"
(pt. 1 of 7)
SCENE I:

RAISE CURTAIN:

...to a dark stage, spotlighting a BOOMBOX rested on a table in the centre. The Ghostly echo of the future through the sound of DJ VOICE delivering events to possibly come broadcasts over the device.

DJ VOICE
...Tensions have risen as the war continues on all fronts... Congress will appropriate fifteen trillion for the continued effort.... In local news, the Aces lost 7-6 against the Cubs in the Ninth inning in Chicago, placing our team in last and pushing the Cubbies to first... The Mayor said this becoming the fifth consecutive losing season for the Aces may jeopardize Delusional’s chances for the Olympics in 2028... And finally in entertainment news, Universal confirmed a July 3rd, 2015 release for “Back to the Future: Parallels” which will be thirty years to the day from the 1985 original. Universal is claiming that the new movie is not necessarily continuation or a remake, but a reimagining wherein Marty McFly was originally played by the late Michael J. Fox, in this version Marty will be Marcia McFly portrayed by former Hannah Montana, Miley Cyrus... and the Doc will be slightly younger and played by John Torturro of “Transformer” fame as Marcia journey’s back to the eighties.... And that’s news in a minute for KSHT your source for music from the 1990’s, 2000’s and now on this May 8th, 20--

A hand reaches down and presses the off button.

Lights raise to reveal an electronics department within a sandbox store (i.e. Wal-Mart, K-Mart or Target) and thirty-something man wearing sunglasses at night and pulling a pallet jack. This is KAY, and this just so happens to be his birthday and the start of his night at his place of work.

He pulls the cart towards the HALF PODIUM, the central hub of the department, where SIN, a short woman in her early fifties, is ringing up a Customer.

SIN
...Here you go, you have a nice day.

The Customer exits.

SIN
(to Kay)
You on?

KAY
Afraid so.

SIN
You look stressed.

KAY
Why do customers with small cars buy big TV’s?

SIN
Is that what happened to that fifty inch-er?

KAY
Into the frail hatch of a Mazda.

SIN
Christ.

KAY
Like watching a woman give birth in reverse--

SIN
--Only without the stretch marks.

Kay grimaces.

KAY
Chuck is out there smoking to acknowledge that delivery.

SIN
I didn’t think he smoked?

KAY
I didn’t say it was tobacco.

Another associate, JIM an elderly greaser with a obnoxious southern twang, arrives as if he was passing through.

JIM
Right on. I’ll go join him.

KAY
(to Jim)
Back from you break?

JIM
Nope, headin’ to it.

He continues to exit on the other side.

SIN
God he takes a lot of breaks.

KAY
Tell me about it.

SIN
The only two things I ever seen him move are his mouth and his fat ass to the break room.

KAY
The other one is no help. All she ever does is stand around whining, the other half of the time she spends complaining about having to work between pregnancies.

SIN
She takes after him.

KAY
Same big gut and bloated feet... minus the child, of course.

SIN
Yeah I saw that.
(Hands Kay the keys)
Well now that you’re here, I’ll head to the front and--

She spots something offstage.

SIN (CONT’D)
You might want to ditch the jack.

MIKE, a medium height middle aged Hispanic man, a Store Manager accompanied by a younger, yet roughed up assistant, DAVID, walk up.
SIN (CONT’D)
Too late.

DAVID
What the hell are you doing with pallet jack, boy?

MIKE
Boy?

SIN
I admit I’m confused by that one.

KAY
Did we regress two centuries?

DAVID
Hey its been a while since I worked overnights. Gotta get back in the groove.

MIKE
(Rolls his eyes)
Okay,
(Brain fart)
Boy?

SIN
You got stuck on that one.

MIKE
I know... It was just so out of left field.

KAY
(to Mike)
Well if it puts your mind at ease, sir, you’re the only one with the tenure to deliver disparaging and potentially racist remarks.

MIKE
(to Kay)
Damn right, brother...
(raises his hand)
Give me some, love.

Kay high-fives him.

MIKE
Before Master David’s capitulation... Where was I?

DAVID
The pallet jack.

MIKE
Right... I thought we had an agreement... Nothing heavy... No big freight... no big sales... you need to leave the big ones to David or a cashier... leave your empties for the pallet collectors at the end of the night... Under normal circumstances you would be doing go backs or some minor register jockeying... but you’re the only one certified to be here at this hour. (Not to mention, the only one who knows where any of this shit goes.)

DAVID
That goes ditto here.

KAY
(to Mike)
I-I understand that, sir... and I assure you I am following your orders to the Tee.

MIKE
Then explain the jack.

KAY
I was just doing a favor for a fellow associate on my way back from the front. Chuck took out a big TV for a customer.

DAVID
So where is Chucky?

SIN
The same place you’d be if you just pried a fifty-inch into a hybrid.

DAVID
Again?

MIKE
Damn.

SIN
Yeah that was our general consensus.

MIKE
Well you know you’re being watched right now... You know you’ll be under review soon.

KAY
I know, I know... sorry sir.
MIKE
Well watch your ass... you know what I’m saying?

KAY
I know, I know.

MIKE
‘Cuz unemployment isn’t the birthday present you don’t want.

DAVID
Today’s your birthday.

KAY
Uh yes?

DAVID
Ooh...

KAY
(mumbles)
Oh crap.

David walks over to the Podium, picks up the phone for a page and...

DAVID
(speaking into the intercom)
Attention all customers and associates... We have a birthday amongst our happy time group... Our favorite curmudgeon in electronics, the androg we all know and love, Overnight’s very own Electronics Sales Associate... Kay Lawson is growing a year older.
(Calling Kay over)
Say a kind word to your public.

KAY
No thanks.

David pulls him over, pushing the phone into his face.

KAY (CONT’D)
Hi.

DAVID
So Kay, may I call you Kay?

KAY
Sure.

DAVID
Kay... these are questions well all have and I promise not to get too personal.

KAY
Yeah, I’m sure.

DAVID
So Kay... what is that short for?

KAY
Nothing... It is just Kay.

DAVID
That’s it? You’re parents said okay and dropped the “O”?

KAY
That’s about it.

DAVID
Yeah... So what’s with the Sunglasses?

KAY
I’d rather not.

DAVID
Are you sure?

KAY
No comment.

DAVID
Fair enough.

KAY
Thanks.

DAVID
Final question... How old are you today?

KAY
Uh no.

DAVID
C’mon... today has gotta be a monumental number.

KAY
No, no it doesn’t

DAVID
I’m sure it is.

KAY
I assure you it’s not.

DAVID
Come on.

KAY
No.

DAVID
Well you can’t blame a girl for trying... But you heard it here first that it’s Kay Lawson’s birthday today... when you see him wish ‘em a happy birthday Kay... Happy Birthday Kay.... Happy Birthday Kay... and for all your electronics needs--cellphones, ipods and TV’s---see Kay in electronics and wish ‘em a Happy Birthday... Now you may return to you regular scheduled shopping and stocking... Good night and good luck.

He hangs up the phone. Embarrassed, Kay sighs...

KAY
Edward R. Murrow, you are not.

DAVID
Who?

KAY
Never mind.

DAVID
Well Happy Birthday, Kay and I mean it with love.

He hugs Kay squeezing him.

KAY
Thanks.

He slouches his head.
MIKE
(to David)
You done turning him red?

DAVID
I wanted to make ‘em rosey.

MIKE
After that you could at least get him his freight.

DAVID
Aye-aye.

David takes the pallet jack and exits.

MIKE
(to Kay)
Stick to what we said and don’t let the night get to you.
(pause)
Happy Birthday, man.

KAY
Thanks.

Mike exits.

SIN
That was some announcement.

KAY
Yeah.

SIN
You couldn’t be redder.

KAY
Oh I definitely could.

SIN
Oh I don’t know...
(Singing)
Happy Birthday to you, you live in a zoo, you smell like a--

KAY
--Okay. Thank you.

SIN
Hey, I’m just trying to cheer you up.

KAY
That’s a given. But don’t you have a front to attend to?

SIN
Oh, all right... I’ll talk to you later.

KAY
Later.

Sin exits.

Jim returns with a bit of glee on his face.

JIM
So today’s your birthday?

KAY
Oh crap...
(sighs)
Yes, yes it is my birthday.

JIM
Another year older.

KAY
Yeah.

JIM
The big... what?

KAY
None of your business.

JIM
Ah c’mon give Jim a chance.

KAY
(Sigh)
Fine... I’m entering my mid-thirties and another year closer to forty and let’s leave it at that.

JIM
I thought you were older.
KAY
Yeah most people think so.

JIM
It’s the way you talk.

KAY
Speak.

JIM
See... but you still look like a kid--

David returns, grabbing Kay by the cheeks.

DAVID
--And a beautiful one at that.

KAY
Ouch... thanks
(Looks around)
No freight?

DAVID
Didn’t get it yet... Mike forgot to hand you this.

He holds up two envelopes.

DAVID (CONT’D)
He told me to tell you you’re not supposed to receive personal mail here.

He hands Kay the envelopes.

Kay looks.

KAY
One’s a card from the company.

DAVID
The other isn’t.

JIM
Whose it from?

KAY
(flat)
A publishing company.
JIM
Aren’t you gonna open it.

KAY
Uh...
(crumbles the envelope)
No.

He throws it away.

DAVID
Hey, that could’ve been the one.

KAY
I doubt it.

JIM
You’ve been rejected that much?

KAY
Enough not to bother.

JIM
Ouch, man, that’s cold... even on your birthday?

KAY
Yes, even today... on the day that is today as Mister Subtly here pointed out.

DAVID
Anything to get the word out there.

KAY
Don’t you have freight to fetch?

DAVID
Hey! I’m your boss.

KAY
Not until my freight materlizes on the floor.

DAVID
Who says?

KAY
Mike... so if you’d please... the clock is ticking, after all.

David exits.

KAY
So where were we?

JIM
You’re birthday

KAY
Yes, yes that is today.

JIM
So what you got planned? Going out to get blitz and get laid with some hot chick?

KAY
Hardly.

JIM
Some guy?

Kay grimaces at him.

KAY
Another Mister Subtle.

JIM
Well you never talk about your personal life or being with a girl.

KAY
So you go straight for the jugular and chastise my sexuality?

MARLEY, a short Hispanic woman in her twenties, enters.

MARLEY
It’s not hard you’ve always been a bit gay.

KAY
Thanks.

JIM
And what’s his name?

KAY
Thanks, thank you, you’re no help.

MARLEY
Oh I bet it’s the new guy in pets under Matt.

JIM
Yeah, he’s definitely Kay’s type.

KAY
And this is payback for what exactly?

MARLEY
It is just birthday humor. Lighten up. You take things way too seriously.

David brings out a pallet.

KAY
(under his breathe)
Freight, thank god.

He walks over to the pallet that is half covered by a PDQ.

DAVID
Here you go chief.

Kay looks at it...

KAY
This is a new movie release.

DAVID
Yeah?

KAY
Today’s not Tuesday.

DAVID
The movie lady said to bring it out.

KAY
Okay, fine... Then set it here and take the old one.

DAVID
The empty one?

KAY
That’s the one.
DAVID
So we’re replacing it with this?

KAY
That’s the general idea.

DAVID
Sweet.

David swaps out the two PDQ’s and leaves.

KAY
Thanks.
(Sighs)
Time for the unveiling.

JIM
I thought you weren’t allowed to lift anything heavy?

KAY
A thin piece of cardboard won’t kill me, Jim.

JIM
Suit yourself.
(Reaching out)
Can I get the keys?

Kay removes the keys from his belt and hands them to Jim.

JIM (CONT’D)
Thanks, Boss.

He walks off. Kay salutes him.

Kay takes out his box-cutter and cuts off the top, tossing it to the side. He takes the cardboard by the sides, pulling off the remains in one piece.

He folds it and looks back.

He’s taken out of himself from the sight of the release.
In big bold red letters the side panel of the PDQ reads: “FORLORN”.

KAY
No... no way.

He picks up a copy of the movies and reads the cover.

KAY (CONT’D)
Holy shit.
(short pause)
He did it.

LIGHT FILTERS DOWN.

TO BE CONTINUED…..

CLOSING COMMENTARY:

So there you have it, part one. A few changes did occur. Originally Sin didn’t have as much dialogue early on and Jim spoke more, but I thought it made more sense to establish Kay and Sin’s relationship as soon as possible. Other elements that changed were the mentioning of Kay’s actual age. David’s dialogue got significantly cut down, if you can believe it, and Mike wasn’t as vocal, but apart from those, this is what scene one was like throughout all the drafts. As for the opening, I didn’t write that until the very end.

TEASER:
In part two, what happens when we see a piece of Kay’s past? What was “Forlorn”? Will we know how he lost his mojo or will it prove a greater mystery? Find out in Part Two of “The Next Counter”.

August 7th, 2010 – 6:13 AM PDT – (A Year With Blu-Ray)

2010-08-08T16:01:00.000-07:00

I didn’t think I would be doing a review so soon, but a current purchase of mine, “Batman: Under the Red Hood” (2010), required my attention. SPOILER ALERT: “Batman: Under the Red Hood” (2010) is another in the DC Premier Universe, the mature animated direct-to-video line from Warner Home Video. The movie itself follows the plot of “Batman’s greatest failure”, the Death of Jason Todd (the second Robin after Dick Grayson), or more known in comic book circles as “A Death In the family” which was introduced back in 1987. Of course, a death in a medium comics means as about as much as a death in science fiction, a character can always come back, thus Red Hood is Jason Todd back from the dead.

Not a bad movie in all, although it could have used a few points to slow down for the plot here and there. Just as Christopher Nolan’s “Batman Begins” (2005) and “The Dark Knight” (2008) examine a world with super vigilantism and the psychology of someone like Batman/Bruce Wayne and those around, “Red Hood” examines Batman/Bruce Wayne’s capacity as the surrogate father figure he becomes and the pain he endures losing a child, one who has grown up and moved on (Dick Grayson) and the death of a son (Jason Todd).

Now from a technological standpoint, it looked absolutely beautiful, in fact, it is the most beautiful film I’ve seen on DVD or Blu-Ray, which brings me back to the original discussion. This is only the second Blu-Ray I have purchased, the first being “The Band of Brothers” mini-series from HBO, merely because I am still not convinced that the quality justifies the price tag. The Old Man was the first to purchase the device in the household (Sony BDP-S360), I later inherited it when he stopped using it. Using HDMI at Full-HD (1080p) I connected it to my office TV for the past year. I’ve watched mostly TV shows on it; “Stargate: Atlantis” (2004-2009). The few movies I have watched on it were mostly animated, any live-action just looked terrible, especially older movies—the upconverting doesn’t help the inherit pixilation.

Yes the quality looks spectacular, however, if the movies were shot on 35mm, HD, presented a higher resolution and colouring or a combination of the four or processed with recent techniques, along with the higher storage capacity is where Blu-Ray and its upconvertering shines. Older movies and television shows on standard DVD not shot on newer film stock or HD don’t look all that good. I might eat those words once I get the Blu-Ray transfer of the “Back to the Future” Trilogy (1985-1990), but I highly doubt it.

What I was looking forward to from the Blu-Ray format was the larger storage capacity, meaning fewer discs, especially for TV shows. Most shows have far too many discs. “Red Hood” only had one disc for it special edition, but Disney and other companies seem to put out three disc packs of Blu-Ray/DVD/Digital Copy, which creates more discs. As for TV shows, looking at the boxes, including “Band of Brothers”, they seem to carry the same number of discs. I’ll find out more upon the next season of “Dexter” and the release of season one of “Caprica”. Now with all of the Internet content one might argue it has merit, but I have many computers (desktops and laptops), I have two iPhones and an iPad, and if I buy a new TV or DVD player and those will come Internet ready, so what is the real draw?

So in the end, is Blu-Ray worth it? For newer movies and TV shows, maybe, but personally I’m sticking to DVD.

July 17th, 2010 – 12:31 PM PDT – (Review Time: iPad)

2010-07-17T12:34:00.000-07:00

I’ve been rather busy studying for the Network+ and Security+ exams, while looking for work, so I haven’t had much time to write any blog entries in the past month or so. However, while trying to get a job as a tech writer (which I didn’t get by the way), I produced the following review of my iPad. Now, the focus was gadgets for girls so the article is a bit opposite to what I would normal write in sections, but I was rather proud so I thought I would share.

iPad’s for College Girls? – 09 July 2010
Throwing a red flag should be your first action when purchasing the first generation of any device from Apple. Let's face it, out the gate Apple isn't known for having stellar reliability, customer service maybe, but their quality control leaves much to be desired--be it a fuzzy/damp screen in the new iMacs or the antenna from the iPhone 4 fiasco. So when a new device like the iPad tablet is launched upon the world, with a sticky price tag to boot ($499-699 Wifi only; $629-829 WiFi+3G), the necessity for such a thing that defies definition—Is it an eBook Reader, it is a computer, is a gaming platform, what is it?—even for the impulsive factor just isn’t there. Waiting for next generation of iPad and the tablets from other manufactures seems like a wise move.

Then again, it is cute, thin, sleek and sexy, and it was my birthday, so I bought one. After two months of using it, there are definite pros and cons to using the device.

Most notable, as many of Apple's products, it is immediately eye-catching; I can't relate how many times I've been asked about it by students and faculty on campus. The interface, as the iPod Touch and the iPhone is simple. Slide the lock at the bottom, you're in the device. Tap an App you're, hit the home button you're out, pinch and so forth. Battery life on the iPad is rather remarkable considering the screen size, either from watching a movie, surfing the net, running an app, playing a game or reading a book, it doesn't go down as quickly as it does on an iPhone or an iPod (it even outlasted my MacBook Pro on three hour plus lecture, with time to spare). Unlike many WAP enabled devices, it connects to any open WiFi network in a snap. And, reading on it seems to be rather easy on the eyes.

Yet, it is a bit slow when running applications, especially productivity apps, such as Keynote and Notes (Apple's iPad solution for Powerpoint and Word). Common applications, such as Mail and Safari run at their usual pace, but YouTube and even the iPod functionality takes a bit to load. The lack of a front-facing camera and Face-Time over WiFi like on the iPhone 4 are a bit disconcerting, something that Apple obviously waiting for on the next generation of iPad (or until they get the bugs our of it on the iPhone 4). Not having multitasking out of the box, wireless file sharing limits, or any form of expandability beyond the USB sync cable or the iTunes and Apps store takes away from what it could be.

Despite being what it’s not and what it doesn’t have, the iPad is good for what it is and what it does. The access to vast libraries be it via the iBookstore, the Kindle app, the various ebook readers, Barnes and Noble and so forth. The ability to use iPhone apps on it; sure they don’t look the same but at least they are there, which is why it is crucial that Apple releases the iOS 4 for the iPad sooner than later. Not having it out now, limiting the use of multitasking is hindering the functionality of a great device.

In that frame of mind alone it is understandable why someone would wait until the next generation because it lacks the camera features, it is a little slow, it doesn’t have file sharing and a little bit bulky, especially with a folio. If anyone at Apple is listening to reasons why people are not buying as opposed to those who are, then hopefully those issues will be resolved.

However, if you’re not looking for a giant iPhone or iPod Touch, or a complete Laptop or Netbook replacement, and you want an eBook reader that is broader than the Kindle or the Nook or any of the others, or you’re in the situation where carrying many books is a real problem, or something that turns heads along with your skirt then the iPad is a great solution. Otherwise, wait for the next generations.

Don't think this is going to become a common new trend of my blog. After all, I would never keep it up, and I'm big on this sort of thing--the last time I did a review of anything was for T4 and we all know how well that went. But I think I am going to start sharing other works of mine. After this failed experience it really did put into focus for me what I really wanted, thus I have decided to stop pursuing creative occupations. (I'll explain that last point in greater detail as time goes on.)

May 27th, 2010 – 7:00 AM PDT – (A+ Certification, iPad, Summer without Movies, and the Hunt)

2010-05-27T09:53:00.000-07:00

Without baring the lead I am just going to come out and say it… I’m a transsexual. Wait! If you read this, you already know that. Wrong headline, but it was a good joke because that’s the type of mood I’m in because… wait for it… I PASSED THE A+ CERTIFICATION!!! After several months, I did it, I passed and I only had to take it once—section 701. Section 702 I had to take twice. The first time I missed it by a few points (and when I say a few, I really mean a few). After that misstep I re-read the thousands of pages of material I have accumulated over the past five months. Just looking to my bookshelf this morning, I thought it was only three books, but apparently I bought six, along with the apps and the audio book. So far for CCNA (Cisco Certified Network Associate) I have about four books, and a number more I have to buy for it and all the others I’ll be taking (CCISP, CCEDT, Networking+, MCSE, Linux, HTML and so forth). Needless to say, I am going to have to purchase a new bookshelf, but I also have a new iPad (32 GB WiFi only) to lighten the physical load (which I’ll touch upon momentarily). Anyway, in four days I reread, practiced and listened to all that material again and passed it, and in a few days in the mail I’ll have my certification.

Now I am back on the hunt, the hunt for a job that doesn’t kill me physically and emotionally. I have already sent out thirty or so applications since Monday to various jobs here in Delusional and in California. Yes, you read correctly, California—over the hill to my current hell of Roseville to the San Francisco Bay Area (Trans Mecca). It may not be green as I would like it to be as say the Pacific Northwest around Puget Sound or Vancouver, BC, area but maybe it might be a stepping stone it tunneling my way of Delusional. If anything, at least I am trying. Then you may ask, if I am that determined why not southern California? I haven’t completed left that out the equation, next week I am attending an online writers meeting hosted by UCLA, but even if that doesn’t pan out, I don’t think I could physically go there, the temptation of my old ways and all—not that those days would be possible anymore. But I am keeping my options open and submitting as much as I can. However, I am remaining realistic, sticking to the plan of obtaining certifications and rebuilding my GPA while writing on the side, if anything some reward—minor or major—will come of this effort when it is all said and done. (Although, I’ll admit, one minor blow did come the other night when I was waiting to hear back from a job, a laptop repair place, called and hung up after sixteen seconds after waking me from a deep sleep. Frakkin’ Daywalkers!)

The new gadget in my life, the Apple iPad. Yeah, I know, I am as shocked as you, usually I am behind on most trends be they fashion and devices, which is surprising being the techie-tranny I am, but I usually like to wait on a new device until all the bugs are out—as for clothes, I just like the older styles. And here I am with the latest device, spending nearly $700.00 on the device and the case (which I’ll acknowledge in a minute). Well the truth, I was looking up the books to order for the next round of certification classes in the fall (since I signed up for four, unintentionally) on Amazon.com (Yes, I have become a compulsive Amazon shopper, guilty as charged) when, without thinking, I clicked on a Kindle Books link by mistake. At that moment I came across Kindle and other eBook versions of the books I had purchased before as well book I was going to need for later. Suddenly I was filled with anger. Anger from finding this out so late, and anger from the pain I have put myself through the past five months with all the books and hardware I’ve been carrying to both school and work. To school, in my laptop bag, I would have my Macbook Pro, the book for the A+ class, the workbook, possibly another study book, my notepads, my makeup and my wallet, a weight of at least forty pounds (possibly more). To work I would carry in, at first, a leather bag then replaced by a laptop bag similar to my school bag my iBook, the main classroom book for A+, the workbook, two other study books, test study guides, a little makeup, and a notepad, and that would weigh seventy pounds and on top of that, with the whether as its been, my coat on top thirty pounds. On top of that, my body weight shifting and my muscles changing as well as the fat and the hormones I’m on, from then at phase I to now phase II, a series of pains were building up in the right side of my body—from ankle, through my leg, to my back and my shoulder. SO, considering I already have a number of pre-existing traumas from when I much heavier, even heavier than the weight on my driver’s license, I figured $700.00 (plus whatever the cost of books) would be much less than the cost of having surgeries on my broken body parts.

So why the iPad and not the Kindle (or Nooke or any of the other eBook readers)? Well for starters, it is a matter of logic, I already have an iPod Touch and two iPhones and over a hundred apps between them, it wouldn’t make sense to have something else that didn’t take those apps. Another reason for the chose the Kindle (as well as a few of the others) are in black-and-white not colour, which is fine if you’re reading only text, however, a number of my works have colour illustrations and diagrams, so B/W is out of the question. Next, there are many application tutorials that would work in sync with the ebooks, so while I my studying something I can switch between and apply theories as opposed to read and practice later. So why not use my iBook or my MacBook Pro, and any goddamn laptop for that matter? Simply put: lag, battery life and discipline. A laptop is still a computer and has many other attributes to control whereas the iPad has fewer restore points to initialize from. Bare in mind, the iPad is not a laptop replacement, just an extension (although from the look of things, someday that might change). Also, when I am studying, I can’t trust myself on my laptop, unless I am writing or typing, I have a tendency to do everything but what I set out to do on my laptop. In all argument, I really got it as a study tool. Yes, it can go on the internet, which is an advantage with certain applications and eBooks; however, the reason I got the WiFi Only version as opposed to the WiFi+3G version (aside from the price of both the device and the contracts ($15 for 250MB, are they kidding? I use more than that in a day)), when I am at work or driving somewhere, I can’t get online, so I won’t be tempted to do anything but what I set out to do. So is it worth the price tag, only time will tell, and since I have to use about half the cost of it for both the books (electronic and paperback) as well as the apps, time will really tell.

On my last note, it has come to my attention that it is summer, despite how the whether has been as of present. I have to admit, this is the first summer where I do not have any movies staked out on my calendar. In fact, only one has slightly caught my interest—“Toy Story 3”—but I do not plan on seeing it in the theatre because I don’t want to be around a bunch of kids. Truth be told, all the movies look like crap. In the old days, when I was filled with the august brio of youth and of being male, I would go on the charge to change the decay of film. Now days I don’t give a shit and I just don’t feel like going to the movies this summer, and it is a safe bet, they’re not going to hurt without my business. I’m sure N will try to get me to see “Sex and the City 2” with her, but there’s not a snowballs chance in hell of that happening. (I made sure of that by implanting the idea of saying we should femdom her boyfriend for the viewing, not that I would actually do it, but after watching three seasons of it and not finishing it—I couldn’t take it anymore—I really don’t want to see those four bitches again.)

I really don’t want to end this blog entry on that note—god knows I’ve complained about “Sex and the City” enough for a number of lifetimes. I do want to mention, I did finish watching both “The Dead Zone” and “The 4400”, both of which had endings that said: “yeah, we’re done.” Which is good, I guess, since I have no more shows to watch, but knowing me, I’ll probably find myself ordering “Red Dwarf” the complete series and now that “Nip/Tuck” and “Heroes” are cancelled both of them, and then “Caprica” when it’s first season and then “Dexter” season four are out—the other day I was tempted to buy “Stargate: Universe” and “Rescue Me” season one, as well as the complete series of Next Gen and “The X-Files”. I mean, what is it with my tastes for entertainment being focused around the hour-serialized drama? (I know the convenience of DVD’s are that you don’t have commercials, but still.)

May 5th, 2010 – 5:43 PM PDT – (Sex and the Psychic)

2010-05-05T20:46:00.000-07:00

(Note: I rarely discuss what I watch or read, so if you don’t want to read the “geeky-goodness” of my take on Sci-Fi television versus a cable sitcom, you might want to skip to the next paragraph.)

Before I start this week’s entry I have to acknowledge the title; the budding tribute to the entertainment I have been subjecting myself to as of recent, “Sex and the City” the TV Series (1998-2004) and “The Dead Zone” (2002-2007). Both of which had six seasons, however, “The Dead Zone” I am already four episodes in season five, whereas I can’t seem to get past episode five of season three. An even sadder statement to my character, “Dead Zone” had a running time of forty-five minutes per episode while “SATC” has a running time of thirty minutes; “The Dead Zone” had only sixty episodes while “SATC” had ninety-four in change (and now two feature films; although technically “Dead Zone” had a film first, it doesn’t count since it is closely to the book and came out nineteen years before the show). You’d think out of loyalty to my friend and her interest I would put up the effort to watch more of it, but I find myself putting more into watching the latest episode of “Stargate: Universe” on Hulu and suffer the crappy load times than pop a disc of “SATC” into the Blu-ray Player in my office. Thank god I purchased the complete series of “The 4400” when I purchased “Dead Zone”, lord knows I’ll probably be through the forty-five (forty-minute long) episodes of that before I get through “SATC”. Then again, that wouldn’t surprise me, I plowed through all ten seasons (214 episodes and three feature films) of “Stargate SG-1” (1997-2007) and all five seasons (100 episodes) of “Stargate: Atlantis” (2004-2009) in a month (each)—took a little longer with “Battlestar: Galatica” (2003-2009; the mini-series, seventy-five episodes and two direct-to-video feature length films) because of how intense it was. I guess it is just a sign that the girlie-girl in me has her limits, and the sci-fi fangirl will always reign when choosing TV (be it current or dated). The only question, will the film fangirl ever come back? On that note, on with the entry.

The past few days have been interesting and therapeutic, teaching me a lesson I don’t think I would have ever pondered in my past life. Last Thursday N asked me a question that left me relatively perplexed and at a level upset. She asked me: “Would it be okay to you if I were just your girlfriend and not your techie friend?” I gave one of my vague replies—I can’t remember what it was. That night and two to follow, as well as my Friday, I was subjected to Sin’s ideas of entertainment, hearing the reverent patter of the pending release of “Ironman 2” (2010). As I had for the past several months, I displayed my disinterest for it—I didn’t really like the first one—but I promised her I would purchase her a ticket as a mother’s day gift, along with our (becoming) traditional mum’s day breakfast. The ticket became three, a few days later, as she expressed an interest to see it opening day, but I accommodated with web browser and credit card in hand. The Old Man returned to bellowing to his tea-totting drinking buddy the Cat—my sleep has been cut in half as a result. (Thursday and Friday, but not every frakkin’ day.) Apart from sleep deprivation, a guilt trip or two a day, the Old Man is pushing my nerves again to their limits at the wrong time. Meanwhile, another recurring character from the guest show of my life got his contract renewed, and the call from (and later meeting with) Groggy-Ego occurred. Baffled would be an understatement.

There’s no real long story to condense here, everything I have said probably over and over again ad nausea, except these four instances had just the collision at a time I wasn’t expecting, nor the result. My Birthday is this Saturday, only my twenty-seventh (not my thirty-first; I think it is time I stop adding four years, despite the lost teen years) and the tests loom a mere eleven days thereafter, and yet I find myself reflecting (as I have been with the lengthy pending entry) instead of racing the day as I did in the past. However, I had a moment to give into vanity with a manicure my fingers are thanking me for—looking back, the fake nails were a mistake in more ways than one. Once at the nail salon, an article from the past visit greeted me, N’s birthday gift, confirmed a notion I’ve been contemplating the past couple of days (I would explain until I am certain I can actually write it—very movie-like, I’ll admit). As well as paying for my summer classes and the accompanying books—one with a check and one with a card because I forgot to refill my checkbook. And for some reason I knew would conclude itself as a result of my encounter with Groggy-Ego.

For the past nine months, consciously or not, I have been avoiding the meeting. Deep down I thought I would have to have something to show for the anniversary of the production of the music video (Buntzen Lake, or whatever the hell I was calling the book to be at the time), and confidence of my transition was not on my side (enforced by a nightmare of sorts). I’ve said it before, 2009 was a bad year on so many fronts, it was probably good the meeting didn’t happen. So when Groggy-Ego returned my call (albeit two weeks after I made mine; to be fair, mine was two weeks after I received his email reply including his mobile number) and we chatted and he wanted to meet, I thought that was going to be it for a long time. Then today happened, and it wasn’t bad, in fact, I felt I needed it. It was like a montage of a conversation out of a movie, something you would see to a Nick Drake or Bob Dylan song that isn’t that popular, where two friends recount both good and bad times and share a number of laughs. Perhaps it was cosmic, a Denny’s serving as an Ouroboros to our collected souls. After a few hours, he smoked a cigarette and headed back to North Delusional, to the UNR campus. Inspired would be an understatement, since I am writing this instead of writing in the other entry or studying, but after all was said and done, I felt more in control. The meeting had to happen because it had to, as did the discovery of N’s gift, as did my purchasing of “Ironman 2” tickets, as did the return of the Cat.

Ah yes, the lesson. Well it may sound like a cliché (I don’t know which and lord knows I am not going to look it up; it took long enough to find out that crap about the TV shows), but we don’t choose our friends, our friends choose us, or we don’t make our friends, our friends make us; whatever applies to whatever circumstance you’re in. As much as I would like to believe that my friendship with N might dissolve by the end of summer, despite how vain she is, I can’t bring myself to believe it because she allows me to compare and keep my vanity in check (and she says I’m bigger girl in our friendship; in a weird way, she’s the younger sister I never had.) As much as I would want the darkness from the Old Man and Sin to leave me as the dream gave me an out I can’t be that cold because, in a way, they’re my parents (one real, one surrogate). Even though I can’t stand hearing about Alaska, the alternate meaning to the initials LBJ (which I will not repeat), or the relentless guilt trips when I leave to work or school from his end; the endless ogling of the forty-plus Robert Downey Jr. and Hugh Jackman, the battlefield at home that seems to shift, or the triggered tears of a mother lost to cancer which immediate follows a thought about a Trans Am; I can’t fault or judge them for these quirks or bad tastes—I am not a Nick Hornby character (even though looking back, I have probably referenced him as Norton Hornby), I am not Rob (Fleming) Gordon (“High Fidelity”, 1995 novel, 2000 film, and 2006 Broadway musical). The Old Man, my father, has always been more like a grandfather, although I don’t think that will ever change, but I know he loves me (even if he can’t remember my real name or not to call me a male adjective). And Sin may not be my mother but she certainly the closest thing I’ve ever had to one; lord knows she’s a thousand times more caring and forgiving than my real one. And if I’m rounding the bases of my friends (and surrogate family members), than Groggy-Ego is definitely the positive kick in the backside of wisdom and inspiration I always needed (the older brother I wish I had as opposed to the flaky-indifference of my real one). In his own words, “…You don’t want people around you that are constantly (chiding) you… you would never know what was good or bad,” and he was right. Even though constant praise would be great, when I transport my mind back to those times, such as, workshops (prose and poetry) and in class films, I realize the praise was transparent if anything. As much as I would like to wash the past of the events of the shorts, music videos, the trailers and even the drag show and place them off as nothing more than Kevin’s past, they are past of my past and always will be. And who knows, maybe like when I am on the treadmill, when I go to his sites and hear his latest works some inspiration. (I’m sure when he reads this he’ll love to find out I’ve been running four miles every other day to the original cut of his first album on my secondary iPhone, but hey it works.) But as I told him in person, if inspiration comes and I feel confident enough down that road, I’ll make sure it is an actual story not a gimmick.

Anyway, as the Sun sets over Delusional, with lessons learned and more to gain, does this mean I am accepting the challenge of my future or finding it?

April 22nd, 2010 – 5:10 AM PDT – (Ideal Image)

2010-04-22T06:50:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I did something that was rather well overdue, not only did I participate in a consultation for removing my beard, but I actually had my first treatment. The sensation of having a pulse of forced energy applied to my face wasn’t what I expected it to feel like but after debating it for as long as I have I figured: “What the hell… be it now or never,” and so I did. Last year when I was first deeply investigating it, Dee and the Old Man, using their patent methods of fear mongering, had talked me out of it. Case in point, I managed to make a little lie to myself in regards to my health to prevent me from considering it again. Then, flash-forward to now, apart from the razor burn and a series of facial hair related bad dreams, I couldn’t put it off any longer. Same goes for my voice, another mode of laziness on my part from not letting go of old threads of the tapestry. I have been practicing speaking in a feminine voice, a variation of my “Gay” voice, but I have to start somewhere. (Once this semester closes, I have decided to start speaking longer in my feminine voice to train myself so I don’t fall back into the “comfort” of my male voice—another setback I don’t need. If only I can figure out how not to switch into my Irish/Scottish when doing it.)

What prompted me to do it was the mood I had been in the past week; building up to the mood I delve into this time of the year. Yes, I still have that remorse as the days grow closer to my Birthday, and no it doesn’t seem to be going away despite what I am; Illogical as always, I know—that is the price of being a head case. The silver lining that came with not being audited when my rebate came and avoiding the Avatar DVD release seemed temporary moment of Euphoria. However, my mood may have compromised a friendship and integrity (of course, this is just a side effect of loneliness, I’m sure she’ll have some explanation of sorts—I should never have admitted my true feelings for cellphones and texting, or my real motivation behind purchasing an iPhone). Then again, as cold as this may be revered, I don’t think I would be all that broken up by it. To be honest, I don’t believe myself in that statement because I’ve said it before and lord knows I have repeated it over and over again (i.e. Wild Child).

Truth be told, I’m not really sure what is wrong with me. Perhaps it is the stress of the upcoming tests; perhaps it is the stress of the coming semesters (no more frakkin’ around, time to start working), perhaps something else. I’d say PMS but that is highly unlikely (all things considered). Actually, I have a good idea what it is, what I’ve been writing, or not writing as the case would be. What I started at the end of Spring Break (the would be blog entry turned longer), although not lost or lost my interest as works before it, I find myself conflicted when finding time to work on it. Focus isn’t the problem; I pick up exactly where I leave off, but it is taking longer than I had expected (or wanted it to). My own impatience wouldn’t pose a problem, I would just wait until I had one of those bursts of inspiration (like you see writers have in the movies; “Adaptation” comes to mind), and then after two weeks straight of nothing but I would be finished. Unfortunately, I have a few other things going right now that require my attention, especially with the test days approaching (less than a month away to be precise), I now have to prioritize my time, get in full lock down mode for studying for it. Then, one week after to be exact, is when the summer semester starts. On top of that is the yearly reset in my department at work (which my supervisor won’t tell me the date, in which I don’t think she is being as flaky as she normally lets on); so enough pressure around two days, to say the least. My fear, though, if I set the work aside for that long (which probably won’t be until after my sections of the summer session are over, which won’t be until August), I won’t be able to restart it because I will also have to start reading up on the works for the fall (Linux, MCSE, Networking +, and HTML).

Maybe I should just finish N’s section and call it quits (mostly so she stops pestering me about it—I think she is nervous about what I am writing), the stuff about Enna, Peter and Marilyn Monroe will just have to be lost in the fray of my whirlwind subconscious (which, of course, I will post here with the highlights of the others, being the narcosis I am). In my wildest fantasies, unlike my attempts with the book about the Music Video, I had it in myself to believe it would be the work, a nonfiction work, that would impress the Doc come the time of Graduate school (okay, I talking about two years from now, at least, but you never know). Of course, I’ve had that feeling about other works I’ve poured my heart and soul, only to have them shit on by life itself. I don’t know, maybe it is about time I go back to the reality I created with characters that never get off the ground and forget about the “real world.” Although doing so would only confirm a long running fear of my abilities I have had for quite a while. (If this is my only lasting work, my legacy as it were, a diary about from mixed up perspective of life, nestled in the recesses of the Internet, then god help me.)

April 14th, 2010 – 5:05 AM PDT – (Single Core)

2010-04-14T06:56:00.000-07:00

I’ve been up the past few hours stuck in head as usual. I had a peculiar dream where I was trying to cook something while being constantly distracted. Every time I cooked, I would get distracted or engulfed in what I was doing and what I was cooking would be ruined, then I would have to restart the meal and I would forget what I was doing in the other task and it wouldn’t get finished. Then I woke up and realized, that wasn’t a dream that was my life; or at least how it was, and if I am not careful, how it might be again (history repeating itself). What took me out was where the dream was located—in the RV, a hellish place I don’t want to ever see again, yet my life has come full circle in more ways than I please. Looking at the semesters ahead, and I say semesters plural not singular, I find myself in that situation again and in a situation I was in eight years ago—cramming too much into a small space for an outlandish frontier without maintaining my goals, or a goal.

For the past fourteen years, my primary goal has been to get out of Delusional, NV—although in the old days when I had a destination in mind, none seems to solidify. I’ve always found myself in a hurry to fill that goal, regardless of the consequences and thus have paid because of it, leaving many avenues unfinished and so as dead ends. My other goal, which seemed to supersede that one was to be the woman I was supposed to be instead of the male I was forced to be. I only started pursuing in full force two years ago and unlike my Delusional goal, I don’t find myself rushing it because I am willing to accept the factors of time that go in it. (I waited twenty years, what’s another ten? Or, eight now.)

As for a career, that has always been a bit of quagmire since I have never really known what I wanted to do. I’ve thought I’ve had ideas of what I wanted, but the clarity wasn’t there mostly because I never what to experience the possibility of failure that goes hand in hand. If you want something are you willing to accept you may not get it? I have never understood how many people can go after something. Then again I have had a lifetime of disappointment, only recently self-inflicted, reaching for the chalice only to find what I really wanted was a cup. When reality sets in, as much as I want everything, the premium package from the cable company of life has to offer, I realize I just want the basics, nothing more (or less; a net connection and a good DVD player). When deciding what to do in life, I find it is like comparing the experience of watching a movie in the theatre versus watching one at home. At home, you can pause, play, resume, repeat, answer the phone, read email, eat entire meals, talk, masturbate, play with your iPhone, read a book, read a paper, surf the internet, go to the bathroom at any time you like, whatever, while “watching” the movie, then stop and come back to it at any time you like because you paid for the luxury of having it. However, you’re not actually watching the movie because you’re doing ninety other things, you’re focus is not really there. Whereas, when you’re seeing a movie at a theatre, in that space, apart from maybe drinking, that’s all you do because you don’t have “control” of the time frame. You may do something before or after the movie, but the two hours (or more; excluding advertisements and trailers and some jackass answering his cellphone or texting during the movie) is it.

Granted, life can’t be that simple, but when I look at my routines, I find that’s how it really is. For instance, when I am at work. I bring my iPhone and Laptop bag with my homework, studying and writing material, but I only perform my personal work or text or listen to music either at break or lunch, never on the floor. When I am at school, firstly I am there for the class at hand and then afterwards for my friend, but I try not to combine the two while learning. When I am cooking, cleaning, or doing work around the apartment, although I listen to SmodCast while doing either, I don’t usual watch TV or engage in deep conversation because I am focused on the production at hand. While writing this, I was tempted to turn on my TV next to watch either “Sex And The City” or the latest episode of SGU (“Stargate: Universe”), but I opted against it because I didn’t want to lose my train of thought; I go so far as so the Old Man and the Cat don’t bother me. (I find my mind is even less sparse when I am working out at the gym—listen to my work mix, run, water and repeat, while watching the distance on the tredmill’s pedometer.) When my mind is active, though, it seems to be all over the place, and I facilitate it light a bad habit, a drug that makes smoking, drinking or eating seem less destructive. It is just a matter of keeping it entertained, despite the fact it doesn’t want to accept the necessities, it needs to feel more important than it really is, and that’s what gets me in trouble.

When it comes right down to it, I just need to stick to one or two obtainable goals, not ninety-nine impossible ones. I have one lifetime goal in the works, so the immediate goal, the one I really want right now, stop working at the Enemy, is what I should be after. Take the tests, pass them and start looking, and even if I don’t get a new job right or an ideal one, at least I can continue with the other certifications and finish this degree. The outlandish mess of Computer Science is probably too much for me, and then I would be back where I was before. When I started thinking about it, I really have no idea what I would do with a Computer Science degree other than teach classes like I am taking now (I have no interest and programming and applying the science of engineering is more than I can do). Then again, I have no idea what I would do with a Master or PhD in English either, other than teach the basics and understanding of the language. (Although I do find it funny that a Door Greeter at work use to call me the Professor.) If anything, pursuing through education what I am now will at least satisfy my mind that my GPA will be restored to pursue either the outlandish or the reasonable.

However, one or two goals are not that easy when other people have their own they want you to go after. Just yesterday, the Old Man was trying to convince me into going into Synthetic Fuel production (bio-gasoline and bio-diesel), his idea that it would be a way of making a fortune: “…Be the next Rockefellar.” I merely laughed at the idea, considering that this was the same man who wanted me to go into Granite manipulation ten years ago (because we live in an area where Granite stone is in abundance), and when I tried to be a filmmaker only thought of business aspects (“Be the next George Lucas or Steven Spielberg”) and not the creative aspects. (He, as well as others, think the same thing when I write something, as if it will be a best-seller in the making.) Then there’s a pending matter I have been putting off for a few weeks, a call that would lead to a chat with Groggy-Ego (something I haven’t seen in two years now, but have blogged about every so often as if he were a recurring character). He sent me an email stating he wanted to discuss those two works I sent him (Auntie Carefree and “The Next Counter”). The anxiety that generated, as well as the consciousness of repeating my past mistakes, are what prompted me to write this rather lengthy entry. It is not the idea of what I have become and him not accepting it or having to go through the lengthy diatribe (again) that worries me (hell, I am pretty sure he is like everyone else and had some inclination way back when). I’m worried, like everyone else; he’ll want to pursue a dead flame (film and I are not simpatico anymore) or he’ll criticize it in a typical Groggy-Ego fashion by comparing one of my works (i.e. “The Next Counter”) to something that I already know bares resemblance (i.e. “Clerks”). However, I’ve put it off for two weeks and have thought of sending him an email, but I’ve come to realize, he either doesn’t have internet access as he used to or just doesn’t go in his office, so I have set my iPhones to remind me to call him. Like an old Seinfeld joke, I am hoping to get his voicemail so I can leave one of my legendary generic messages, however, I’ll probably get him on the phone and have to talk to him. Realistically though, I don’t expect a meeting to occur, or at least a convenient one (on my part), but I’ll have to play along and accept deep down that those are not my goals anymore.

My goal of escaping Delusional, I’ve said it before, even I wonder if it is possible anymore. Maybe I should stop chasing it. Who knows?

April 8th, 2010 – 4:31 AM PDT – (Carrie Bradshaw)

2010-04-08T07:00:00.000-07:00

A pattern seems to form at this time of year, there’s always a gap in my blog. The common link: I get inspired at this time a year and want to reserve my efforts towards whatever I am working on, thus the blog suffers for it. (Although, I am not certain how the latter statement is true since the only people who read this are people I ask to read it.) I was planning to comment on my week off from work and school, unfortunately it grew longer than I had intended (and taken longer than I had hoped). Then again, I’ve also been spending a more time being a girl with my friend “N”, meanwhile preparing for the A+ certification—however, unlike the SATs and the GREs, I actually am studying for it. As adventures into womanhood usually preoccupy my conscious mind, I do find myself even more conflicted over, the usual topic, the future. (So shoot me, I can’t my mind off of it.) However, this bout of temporal confusion did not stem from myself, initially, this time I have my friend to blame. The past week she had been conflicted by her own collegic choices, which, of course, got me thinking of my own. In the outlandish, I find myself thinking of this as a stepping-stone to wipe the slate clean, or redo what I didn’t before. Because the class has been going so well, until recently, I haven’t put it past myself the downside (perhaps, in my daily life, both from the Old Man and Sin, I have heard nothing but the dark side from their own bleak lives—I have other guess stars I could discuss but theirs are the most prevalent). But as the days close in to May 19th and May 20th (the days 701 and 702 of my A+ tests), the doubt has started creeping in; self inflicted anxiety manifesting itself because I am too stupid not to place everything on one event.

I didn’t want to find myself repeating a past mistake, placing everything upon this one test, this one event (like succeeding at producing or a job for my apartment or my life or whatever) and not considering where to move on in the event of failure, but I really want this to be my last year at the Enemy and I really want my privacy back. Yet, I have not put to thought what I will do if I don’t pass and if I am still at here and there. After all is said and done, I am right back where I started. I am no more a woman than I first realized I was different (or how many episodes of “Sex And The City” I watch), I am no closer to living in the greens (no matter how many shows I see from Vancouver), I am no longer as young as I was (which is ironic since I am now catching up to the ages I use to lie about), and there is no magic potion or Delorean that will undo and reset the tracks already traveled. I can only rely on myself, which has never been something I’ve been too fond since I have let myself down on so many occasions.

Most people I know would say stop worrying and live in the now. Not an easy thing for me to do, but I try. Although I think I need to start a new project before tunneling out because I am not sure about one foundation in my life. Which was the hobby, writing or computers? It has always been one or the other. How come I have never been able to combine the two? You’d think with my knowledge of both that they could meld together, like science fiction or writing technical manuals or reviews, but they haven’t. Granted I use a computer to type this (or any work), but that’s where it stops. Have I really allocated my mind to the point where the art of one doesn’t cross over into the science of the other? I don’t know, maybe I’m just not seeing the bigger picture.

In one of my most recent wildest fantasies I find myself either building some new machine that changes the world, or writing a nonfiction book that launches an overdue writing career, or becoming a Cyber Crime Detective for the FBI or Homeland Security, or getting a bachelors in Computer Science and then getting both Masters and PhD’s in both Computer Science and English Composition (while getting a shitload of certifications along the way, mind you). The first two, I am sorry to say, seem highly unlikely, the third seems too much of a byproduct of watching “The Matrix” (I can really relate to Agent Smith—from the first movie, not the sequels) and snippets of “NCIS” (come on, let’s be honest, what government agency would hire me?), whereas the latter seems only feasible if I don’t get board again and spend the next decade of my life in college. Although the latter seems more adapt to my personality of late (since I won’t have kids, nor will I get hitched), the question is what would I do with either degree? Probably teach (yeah, right—I am barely a competent tutor).

March 4th, 2010 – 2:00 AM PST – (Silent Existence)

2010-03-04T03:20:00.000-08:00

(It has come to this, eh? I am now using the crappy titles from my crappy shorts. What’s next? Use the title of a series that never took off? Oh, right.)

Some things never change—like my depression, an imagination I can control, an occupation I am proud to have, a sexual partner, an appendage I never wanted or this blog—while other things change to a degree that escape reasoning—like needing a passport to cross the Canadian border in a car. That last statement is not true. At least I don’t know if it is or not. I finally put in for vacation time at work (after the relentlessly harassment I took from those around me for not taking it last year; like I wanted to give the Enemy its money back—frakkin’ assholes!). Of course, like last year, I am feeling a severe degree of anxiety over what to do. I want to go to that lake I’ve been pining over for years, but after the shock of seeing Santa Cruz last March, I really can’t bring myself to go there. I’ll admit, the Olympics broadcasting from Vancouver the past two weeks did play a factor in reigniting my desires, along with the two wins in hockey (womens and mens), but something seems off. It is not even the distance—the journey is what really seems to be the motivating factor. Put the car into drive, crank up the iPod and go; hours upon hours to do nothing but think while driving for miles and miles—the distraction of the road. But then another part of me wouldn’t feel all so satisfied. I’d have to stop. Not just to sleep, but to write, and the ultimate irony, get stuck somewhere with writer’s block.

I haven’t written anything in a year. Correction, I haven’t written and completed anything in a year (if you think about it, I write all the time, and I don’t just mean this). At a deep level I feel that this week off would give me an opportunity to write a Masterpiece—yeah, let’s delve into that ego for a moment—one that is well overdue (in time for the launch of Apple’s iBooks store; a rather faulty deadline). I could blame my reading of Master’s works or my current reading of Lewis Black’s: “Me of Little Faith” (surprisingly much deeper in places than I think the author or publishing company had intended it to be) or the inability to depart from the film fantasy that permeates in my head. (All this time it still doesn’t go away—to add to it, Marcus returned to work awhile ago and then approached me last week about continuing the animation thing. He and some colleague working as the writers, artists and executive producers, and I would be in the capacity of Director, Animator and Producer. Being me I didn’t discount it immediately, however, I put a fear of the amount of work it would entail. Hopefully they’ll change their minds and I won’t have to think of it again. Meanwhile, I have to keep my fantasy occupied, which is about as draining as anything.) The truth is, for some stupid reason (that I can’t explain mind you), it won’t let go. I still believe I am bound for bigger things and that what I am doing right now is just a weigh-station on my path to accomplishing whatever it is. Then I have time to actual think about, especially when I have been ripped a new one (or two) by reality and I come to realize that isn’t going to happen. I’m working to become a Technician again, or at least start off by getting my A+ Certification (which a number of people seem to be discounting as nothing more than a waste of time), while fooling myself in believing I’ll either get a better job and then be able to get my Masters (in English and Computer Science, which is laughable within itself), OR, get a job that will allow me to have the free-time that will enable me to have a personal life. Yeah right!

The past few weekends, after I dropped that CCNA class, I have spent them doing nothing but cleaning and sleeping (oh and eating fatty Chinese food, which means I have to hit the treadmill more often). Except running a few errands I’ve put off for a while, I haven’t done much. Going on vacation seems like it would be a larger version of that, a preview of how truly boring and empty my life is. Without work or something to occupy my time, I have nothing. I really don’t know how to have fun or relax. I have thought about doing those oh-so girlie things I’ve wanted to do for so long. But lately, the more and more I look at myself, the less and less it seems like a good idea. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I want to do it—I’d like my hair a lighter colour (or styled at least) and my eyebrows to look properly feminine and my nails not to look like a car wreck—but the world of shit I would have to hear afterwards from a current occupant (God, that was a mistake) is not worth it.

The only “fun” I’ve had lately is working on computers and teaching someone else about them. A friend from class, N (this is not a nickname I am giving, I don’t know how to pronounce or spell her name properly), she seems very eager to learn and I like being around her. Don’t get ahead of me—it is not like that and I doubt it would ever be. Strange as it may sound, helping someone else get off the “shit-heap” just seems rewarding at some level. Part of me believes she could make a good Tech, she has the drive of not giving up (even if she does get stoned quite a bit). (I don’t know, maybe I should go into tutoring.)

There are probably two things I could do over my break if I decide not to drive anywhere. Build Mary’s computer and learn to sew. I’m more inclined to do the former than the latter, but I know Mary, she’ll probably make some other excuse and that sewing machine has been collecting dust in my trunk and I certainly could use a few new skirts and blouses.

February 25th, 2010 – 9:09 AM PST – (Slate)

2010-02-25T09:10:00.000-08:00

Perhaps I should name this blog the monthly distortions, that seems to be the only time I ever get around to writing something. Perhaps not. It is too late rename this work. It is what it is. (Yeah, that’s a great way to start an entry typing it in many I end it.)

There are days I wish I could just wipe the slate clean. I wish I could put everything behind me, pull the strings from my tapestry and start a new. Once I got on my own I thought that’s what would happen, as I did when I came out, as I did when I became Keira, as I did on many decisions and actions that followed, until last summer. Blaming the Old Man will accomplish nothing. I made the decision. I am the one to blame. I’ve made a great deal of bad decisions I thought were for a greater good, only to find out they were for anything but. (Like right now. I should be studying for the test in my A+ class, rather I find myself typing this.)

I’ve been sleeping more than before—depression mostly. A clean state is what I strive for, but I know will never happen. My desires just keep fading away—I can’t rely on myself, I know that. In three years I will be thirty and nearly two decades in Delusional and, if my status in life doesn’t change, six years at the enemy. The only release I can find is if that nightmare of the bladed assailant comes true.

January 21st, 2010 – 11:07 AM PST – (FIVE THINGS)

2010-01-21T12:44:00.000-08:00

Before I start my ceaseless diatribe of boundless depression, I would like to take a pause and a moment for Tao:

365 Day – January 21 – No. 21 – Skills

Zither, chess, book, painting, sword.
These symbolize classical skill.

There was once a wanderer who cared nothing for fame. Although he had many chances for position, he continued to search for teachers who could help him master five things : zither, chess, book, painting, and sword.

The zither gave him music, which expressed the soul. Chess cultivated strategy and a response to the actions of another. Books gave him academic education. Painting was the exercise of beauty and sensitivity. Sword was a means for health and defense.

One day a little boy asked the wanderer what he would do if he lost his five things. At first the wanderer was frightened, but he soon realized that his zither could not play itself, the chess board was nothing without players, a book needed a reader, brush and ink could not move on their own accord, and a sword could not be unsheathed without a hand. He realized that his cultivation was not merely for the acquisition of skills. It was a path to the innermost part of his being.

---Deng Ming-Dao

Who says a little Dharma doesn’t go a long way? Don’t worry, this isn’t of conversion nor do I plan on trying to convert people (although I’m sure I have mentioned Taoism before). I bring this up today as a means of cleansing. The past few weeks I have been trying to bring myself to posting another video blog. I went to the UNR library and I did shoot myself giving a Foamy style rant (or as cynical as one might be narrating about one’s self discovery). Afterwards, unlike the first one, I didn’t immediately go home and edit it I just went home, set my laptop in my office and went to bed. The next day, I returned to edit it but was too tired from work to lay any groundwork. So on my days off I attended to it.

Not easy to say the least. In the start of it, I sort of made an ass of myself showing off that I was dressed in a pencil-skirt and my advancement since the last video and at a number of points made references to Sci-Fi and Wild Child (who I recently deleted from my life literally and figuratively—but that’s a story for another time). Unlike the first one where I was filled with august brio, over producing it to make it presentable for the non existent mass audience I imagine all far too often, I found myself cutting down to maintain one point and for one audience (or audience of one). As I watched it I knew it was over because in the first video I was still holding one to who I thought I had to be where as the second video showcased who I am and who I am becoming. However, posting it for the “world”, beyond a close friend and myself would remove how personal it felt. For a while now I’ve wanted to do a mass-up music video of Travis’ “Love Will Come Through” (from the 12 Memories album) and the characters of Number Six/Caprica Six (Tricia Helfer the sexy Cylon, which I adore) and Gaius Baltar—I can see all the cuts in my head—but I decided against it, not just because the amount of work it would entail (Christ that’s a lot of hours of Battlestar Galatica to go through for a nearly four minute song) but it probably wouldn’t turn out how I wanted it to or it would but wouldn’t be received how I expected in my head. Also, it would feel like a waste to do all that work for nothing, which I have been seriously disappointed over the years with what I was going after—I poured my heart out and nothing came of it. (Then why do this? Which I ask all the time. Because a blog and Microsoft Word are still immensely cheaper in the long run than therapy.)

Not long after, I set it aside and moved on focusing on the agenda ahead of classes, only to be sidetracked when I discovered finding skirts and dresses for my off-shape was a bit of a crapshoot. I had been complaining and going on a number of shopping trips over the past few months, but with little success (except for a purple number Cindy chose for me), and even when I did find something in my size, the patterns were just not me—I’m not one for drawing attention (ironic but I’ll address that momentarily). So after a series of running around, I found myself purchasing a sewing machine and signing up for sewing classes [added to the other three (A+, Cisco and MCSE certification) courses I’m taking], adding more my credit card bill next month (which is funny, one of my New Years Resolutions was to cut back on expenses). Then, in that same weekend, I also installed Windows 7 on my father’s computer, upgrading it from Vista. The ease of installation, deep down, made more than willing to get it for myself, finally deciding NOT to buy a new system and just install it on my MacBook Pro (as disturbing as the thought might have been).

Then another week of work started as I waited for the software I ordered to arrive. When I woke for work that week I felt good. I’m not sure why I just did—I thought it might have been the new under layer of concealer for my beard. As the week progressed, slowly as it gets this time of year, I found myself pondering as I do, a thought process that carried over to now (mere minutes before I have to go back to bed before going back to work tonight). I found it odd how all those things I thought I couldn’t be as Kevin (cook, techie, and girl) were now coming back into my life as Keira, and what I thought I had to be just doesn’t seem that important anymore. I put my life, myself on hold because I was afraid and was ignorant to believe I couldn’t be those things as a trans.

When Windows 7 arrived, when I had the free time required to install it, it didn’t seem the burden I thought it would be. I did my nails and read pages on dresses and recipes on my iMac as I sat across from my MacBook. Later that day, getting ready with my purse and iPhone in had didn’t seem out of place. And then having to re-sign up for a class on it, working my polished fingertips seemed nothing more than the norm. My shopping trip entailed makeup, software and food.

But after the Old Man truly showed his support by asking me if he wanted him to call me his daughter. I doubt he’d remember my name, but I was touched. And then I started to cry, from the sentiment and a headache that just won’t go away (no matter how much coffee I drink or Tylenol I take). The feelings of doubt I use to have in myself are not gone, but how far I have come and how far I’ll go, I feel more optimistic. (Hearing about Amanda Simpson the transgender Technical Advisor to the President has played a part, I’ll admit.) I guess that side trip in the last decade was a necessary detour for me to learn who I am and a logic the younger me truly neglected—with seven billion people on Earth and trillions of dimensions of personality, there is more than enough room a conservative minded transgendered techie (hell, today I just made a small makeup pouch for my notebook case).

I’ll admit, I am looking forward to returning to my native realm of technology—I probably won’t come out with any technological marvels as I use to dream about as a younger tran, but beats retail. What I am not looking forward to are those endless debate techies tend to get in over the latest-greatest, what we should have and what we will have (that never come to fruition), a pass time I guilty of being a part of (such as the current argument of real keyboards versus virtual keyboards). However, now days, while the boys go on at nausea about some never market gadget, I can always excuse myself to fix my face or day dream about a new pair of boots as I gaze at glare from painted fingertips.

December 25th, 2009 – 3:46 AM PST – (2010: Neither an Odyssey or a step through the Gate)

2009-12-25T06:00:00.000-08:00

(Note: to get the title, either watch the sequel to “2001: A Space Odyssey” or watch Season Four of “StarGate SG-1”)

For the sake or argument and most likely next week I won’t be around to acknowledge the double turn, plus being stuck in this mood, I figured I should give my fractured commentary now. Normally I would same brand new year, same old bullshit, and this is also the start of a new decade it would infer that I would say: “Brand New Decade, Same Old Bullshit”. I don’t think so.

Looking back at the 2000’s, I have a long list of regrets. (Big surprise, right?) Apart from the larger superficial ones which I have gone on at great nausea about (i.e. not being a filmmaker, not being a published, not being noticed, not being honest with myself sooner, not coming out sooner and so on and so forth), the smaller ones are what have been occupying my mind—since I’ve come to learn that the smaller moments are what make up life, not the great and grandiose (these are great for movies and history books, but nothing else).

For starters, 2002—you’d think I’d start with 2000 and 2001, but most of my regrets from those times stem from not knowing what I wanted. Back then, Diana (or Angel as I have referred to her) was the first woman to approach me for something—anything actually. At the time we were in a Globalization class, through ego or laziness (take your pick), I chose to do an Anti-Globalization project, the fake trailer of “Chaotic Century” (the precursor to “Dystopia”) and the Michael Bay-esque script that went with it. I didn’t want to do any real work and that seemed like the only option to me. Then when class ended, she came up to me. That had never happened before. I was awestruck and excited at the same time—not to mention, a bit cocky, neglecting my waistline and thinking I might have a chance with her.

Over the course of those months I would make an ass of myself to show I liked her (instead of coming out and saying it, which I’m rather certain she knew). I’d run into her time to time in the Quad, doing even more stupid things like changing my path so I’d accidentally run into her. Those creepy moments aside, there were two that stuck out to me the most that might have sparked something else. One time she invited me to a Anti-War Rally, being non-political and not caring whether the war ended tomorrow or WWIII broke out (yeah, I was a real nihilist in those days), I replied: “If that’s you’re thing.” As to say, “Sorry crazy hippy lady, I’m going to join the young republicans to get W. reelected a few more terms,” even though a few hours earlier I had just seen Michael Moore’s documentary “Bowling for Columbine” (2003). Then the other moment was a year later outside our respected English department, she standing in awe of the mid-day light, a glow capturing her beautiful auburn highlighted hair and radiating her skin in the waves of the wind caring her cute sundress (something I never saw her wear until that day). I was always certain she was waiting for someone else, but she broke a conversation and was staring off in my direction. I was too preoccupied by speaking to a professor post my Bill Hicks/Denis Leary-esque performance, which I am sure she heard from the distance to the classroom. The many realities that occupied that space-time are ever endless and I didn’t bother to jump through any one of them. Only in my deepest dreams I crossed that bridge.
Then in the same year, 2004, amongst the “Idlewild” fiasco and before my exit of college, there was another lady who tickled my fancy, Jenny (I haven’t really mentioned her before, nor did I create a nickname—Jenny was her name, and no she was nothing like the character from “Forrest Gump” (1994)). She was a friend in the Poetry class I was taking; a nice girl and I was a crass moron. (One day we were playing around, drawing on one of the desks—she had drawn a kitten and I had borged it up. Machines on the mind and the soul I suppose.) For some reason, despite my character flaws, she seemed interested in me (at least I think). A few months later when I was hanging around the library she seemed happy to see me. Part of me thinks she might have been one of those generally nice people, then another part of me beliefs it could have been more (the basis for Rachel in “The Next Counter” had to come from somewhere). I often wondered what might have been had I remembered which coffee shop she invited me to, the poetry reading she wanted me to attend.

After her, of course, there was Shawn at the Media Centre and the slow dance Sadie (aka Jade). Shawn was lesbian and had no physically interest in me, but wanted to meet someone she was affiliated with—a woman and a business contact, both of which mildly religious. I was on my atheistic kick at the time, going out of my way to seem exceedingly blasphemous. Even to the point of saying: “I’d consider Satanism… because you get more with Satan… but then I would have to believe in God.” Sufficed to say, a many bridges met Diablo’s winds, which became ironic when I started hanging out with the Goths, post “Blackened World” where Sadie would come into my life. Sadie, the happy-go-lucky spark in a sea of blackness that everyone wanted to be or be a part of stacked a special place in my heart. Even with the strikes she had been thrown against her, she seemed to manage a means to survive. One night at one of Vile-wan and Onyx’s not so successful parties, she and I shared a dance, and had it not been for the self-consciousness brought on by the Fatter-Ass that was there, a kiss might have been shared. It was strange, when I looked at her, a number of alternates never fired in my head, except for the possibility of a pity fuck (yeah, yeah, yeah, thinking with the wrong head).

There are a few scattered others that come to mind, but not all of my regrets are would be relationships that never took. As I have mentioned before, my identity played a major role. During the shoot of “Blackened World” inside of 1099, during one of the many breaks, I found myself wondering the floor. The portraits on the walls of the drag performers and the couples had me in agony, bouncing back to the 1990’s with trailers for “To Wong Foo” and “The Birdcage” and the screening of “Hedwig”. As the girls were joking about making over Jimmie (Groggy-Ego) for the club instead of me, I became rather jealous; even more so a few months later when I shot the Gothic Drag Show for Onyx and Vixxen. Whether I had been thinner or was redundant (although, Lord knows I would’ve put the effort to be that way), had I been honest I might have been part of the fun instead of loathing it—going from a P!nk impersonation to some PussyCat Dolls, a sprinkle of Spice Girls revival (Ginger Spice, look out) to a Lady GaGa now. Instead a lie seemed more appropriate, which apparently I wasn’t that good at maintaining.

Other regrets that stem from that era were not trying to properly support myself (i.e. quitting jobs or not getting them), not being bold to go after what I wanted, hell, not knowing what I wanted, but I’ve said those before. But, if you have followed any of this, the commonality is rather the same; not having a personal life is the gravest of my mistakes. Mistake Day was one thing, but what caused Mistake Day was the very thing that caused the rest of my chaos and self-destruction, leaving me confused and uncertain of what I truly want (outside of my ascension).

One could argue that all of these were Kevin’s regrets and that in this new decade I could truly Keira’s life, I could truly start a new in the wake of Kevin’s ashes. But if I am her, no longer bonded by he, why do I have to finish what he started to gain my freedom, to gain my identity, especially if I were the persona under the performance?

What I have learned and hopefully will come in handy for the next decade (which hopefully won’t end in me writing another series of regrets in 2019 before the start of 2020). I know I can’t work towards nothing. Neither the Shakespeare class nor the acting class were towards anything, in the eyes of my subconscious, thus I didn’t see the point of doing them. For the same reasons I am not an academic or an intellectual are the same reasons I can never conform to the laziness of my fellow Reichmart employees, I can’t do something for nothing, I have to feel like I am doing something for a cause even if it is a meaningless one at that. (Which is incredibly ironic when you consider this blog. No one reads it, but this is my therapy, therefore it serves “a” purpose. Christ, if I had figured that out before I committed mistake day, or hell changed my major a dozen times, I’d probably have a Masters in Computer Science by now. Then again, I, as in Keira, might not exist outwardly and would be constantly going through a mental meltdown or would’ve been arrested for stealing panties at the Tumbler Zen. Who knows?) I am a more behind the scenes type of Gal, I don’t like being in a spotlight (ironic considering the blog, but let’s not dwell). If I do try to pursue a motion dream of mine, which knowing me, I might (hey, LA/Venice Beach is a hell of lot warmer than here or Seattle in the winter, and I am sick and fucking tired of snow and I don’t want to have to buy an SUV to get around—another winter and I know I will), at least I know what areas to focus (screenwriting, of course, but editing, maybe a little cinematography and directing)—hobby work, nothing that would take away from a day job in IT. Education, I may continue it, I may not, depends on what I need—probably more in the computer and technology fields as the years go on. Writing, once or twice a year I get inspired by something, but I’ll acknowledge it as a hobby, nothing more. My ascension, hopefully I’ll finish it within the next decade—no more beard, balance hormones, bigger boobs, and no more Mr. Unnecessary. And finally, my personal life, I hope to gain a more active one, so much to the point where I meet someone special (woman, man or tran—who knows?) or some special people in my life. I’ll admit, I’d like to get married at some point, be it a real or fake ceremony, but most important I’d like to be happy. In a decade, I may regret not accomplishing anything, let’s face it, it won’t be that devastating, but I don’t want to regret not living. As Auntie Mame would say: “Life's a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!” (Okay, not my customary, “Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying” but close enough.)

November 22nd, 2009 – 9:31 AM PST – (Antiquated Ambition)

2009-11-22T10:03:00.000-08:00

It seems I find myself returning to rather that overbearing Ouroboros of my future and my past. My future, what will become of me as I stand on this current path; my past, the result of a path I followed; then another equation enters the mix, the alternates. Oh, that’s no surprise, my obsession with alternate realities would breed a rather penitence for an alternate life (in fact, as I write this a number of them come to my mind). It is the one’s ahead of me that seem the most allusive. Deep down, no matter how much I want to turn it off, the grandiose is one that topsides, a reality where one discover leads to another and so on and so forth and then I become something more than I am. In parallel with that is the one dream I have held onto longer, longer than the desire of being decorated by acclaim or wealth, or both. Then it occurs to me, to get the great and grandiose dream, I would have to be a completely different person then I am now; a negative selling nature that is completely beyond me. (Being sick the past couple of days, outside of the grind of the enemy, has given a bit of insight.)

At my core I am person who prefers to do work, but I hate to self promote. I’d rather someone else do the promotion or word of mouth. That’s why the book felt anti-climactic, that’s why social networking sites are not for me, that’s why this isn’t updated as often. I can’t force myself to be that ever-vigilant salesman. I’m not lazy—my amount of effort should attest to that. I just can’t promote. Ironic if you think about—I want grandeur but I cannot go after it.

That’s why I can’t be an actor, that’s why I probably would never have ended up a filmmaker. And if I have to be down right honest, I probably won’t be that acclaimed of an author or a playwright, or noticed. Desire is part of the equation but action is of greater proportions. That doesn’t mean I have decided to quit writing, if I didn’t I would lose whatever grasp on reality I have, but I should expect anything from. Since I paid for those ISBN numbers, I’ll continue to self publish my works. I could hope something will come on that, but realistically I must admit the hobby. I am not admitting defeat, self imposed or otherwise, just weighing my past in respect of my action in accordance to my future.

When it comes to dreams and realities, getting a job that doesn’t wear me out is the goal, not for merely the practical (who wants to be thirty and doing a job for teenagers?) but also to pursue the ONE desire. If I am only granted the ONE then I shall choose the one that has driven my entire motions. I don’t have to explain. If you have read this and you know me then you know which ONE. I could hope it would lead to others, but I have never parted from it. Maybe it has always been that way. Maybe in the multi-verse of other me’s, I was to be one to pursue and fall throw with it. In quantum mechanics from the very first day I had the thought it spawned a number of alternate realities, but isn’t that life is, a series of alternate realities? Alternate, Prime, or other I have to go with this ONE and accept it as mine. I may not have been set to be on the great mounds of Nazareth, but who truly is?

So I close with this thought… “What if you found a portal to a parallel universe… what if you could slide into a thousand different worlds… where it was same year and you were the same person… but everything else was different?”

November 19th, 2009 - 3:35 AM PST - (Anything but Subtle)

2009-11-19T09:05:00.000-08:00

The Enemy has cornered the market on my anxious subconscious. I don't go back to work for at least 16 hours and I'm waking up from a nightmare that mirrors my current reality far too well--too many fronts and too little time. Yesterday I signed up for three classes, that could be playing a part. If I had half a sack and just spend the next year finishing my efforts without too much interruption, but I know I won't because I would be at the mercy of more of the Old Man's bullshit.

His misogyny is another headache I am growing tired of. He has become more sexist and male stroking since I came out, and even more so since he moved in. I'll admit, it has given me an idea for another play--and to think I was going to give him his a couple ( fuck that). At some deep seeded fucked up level I think he believes this either a phase I am going through or if he pushes his masculine delusion around on a constant basis he'll force me back to pissing standing up--he has even gone as far as placing me in the "female" role when it comes to labour around this place (come to think of it, the lazy git did the same thing when I lives with him before--no wonder want nothing to do with him). Although, his persistence has convinced me to do something I put off (ironically "thanks" to him) at the beginning of last semester to put before the next--a minor makeover (hair and nails--If I was a real bitch, I would do it on his birthday but a week or two before classes should suffice).

After all is said and done, I have to focus on getting my life back because there is only so much at so many fronts that I can take. Something has gotta give, eventually. Either the Old Man will push me too far or something will happen at work that I'll be fired for, a Mistake Day that will make the previous one seem sitcom-esque in depiction.

November 17th, 2009 - 4:05 AM PST - (Jinx in Progress?)

2009-11-19T09:04:00.001-08:00

So despite what I said in my last entry, even though I didn't mention it there I find myself vaguely mentioning it in reality. Well fuck it. I'm returning to finish what I started eight going on nine years ago, a degree and certificates for networking and IT. I've been thinking about it for a while but haven't pursued it because I was hoping to be more prolific as a writer. Then I think of my past and realize I wasn't born into anything but glamourous and despite my dreams the reality I have to face, I may never be part of something in that grand scheme of achievement. I am not an intellectual by any stretch of the imagination and I well aware I am squandering a knack of mine in this shithole. Truth be told, I just didn't to spend a life in front of computers; however, I want a personal life and working here or hoping for greater things isn't going to grant me that. Like my employment with the Enemy I am swallowing my pride once again, but I don't think it is as bad, it is more like coming in a way--I don't know why.

November 12th, 2009 – 8:27 AM PST – (Wintertime Love)

2009-11-12T09:22:00.000-08:00

Part of me feels a bit guilty for not updating this as often as the title of this blog would imply; however, I’ve been focusing my writing energies on my personal work. Also, I have just been exhausted by life in general. Work, obviously. The Old Man, of course. But lately I’ve been tired by myself. After the two year anniversary at work I came to end of a serious of pride swallowing moments. I’m not mentioning what they were because I don’t want to jinx them—I’ve mentioned them here before and looking back I’ve seen the things I wanted to do and declared and never got around to it.

Now I am just getting around to a few of the desires I had. I am now getting around to getting rid of the excess. I wish I had started getting my beard removed, or the very least, had a fucking makeover (new hair, nails and so on). Looking at images of myself taking over the past couple of years, except for trimmed eyebrows, longer hair and better makeup control, my style hasn’t changed much nor has my face—I still looks masculine, in fact, I think my hairline has receded a little bit, although it is hard to tell from jpeg. I tried the hormonal replacement therapy through the Internet supplements, but after the swine flu and my temperature going to both lethal ranges I had to put it on hold. Eventually I’ll have to a doctor and get the proper shot therapy.

As for the acting class, I stopped attending it because I got tired of the weekend bullshit at UNR, but I also got tired of the bullshit from the professor. She kept stating I spend too much time in my head and that I lacked the imagination of an actor. Right, I lack the imagination of an actor because I’m a writer; I have spent entire lifetimes in my head. As I sat there week after week, as I sit here minute after minute, days after days, I contemplate the life I am after and those I have wanted to love.

Despite imagining Wild Child, Angel, Tiger Eyes, or Jenny dancing in the snow as Winona Ryder as Kim in “Edward Scissorhands” (1990), I believe it is me that I dream of in that whimsical moment. Of course, in my head (and at one point I have written this down, or at least Kevin did a few years ago and I rewrote a months ago), I see it playing as two lovers meeting the snow (in similar fashion as Kate Beckinsale and John Cusack in “High Fidelity” (2001); Christ, I have scene too many movies) playing to The Doors song “Wintertime Love” (1968 – “Waiting for the Sun”). In the fantasy, the two are running to one another. In other variations, one is running to a stationary other. The question is, if I am either party, be they masculine or feminine, which one am I? Perhaps with time I’ll find out the answer.

My Irish counterpart wants me to write another children’s book. Of course, I agreed because, let’s face it, what else do I have to do. But after the publishing of Auntie Carefree , it felt a tad anti-climactic. Because I spent so much on those ISBN numbers I’ll more than likely publish my plays—together, why spread them out, maybe make some personal trailers for them (I thought about it for Auntie Carefree, I just couldn’t find a good looking castle model to film). To make those trailers, however, since I don’t have a crew, I am probably going to have to figure out how to shoot that shit by myself, which means at some point, for practice I will probably have to shoot a few vlog entries (oh god, that will go well, as we know how the last one went). I’m good looking enough now (not a fat-ass) that I can star in them myself I’ll just to be practical about it and forget about being too cinematic. (Yeah, and let’s see when I actually go through it or not.)

This process of ascension seems to be taking me one different path after another, a number of consensuses I didn’t realize necessary to make and discoveries about myself that I didn’t know were there. Some part of me (and I can’t believe I am actually typing this) wants to be someone’s mother, another part of me wants to be someone’s wife, live in a big house and so forth. I don’t know, odd fantasies or percussive tendencies.

October 16th, 2009 - 9:49 AM PDT - (Ubu and the end of silence)

2009-10-16T09:45:00.000-07:00

Apart from my normal loathing, I have had very little to report. So I thought a change of pace of nothing could come in the form of a paper I wrote for my acting class. Enjoy!

“UBU THE KING”

Going into the play, apart from the many warnings I received before hand, I had no idea what to expect. The description in the seasonal directory and the program gave nothing more than what the play was about and a brief history of its French origins. (Granted, this being the digital age I could have easily looked up considerable volumes of information via a Google search from my iPhone, I opted not.) All I was told that it was vulgar and carried an excessive use of profanity, which can be something as tame as someone saying “Damn” at one point to a David Mamet play where the “F” word takes place of punctuation. The history behind the play’s first performance invoking a riot seemed a bit pretentious. After all, being in Delusional, NV, a land of casinos, trailer parks, prostitutes and homemade drugs, and this being a college campus that serves alcohol at its football games, the worst thing I could imagine happening was a cellphone going off during a quiet moment. Upon my arrival, being escorted to my seat by a performer/usher in circus clown makeup, the sight of a dilapidated stage and the plastic sheeting, my eighth row seating didn’t seem like a bad choice.

Vanity aside, what unfolded immediately deflated any negative expectations. Right out the gate from the first uttering of “Shit” (in its various pronunciations) to breaking the forth wall midstream (to have a gameshow, no less) embodied a level of commitment one might not expect from something, at its core, is really just a loose interpretation of MacBeth (if performed by monkeys on acid). Though the original work was created in 1896, as the program states: “It has been updated, revised, devised, and improvised… for this time and place.” But from what I saw, this incarnation of “Ubu” lives beyond current cultural standards. Ubu and Ma Ubu come off as the Cranstons from the “Honeymooners”, Captain MaNure decorated in similar vein of Heath Ledger’s Joker bares a rather heavy lisp al a “Yabble Dabble”, and Mitch Bottoset play roles ranging from King Wenceslaus to Frigidaire Crotch and complains about being killed in every scene by cursing variations of the “F” word including Frak from the 2003 Sci-Fi Channel revamp of Battlestar Galactica, as well as the rest of the cast seemed to flaunt hillbillies, a minor “Brokeback Mountain” undertone and former Republican Vice Presidential candidate Sarah Palin.

The cast took the play’s Théâtre de l'Absurde (Theatre of the Absurd) and surrealistic origins to heart as any sketch comedy troupe by completely dismissing reality (in fashion of Monty Python or The Kids in the Hall). One would think the period of the play is that of the latter half of the Napoleonic Wars, however, it is clear that the period is nothing more than excused device. Despite inside kidding around, which occurs quite frequently on stage (especially when the lead ‘Aukai Almeida refers to a fellow cast member by his name rather than his character), shows a great deal of trust throughout the play amongst the actors, where it be one of the play’s (many) food fights or a faux sex scene (a parody of Marilyn Monroe’s “Happy Birthday Mr. President”), all exhibiting the many sides of this of a group that is willing to go over the top and then, go even further (if such a thing is possible).

As stated before, improvisation and parody played a strong role, as well as maintaining a “nothing is sacred” attitude. The war on terror, the current administration to various parodies of both popular and regional culture—such as “The Last Supper” and most people’s impressions of Wal-Mart customers—but there is one victim the play doesn’t let off the hook, the play itself (or namely the production). At one point during the third act, as Ubu is leading his people to war, declaring his “glorious” victory over MaNure and the Russians, an audience member burst up and started verbally assaulting the play, calling it an attack on the war and unpatriotic. Though symbolic her revolt and subsequent storming out might have been real had it not been staged; the length of time she spent yelling and an hour in the run time remove the possibility of it being more than an act. A play made up of merry mischief makers that involved their audience as much as they could as often as they could, with many warnings going around, considering the setting and the location of the production, it is difficult to believe that such a outcry would. However, that is the charm of this production. Although it would have been considered a genuine outburst elsewhere, it seems to be an obvious poke at the controversy of the play itself and the excessive moral high grounds that have been instated through political correctness, censorship and focus groups. Since controversy then (1896) and now (2009) seem to go hand in hand in produced work, this set up only serves to reinforce the idea, it is only a show. And, had it been a legitimate outburst, it would show the professional stamina of the cast, living the adage, “The show must go on.”

All in all, I enjoyed the UNR Repertory production of “Ubu the King.” Through the energy and dedication of the cast, they were able to take the material and bring to life a work that both embodied of theatre and of comedy—something that speaks to you but doesn’t take itself too seriously. Had the play been going on longer I would highly recommend it to anyone who needs a good laugh because with what is going on these days, I’m sure we could all use a good laugh.

September 23rd, 2009 – 1:37 AM PDT – (“A Responsible Life Inside My Head”)

2009-09-23T07:04:00.001-07:00

I had intended to continue my commentary about Reality versus Expectations—an argument maintained by internal monologues—however, since I couldn’t live up to my own expectations—as with many endeavors, be they personal or otherwise, I didn’t see the necessity of trying to continue a state of mind long since past. After a class I had last week—an acting class of all things—the thought of an internal life was abruptly brought to my attention (then again, I suppose if you know me five minutes you know my life story).

Living inside my head comes natural since that is the only placed I ever lived—I can control it (to a certain degree). In the world beyond it, reality has its own degrees of inconsistency. On top of that, I have deprived myself a life and my youth by doing the right thing all of the time.

I spent my entire life being responsible for everyone else… How could I possibly know what I want?

August 27th, 2009 – 11:59PM PDT – YEAR TWO FINALE – (Expectation V. Reality pt.1)

2009-08-31T08:18:00.000-07:00

So another year comes to a close, while a new one is about to unfold. This has been turbulent one, to say the least and if my life were a TV Series I’m not sure it would be renewed without a substantial summary of what’s to come. Last season, a number of plotlines opened up while a few old ones came to a close. This season, folks, boasts some great potential on the horizons; the reconciliation of old wounds, new career outlooks, new works, new pathways of Delusions, new romantic possibilities, some surprise outcomes and, you asked for it, that long awaited makeover of mine. So stay tuned, Series Three of “The Daily Distortions” starts….

Okay, that’s enough fooling around. Let’s put this on front-street—my life is not a TV series, not a mini-series, serial or a movie, or even a videoblog on Youtube (although I have to admit, that Aussie Chick, Natalie Tran, on the Community Channel is kind of funny). I have to admit relieved but also elated by my blogging performance. Year One I wound up with nearly two hundred entries (even though the count only shows 120, bare in mind a number of them are doubles and triples within days, especially the ones from Myspace), whereas this year I only managed muster up fifty entries—long entries, mind you, just not the quantity I’m use to. Granted, it shows I was more occupied by other activities and writing other works, it just seems I didn’t meet my own expectations.

(Note: I had more to go with this, but do to the utter tardiness of this post, I figured I should make this a multi-part series and post now.)

August 22nd, 2009 – 3:37 AM PDT – (Driftwood)

2009-08-28T00:05:00.000-07:00

It has been two days since I left a meeting of Nevada filmmakers (The Nevada Film Alliance)—I thought I was the only one (not really)—sufficed to say, my feelings are a bit mixed now that I’ve had time to think it over. After the meeting I was on cloud-nine, ready to jump in with both feet and kick some ass. I started thinking of plotlines for new shorts, a feature, and even thought of contacting Groggy-Ego to set up a meeting for a new project. However, when I started going over in my head, that feeling subsided—I am not the same person I was when doing the film thing before. To put it bluntly, I am not Kevin.

The difference comes down to who I see myself as and who I want to see myself as—even though the invitation was for Kevin, I went as Keira (in a new evening look I am really proud of, by the way). Although I kept up with the boys—dropping knowledge here and there—the differences between Keira Lewis and Kevin Lewis boil down to as follows: I only showed up with my purse not my laptop; I didn’t show up with business cards, I let them take down my information if they asked for it; I didn’t try to shove an objective down their throats, I only listened—which some seemed ambitious, some seemed lofty, and some in-between; I did, however, pawn myself off as a professional through a few vague frames of diction, which worked but brought me outside of myself because I realized I was repeating myself (my inner “Zelig” (1983) came out). Compared to those I was around, I was nowhere in their league; they are professionals and I am just a feeble-minded-amateur (it hurts to admit, but it is the truth).

This focal point was an awakening and I don’t regret going—although I do regret missing the writer’s group for the umpteenth time (I’ll try again next month)—it was worth the time out because it taught what I was capable of and what I would have to do if I wanted to pursue that life again, the wounds that would open to prosper. Between the Old Man’s illness (which is a long story within itself) and maintaining my ascension, that would be too much to endure. If they decide to seek me out, fine, then I participate, but at this point I won’t delve any further. The only old wound I must open is not from a creative standpoint, but mourn of acknowledgment.

Anyway, that in mind, time to return to the plays, the children’s stories, and (god help me) the acting classes (my new hobby).

July 25th, 2009 - 2:22 PM PDT - (Buntzen Lake - Chapter One - Idlewild)

2009-07-29T05:40:00.000-07:00

If you can for a moment, think back to world of 2004. George W. Bush was still President and trying to remain that way, not if Michael Moore had anything to say about it; Zach Braff, the guy from “Scrubs” was receiving immense praise for his directorial debut “Garden State”, and apparently Jude Law was in five or six movies that year. Seems a bit cinema centric I would imagine. Well it was. Back then that's all that mattered to me. Not college, not a job, but the movies and that's all that mattered to me. So like any film fanatic I watched more movies than was expected of me. I watched independent, foreign, mainstream, value bin, anything I could get my hands on. After a while I moved onto making my own films—original works, skits and even a fan film.
By the end of summer of 2004 came around, I found myself creating short films nonstop, nonstop, I hoped, to the path of creating a feature, or the very least an impressive demo reel. Unfortunately with a certain short I had let own my inner Kubrick, excessively requiring take for a rather insignificant storyline that only became two month ordeal for twelve minutes. I had to make up for stealing my actor's summer—the lies I told to keep them with me beyond reproach. I needed help to fix my colossal blunders.
Fortunately, I did have a fellow filmmaking contact (or rival, depending on how you look at it). A year prior, a friend in college had introduced me to a rather hyper and unfocused individual, Rich Ashby. He was trying to make films of his own and had begun work on a horror film. In his mid twenties, he was more of a mini-Mark Borchadt (the subject of “American Movie: The Making of Northwestern” (1999)). He seemed very pie in the sky and too nice for film. So I used him whenever I could. Kindhearted, he always seemed willing to help other artists—“It was the Christian thing to do” he would often say. But a project of his would always fill me with angst since it seemed to be getting off the ground more than mine. Out of spite and jealousy I tried to out due him before he completed his ghost film. “Idlewild”, my wayward opus, was to be a woman who is killed by her boyfriend and given a second chance before he repeated murdering her with another woman. Surreal jogging, psychological distractions and a “surprise” ending—a gimmick from beginning to end. I thought a score would save my falsies.
Throughout my production of “Idlewild” as well as a few other works I collaborated with him, he mentioned working a local musician. Rich was great at exaggerating his contacts, individuals more confident than either of us. I imagined the musician to be a guy with a guitar and kazoo. Rich would go on about his contact, that the mystery man was part of a band. The one-man band image came to mind. But music seemed to be a key to fixing my mess and Rich wouldn't shut up so I figured what did I have to lose. So one day unannounced I showed up at Rich's demanding he introduce me to his music contact.
What I found was more than a Kazoo.
TO BE CONTINUED....

July 24th, 2009 - 1:11 PM PDT - (Buntzen Lake – Part One)

2009-07-24T13:15:00.000-07:00

Prologue

After all is said and done, I am not sure whether this is a story worth telling or not. I am not sure if anyone will be reading this or not. Unlike my previous attempts, this will be an off the cuff telling without the flash or the gimmicks I usually implore. This is an honest story about rather negligible times. However, unlike most of my work which are cries for attention or forms of therapy, this is an acknowledgment to those who did nothing wrong, other than knowing during that time and for the whirlwind that my intersection caused.

Five months of effort acknowledged five years past, I am sure there is a profound statement in there somewhere. Who knows?

*******

As the air conditioner swirls across my supple chest, chilling to the chest plate, another time of year comes to mind. Flashing sirens atop patrol cars rolled across the frozen pavement, running straight into the fifteenth take. A loud: “CUT,” would soon be accompanied by a: “FREEZE!” an order that could simply be carried out by the subzero temperatures on Northern Nevada January morning. Not the first time that I heard a Miranda Warning for shooting illegally within Delusional. Proof positive that you’re not really a director until the cops show up a dozen times.

It was January 2005, one month before the conclusion of this herring journey. Out in the freezing cold I, when I went by Kevin, had convinced six people to bare the elements for a near apocalyptic shot for a medium, despite performing it for a couple years at that time, knew nothing about. However, as Kevin the boy, I suppose I was much better at lying then I am as Keira girl. Then again, what's there to lie about these days—I'm not trying to pretend I a something I”m not.

That was near the conclusion, our true story starts in Late August/Early September 2004.

TO BE CONTINUED....

June 3rd, 2009 – 7:02 AM PDT – (Part 4)

2009-06-03T08:40:00.000-07:00

Previously on “Daily Distortions”, a mental crisis brought me to the end of the “Daily Distortions”… or so I thought. However, if you know me and you realize that a movie mindset is part of mine, then you know a firm belief I hold… The end is never the end if the words “Return”, “Revenge”, “Rise”, “Last” or “Final” are in the title. Don’t believe me, think about the “Final Destination”, “Final Fantasy”, “Indiana Jones”, or “The Terminator” franchise, especially “The Terminator” franchise, which is what caused me to write this entry.

As a side note, the reason I haven’t been writing this, I’ve just been spending more of my energy writing plays and starting my book, meanwhile publishing the children’s book, prepping for my hormone therapy and finding a job outside of retail. Sounds like I have a great deal on my plate, it is not all smashed together, but the D-Day at the enemy took me by surprise and made me realize I had to get off of my ass and stop whining. So during the interim the posts on this are going to be less frequent—probably once a month as opposed to once a week (or daily as the title implies), but fuck it, this is my blog and I can take my sweet time and talk about whatever the fuck I want.

That in mind, back to Terminator. Last week I saw “Terminator: Salvation” (2009), T4 or Terminator: Franchise Killer (or at least the fanboys it will be). If you’ve been following it online or any of the news then it is being considered the worst in the franchise (or just as bad as “Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines” (2003)), some have even made it out as another unnecessary sequel. On the other side of the coin, many loved it for the action, but wouldn’t call it good. And finally some have said that Terminator was never meant to be a franchise, it should never have gone past “Terminator 2: Judgment Day”.

Another route might have worked better. After being reacquainted myself with “Stargate: SG-1” (1997-2007) and thinking about how it was based on a movie (“Stargate” (1994)) and then had its run and then spawned two films of its own (“Stargate: Ark of Truth” (2007) and “Stargate: Continuum” (2008)) as well as other spin-offs [which I’ll sidenote, but won’t go into “Stargate: Atlantis” (2004-2009), “Stargate: Infinity” (2004), “Stargate: Universe” (October 2009- ) and “Stargate: Project Twilight” (2010)]. Had this been an alternate reality, had Terminator functioned in a franchise such as that, for instance after T2, have “The Sarah Connor Chronicles” for a few seasons and then bookending the franchise with T3, I think it would stood stronger then how showing the war and T4—which was basically a retarded version “Battlestar: Galactica” (2003-2008) except with the Terminators instead of the cylons. Because I think the “Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles” (2008-2009) worked because it was within the original premise of the film. Unfortunately, ending on a cliffhanger in the future (of course, the show was canceled, so that doesn’t really matter) and then the manner T4 presented itself, it is just not the franchise. And I do believe this story could hold, since it has been spawned in other mediums (graphic novels and books). Even though it was fun occasionally, in the end, it just felt like the wrong series.

Personally, I liked it in parts, but not in all, and part of me has to agree because it came off a bit like “The Matrix” (1999) sequels (“The Matrix: Reloaded” (May 2003) and “The Matrix: Revolutions” (November 2003))—the franchise was build around the chase, an unstoppable killer, and preventing human annihilation. Remove those elements it becomes something less. If the movie is about “The Matrix” and you’re showing the war and not spending time in the Matrix itself—where everything is supposed to be happening—then it is not “The Matrix”. Showing the war, showing John Connor in action is where it became less. Even though there was the subplot of someone almost being protected so the future could have its savior (which was the strongest part of the movie, oddly enough), the John Connor elements seemed badly tacked on as if it were part of another film. In fact, the only John Connor scene that actually seemed like a genuine part of the original story’s intentions was the scene that from the second trailer with the terminator and John are looking at one another, face-to-face. The rest of it doesn’t make any sense. I’ll be the first to admit I was actually looking forward to it since it was something that we had glimpses of in the franchise since day one for twenty-five years. However, it is an example of an amalgamation of too many bad elements strung together something through a bad story, a piss-poor script, terrible editing (i.e. bad choices in acting scenes), and horrific directing. I’ll admit, the action sequences were well executed, but mind numbing, even for a summer film. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting the movie to be “The Shawshank Redemption” (1994), nor would I ever claim the original films shared such caliber, but after last summer’s “The Dark Knight” (2008) (that also starred Christian Bale and his groggy voice) proved a summer movie could be action packed and also smart, this was a big let down.

At my level, I am not a fangirl, I don’t claim to be, but I am a Terminator fan which is why I am burning one of my blog entries to touch upon this. Where the “Back to the Future” Trilogy (1985, 1989, and 1990) opened my mind up to the fun adventure end of Sci-Fi which led me into “Red Dwarf” (1988-1999) the original “Star Wars” Trilogy (1977, 1980, and 1983), and the first six “Star Trek” (1979-1989), Terminator led me into the darker reaches of Sci-Fi—“Alien” franchise, “Predator” franchise, “Robocop” franchise, “Akira”, and so forth—and the judgmental systems such as “Sliders” (1994-1999) and Philip K. Dick works. I just find it sad, like it or not, that this probably be the end of the series. Even if there is another sequel or another series or god forbid a reboot, it won’t be Terminator.

What bothers me, last year I thought “The Dark Knight” (2008) would be my swan song to the summer and I am afraid it is for the good memories, for the bad ones, this would be that.

May 11th, 2009 - 12:00 AM PDT - (The Final Distortion)

2009-05-11T05:33:00.000-07:00

The title says it all, but I have to acknowledge it for what it is. I haven't been fired, but I came damn close to it tonight, and just as Mistake Day, I sat there being belittled by my own self pity, being brought face to face with the person I think I am versus the person I really am. The irony of it all; I was being berated for being too much of a geek, when in actuality I have moved away from that.

Just when I am feeling comfortable with being myself, feel comfortable expanding it seems life steps in to remind I am not part of the rest of the world. My birthday (26th or 30th, depending on how you look at it) was evidence of that. The one person who went out of her way to remember it, I was getting mad at merely because a problem from my past that I won't let go off and "one rule" have crippled me from loving her. My return to college fell apart because I was too afraid of my surroundings, too afraid to interact with others. Now this year and a half plus journey falls along the waste side because I am too disobedient--despite being on time and efficient. That's the way of the world, the world without me in it--the world outside my head.

Everyone seems to change and I'm stagnant. The world changed without me and will certainly continue to do so. In spirit of things in-threes (an Vaudevillian rule), I figured it was only fitting to end this (even though it is three months from being two years old). I know you're thinking once I finish this, I'll finish myself off, but let me assure you, I am too much of a coward to end my life, which is incredibly ironic since I got the job on the verge of suicide.

That Halloween '07, I had planned to meet my maker (or facsimile). After a night out with Sadie (i.e. Jade), hopefully one of drugs, drink and promiscuity, I was going to head to the top floor of the Anasari Building on the UNR (University of Nevada, Reno) campus and Freebird my way down; a glorious dive to the final depths of hell, my overcoat flapping in the wing. The impact to the cold concrete below would have snapped coupled with my grotesque weight would have snapped my neck in twine, putting an end to my wasted existence.

Unfortunately, life stepped in before Halloween and I wound up at the store, I wound up at the most relentless Walmart in Delusional. In spite of a few snags here and there, I wound up being good at what I was doing. In spite of gaining good physical health and coming out, I still managed to fuck it being myself, by letting things get to me, by losing my temper, by taking the fall, by not being part of anything, this is my resolve.

So what's the point in continuing? I'm not part of the world, why should I continue?

I am a failure at my passion, a failure as a writer, a failure as a lover (even though I never had one), failure as a son and a daughter, as a brother and a sister, failure as a trans, let's face it I'm failure all around as a human being merely because I am a living Norton Hornby character. Now I am a failure at Walmart--the Enemy has won. How pathetic is that?

In my closing words, if anyone has been reading this, I truly hope life turns out better for you than it has me.

LIFE LONG AND BE WELL!

April 30th, 2009 – 10:47 AM PDT – (Growth)

2009-04-30T11:21:00.001-07:00

Today, I just my rent for the apartment I have had for a year. The past couple of weeks I have been fixing the inside of my apartment, making it more “livable”. In the same couple of weeks I finished a play that I wrote in a month and have been seriously editing the children’s novel, to make it the final draft. Not that I’m tired of the work, just tired of mentioning it. It is not really mine, I don’t understand why I have this much attachment to it, so once I am finished, then I will move on and let the world take it.

As for my play, I’ll edit it then send it out. Again, not that I don’t care, however, I don’t want to be as obsessed as I was when Kevin was a screenwriter. I am debating whether to write another play before I work on my book over the summer. I wrote the play because I couldn’t focus on anything else (which is why this was neglected as it was and why my class feel apart). I don’t want to push the book back and then find myself rushing to finish or starting one thing and moving to another whether finishing or trying to do both at the same time. If my trips to the library are any indication, I might find myself writing another play first. I had promised myself that the middle of this month would be when I would start the book, but putting it off until June probably won’t hurt it. So I’ll make this declaration: June 1st.

If I haven’t started it by then or if I am not writing anything else or have something going on then, I’ll start the book on June 1st, 2009. It is not that I have it deadlocked to writing and completing the book over the summer because even if it takes until mid-winter it won’t hurt, but I have to write it. However, I find myself wanting to write plays, which is really conflicting. Conflicting because I don’t want to mix works as I did before. One at a time is my promise, one at a time is what I will do. I find it odd that I have grown from being a screenwriter as Kevin to being a playwright, children’s author and non-fiction author as Keira. I am Keira C. Lewis and I am a writer.

April 9th, 2009 – 2:52 AM PDT – (Semi-Lazy Weekend)

2009-04-09T04:12:00.000-07:00

Rarely do I get one of these, but this was a weekend where I didn’t take long trips or worked on things I didn’t want to work on. This didn’t come from me setting aside and closing my doors to the world. It came about from the ironic circumstance of the Shark’s body getting repaired. It is a needed repair, and I don’t necessarily feel trapped as I normally do, I just hate the piece of shit rental they gave me—I can run faster than it. So for the most point this weekend I’ve spent it trying to catch up on the sleep I didn’t get, which wasn’t easy. It wasn’t noise keeping me awake. Unfortunately, it was that part of me that wouldn’t stay down. Other than inconvenience, I spent most of the weekend typing up a current work, pirating music, and picking up a tutorial. Then the Old Man made his guest spot of time to give me back the phone, which will be collecting dust or a while. For the most point it was nice to really do nothing important, just relaxing. I wish I wasn’t fighting a “part” of myself.

March 31st, 2009 – 7:26 PM PDT – (Motel 6)

2009-04-04T07:36:00.000-07:00

Before I pass out after very long day under unfamiliar sheets, I must acknowledge what has me here instead of on my futon cursing repetition. On a whim I left Delusional in the hopes of gaining of fresh look on the world, instead I found I am just as miserable had I just stayed. I drove to Santa Cruz, instead of the lake up in Canada, but I guess it was good only to waste a hundred dollars on gas, lodging and food than it would have been to waste hundreds on a trip that would’ve resulted same mixed feelings.

I stuck out more there in the yuppified Santa Cruz than I did in skirts on the UNR campus—at least there I’d get stares of interest (even if it was from the male coeds). The stares were more of people trying to figure out what the hell I was and/or whether I was a user or not. I did get a few offers for pot—had I not been driving I would’ve taken them.

I did get some writing done, while on the beach, but I could’ve accomplished the same thing at work, via a trip to the Noodle, in my office, going to a library or sitting in the middle of the Truckee.

It wasn’t the driving that got to me; it was just vast amount of people in every direction. I guess I didn’t have to worry about returning to Delusional, like my last vacay, this one only served creativity. I had thought about going to one of those tranny shows, be amongst my own kind, but I’ve come to find that I am an outcast among outcasts.

This trip has brought me back to wondering the big question: “Who am I?” I guess in the grand scheme it doesn’t matter. For most people I am Kevin, for those who care I am Keira, and for those who don’t know, I am Lewis, and I’m a girl underneath all of that. I can become who I won’t to become and it won’t matter to anyone but me. Beside this fucking beard, I’d take care of these teeth and this mug of mine. Shit, I’d like to pull off that dark look ScarJo has got going on right now, but I am probably too old for it. Gotta stick with Sigourney and my mixed 1990’s retro look for right now.
As for the other big question: “Where is my home?” Ironically, I think it is Delusional because I can’t imagine anywhere else accepting this shit from me. Maybe I should look into getting a house (you know, after I write that best seller, yeah right).

In the mean time, tomorrow I am going home and getting my mailbox, look for a bed, get a new desk chair for the office and hand that goddamn phone back to the Old Man before anything escalates.

March 23rd, 2008 – 10:32 AM PDT – (Spring Broke)

2009-03-23T12:33:00.000-07:00

I know I’ve been a bit silent from this, but after spending over $1,300.00 on an essential and I am too tired to go to class today, I feel I must comment as my reasoning for repeating. As everyone else had a spring break, I spent mine working because I suffer from piss-poor-planning. Partially I could put the blame by infatuation with Wild Child, but truthfully I have bitched enough about her for now, I’ll save that for the book. Anyway, I spent the time trying to be productive, writing a paper for the class. And, a few days into the break, I did. Then a few days into the break I saw “Watchmen”, wound up taking a trip for someone else’s benefit, got closer to a new friend, got closer to a new love interest, and got far more interested in writing a play than my paper. When it came the time to type it, I just couldn’t, but I did. And now looking back I realize what bullshit it is. It is horrible writing, it is egotistical and has nothing to support any claims. It is more like a blowhard conversation that someone like Samuel Clemens or Andy Warhol or Kevin Smith would have at a cocktail party or on stage and despite they’re not being one shred evidence to cement a word of this, no one bothers to question it because it is Samuel Clemens, Andy Warhol or Kevin Smith. I am none of these; I am a blowhard with no background.

I am not attending today because I am tired, not from lack of sleep although that would be a good cause, it is the tremors. When my nervous system is in overload via my stress and anxiety reaching a threshold, my muscles spasm uncontrollably and I can’t restrict my movements. They weren’t really a danger to me before I had a job because my muscles were atrophied under the pounds of fat. Now that they work, if I’m not careful, I could snap my own neck. Sufficed to say, it takes a great deal of control. The past year I haven’t had a tremor because I had to act lady like, not to break my female components. Unfortunately, the past month, my temper has been pushed to the brink of insanity, then the past couple of days, I have been so short of time, except one day and a few minutes before work, I haven’t been able to be myself. So I couldn’t go to class if it required fighting myself the whole time, which I have really been doing it too much of the past month.

Fighting one’s nature is a losing battle, I know that, now more than ever. When I stayed in the closet for all those years, pretending to be masculine, creating Kevin because I couldn’t be the girl I saw myself as it always drove me to fits of rage. When I tried working as a faceless drone, sulking in the company propaganda, it drove me to hate the company bonus. When I pretended to be a student, it drove me to be a greater slacker and not focus on tasks at hand. If ever acting. Now I understand why that Little Bitch and the Doc said I needed to figure out what I wanted, other than school is a waste of time and effort. Then again, not entirely being the type of writer I’ve come to realize I am.

It taught me, subconsciously, to filter out the bullshit from my writing—the writing I cared about—which is what it and this was supposed to be, but this became it’s own entity and my writing, my writing, became what I focused on, only to fall apart because I’m not good at focusing, I need a distraction. The problem at the core, I think like the Old Man. Instead of taking classes via audit like a hobby, instead I take them for credit and they backfire on me. It just feels odd for me to be taking something only to serve the purpose of distracting me. I also would feel guilty for taking a space from some other deserving party, then again I feel that way already. Let’s face it, I never liked the conformity of school to begin with. I always liked doing my own thing. Fighting that is what got me into trouble on Mistake Day and can occur again if I stupidly allow it.

So what am I to do? Classes are an expensive hobby, if financially, in the sense of Karma they can take their toll. Then again, I would like to have something published other than this fucking diary. I have the summer to figure something out I guess.

March 11th, 2009 – 4:46 PM PDT – (SK Revelation)

2009-03-12T05:37:00.000-07:00

This would have to be the first time I am at a restaurant by myself and I feel this is echoes a true barring of my being. These days I have been alone, yesterday I wasn’t and possibly tomorrow and Friday I won’t, but I feel I must acknowledge life itself, however, this blog is about my life. I write this because I need to express what is on my mind at that moment in time. I have been told I should write about my life in book or short form, and I have considered it, in fact the past couple of weeks I’ve been trying to write something in reflection of my time with Wild Child as a possible first non-fiction “novel”. Looking, though, and concentrating on how I feel, it would be too soon. Probably not too soon for something like a play, it just needs to be thought out a bit.

On another front, after yesterdays trip to the Bay Area, I was given a view of the Old Man’s psyche, which came in the form of an admission of something that never crossed my mind until the other day. I can’t say I didn’t suspect it, in fact, I should have sooner, I guess I denied asking for all the obvious reasons. The reason I’ve been stuck in Delusional, not only stems from the Old Man’s desire to save from having to pay income tax, but from the notion that he likes to remain in driving distance of his home. He actually admitted: “If I could afford to… Despite the number of people… I’d move back.” But incapable of doing so, he can only visit. That saddened me on many fronts. I was sadden that his home was in such a close grasp, only finances prevented. Then I became saddened for myself, for I had no place of attachment. I always thought Coquitlam B.C. and Buntzen Lake was mine, but Coquitlam and Buntzen Lake of 1997, I don’t think I would recognize it if I went there today. Moving around so much in my early years prevented me from a number of indemnities—I don’t have a place, I don’t have life long friends, no held beliefs or ideas, nothing to strive for. One would think, after thirteen years here, I would have gained these attributes. Alas, that was never the case. I always thought I was on my way out, so to form no attachments was safer than forming any.

Now, looking back, a many regrets have stemmed. I guess, like Rob Gordon from “High Fidelity”, it was easier to believe in nothing… to be part of nothing than connect like everyone else. Being a loner and a drifter, I feel into that so easily. I always thought someone would come along and save me from myself. That was ludicrous to think or impose upon another. Only I can do that, since I am the only one I can rely on or demand. I wish my life were less of a headache. I’d up and leave, go somewhere far from here, but I’d rather just be on the road and in motion. Yet, money, not my driving force, but the driving force of society is an annoying prerequisite. I guess I should just let life take over and wash me of being with others when I feel uncomfortable. So far it has.

Shifting gears… I was going to analyze how much my tastes have changed, but I’ll save that for another time. Let’s just say I’m pulling the plug on being a fangirl. I guess that has been a given if you’ve been following my entries over the past few months, but instead of seeing something like “Watchmen” (2009), I’d rather see a play. Instead of writing some sci-fi, I’d rather write a play or non-fiction book. I don’t know, maybe it was inevitable. Maybe as I ascend it was inevitable that my tastes would grow away from Kevin’s as I grow into Keira.

I should probably mention going to the Bay Area and introducing myself as a girl to my Great Aunt, but why bother it was going to happen anyway. Now I know I can take a vacation as her.

March 3rd, 2009 – 5:04 PM PST – (Doubt)

2009-03-03T20:01:00.000-08:00

This has been one of those weeks that wore me out. Not physically, but in the usual manner, the metaphysical, the mental. I let something that Cindy said last week get to me. She slammed, in a way, about my “identity” issue, as if Keira were a means of masking my masculinity, fading out Kevin from my life, which she is since she is who I want to become. I could go on at nausea about what I really am, but I am sure there are enough entries that would accomplish the same thing. I will admit the seed of doubt she placed in my head. It is a long process of change I must endure, which for some reason I don’t think she wants me to go through (I take it back, I don’t think it, I know it, she has voiced a concern of regret on my behalf). (What is it with the women in my life not supporting my decision, first DeDee, then Wild Child, now Cindy? Why is this change any different any other change? Maybe she sees me as an adopted child and doesn’t want me to get hurt—I wish my real mother had been that way.) I may never have a “normal” relationship with another person—or anyone for that matter—for being what I am. I have accepted, or at least I thought I did. Denying my doubts is impossible after all it is human to have them, I just can’t stand it. But of course, with my doubts, to counter would be my hopes.

I wish I could wake up tomorrow and I would be a woman. I wish tomorrow will be the day I meet my soul-mate, and when I met her I knew it. I wish she’ll be someone who stimulates me in both capacities, mentally and physically. Of course, it is merely wishful thinking. Then again, whoever said tomorrow was necessarily tomorrow?

February 24th, 2009 – 7:44 PM PST – (The Fallout)

2009-02-24T21:17:00.000-08:00

It happened. The inevitable of reality finally caught up to me. I destroyed the texting phone resulting from the merits of the individual it was for. This will probably be my last entry regarding Wild Child. Not probably, I am fairly certain this is the last Wild Child entry. I’ve tried acknowledging it since it happened, putting it into a context I could easily process. Granted it was stupid. It was stupid of me to assume anything were to grow from a device. A fantasy that came to reality from a hope and dream, only to end as a self fulfilling nightmare. I wonder how something, someone went from being a positive part of my life to becoming an immense negative? Normally I would assume it was me that resulted in this chaos, that I wasn’t being human enough to be around another, but this time, I’m not sure it really was me, or either of me is at blame for this falling out with her.

Looking back, it was really stupid. She “invited” me to lunch at the Noodle as she was making a trip down memory lane—a stop at her former work and my store apparently (at a time I wasn’t there). When she invited me, she mentioned that money was a tight issue—I guess in the hopes of facing the cost of lunch out of me. I didn’t feel like spending $30.00 on a lunch right then, even for the party in question, considering my money was a bit tight at the time. When I mentioned this and asked what time to show, she called me up on the texting unit. With a moment of volume of utter desdain, she said: “Well show or not, if you want, I gonna eat.” She then hung up on me, just when I was trying to expand the conversation, asking her merely how soo— In that moment, a floodgate roared through every vain. She hung up on me and I threw the texting unit at the floor, screaming, “Selfish Bitch!” The screen went one way; the keyboard went the other. Staring at the halves I was greatly elated from the sight.

Deeply came a revelation to me as I focused my attention to the flicking illuminated keys of the keyboard, I had given into an old habit of Kevin’s, attaching myself to IMing (instant messaging). However, in the old days, wired was the habit, chatting with people via keystrokes to those at a great distance from myself. Wild Child was a different matter. I had met her, she was in my life (or at least I thought she was), and I hang out with her in the flesh (or I thought I could). Yet, most, if not all of our conversations centered around texting. So much came to me in one act, so much that it would be futile to repeat since there are months worth of entries based around what did, or to be more precise, didn’t do. At that point I began to wonder which half of me threw the phone. Which half of me was so hurt that in full-unbridled rage assaulted a costly piece of tech? Looking back, I know now that it was Kevin that lusted after her, while Keira was the half that loved her. I explained this to Erica, illustrating it with the sight of my Two-Face Coin. She had no answer. I did the same with Beka, she postulated that the only half of me that could be hurt, the half of me with a heart, it had to be Keira.

I was going to use that as the catalyst to finish “Duality” tonight, since it really is what inspired the last half of the story, but I think once I complete this I will pack up—save it for tomorrow after class (or if I wake up later, for then). It feels like a break up, but I wasn’t dating her, only knowing her.

As I think back, Wild Child was right, she was a bad friend (lord knows she would’ve been like as a lover). She did help with getting a better makeup than MK, and she did make me feel good about being trans, and that should’ve been enough, but she wasn’t there for me in other realms of friendship. Groggy-Ego once said that someone of that vanity, be it for work or life, would be a disheartening influence, one not to have too closely, if at all. He was right. She never got mad, attending everything in a passive aggressive stance, but she never got into anything. I’ll admit, between her and the Love-Professor, I have been broken of the Wild Children of the Harvest. Wild Child, Angel, Tiger-Eyes, Jade and the lot, were great muses in their own right, at the times they paced me, but nothing more. (I almost caught myself giving into one tonight, but luckily pulled the ripcord out of the situation before matters escalated.) From now on, if I am destined to be with someone, I will take in those who will show me a full range of emotions rather, speed bumps and all, as opposed to an image of a person, someone I can relate to instead of acclimating.

Knowing me, like “Blackened World”, I will probably look back on this time as a means of inspiration. Not now, though, not in the whole, but someday I will.

“NO MATTER WHAT ANYONE SAYS OR WHAT YOU MIGHT THINK… YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL INSIDE, OUT, AND ALL AROUND!”

February 18th, 2009 – 5:05 PM PST – (Acting My Age)

2009-02-18T19:32:00.000-08:00

The past few days have been a workout for my emotions and my stomach, not to mention my frontal lobes. Friday after work I went out with Wild Child and her Beau. He wanted my “professional” opinion to help him buy a PS3. Personally, regardless of whether you buy a new or used one, or whether you just plan to watch Blu-rays on it, I don’t think it is worth the money—if/when I buy a Blu-ray player, it will be a multi-disc deck like my DVD player. Of course, I feel that way about all game consoles, including the portables, but for sake of Wild Child, I offered to help. He wound up buying a refurbished 60 GB at a Game Stop rather close to the Enemy. When I say rather close, I mean across the street. From there we went to lunch, and from there I convinced him to take her to the full Mac Cosmetics store at the Summit Ridge Mall. (For those not familiar with Delusional, it is basically a mall with all the fifth avenue style stores on the road leading to Mt. Rose and Lake Tahoe. I never thought there were enough Yuppies in Delusional to justify the existence, but what do I know.) I know that was a bit underhanded, however, she and I had been planning to do it for a while, so I figured a day when her man was spending money on her would be the only chance. And that is when I made my mistake.

On our way there, Dax (Wild Child’s Beau) started having buyer’s remorse, feeling guilty for spending $600.00 on a game console and accessories, worried that he should’ve bought something for Wild Child instead (i.e. a Nintendo Wii). Instead of keeping my big trannie mouth shut, I suggested he trade the PS3 for a Wii and games, and then spend the rest of the money on the bigger makeup for her. Of course, he did, and she was happy for the first time in weeks. At the Mac store, he bought her makeup—they didn’t have the larger sizes of her colours, so she got multiples of the smallers. Then, we headed to the Meadowood Mall, Spencer Gifts, to help her get a new wallet and two Buddhas (a statue and a lamp). Throughout all of this it didn’t occur to me that I was actually helping them get closer. Afterwards, it really sunk in.

What’s funny, a few nights earlier Cindy and I had a discussion about the items I had given Wild Child—my iPod Touch, the Dell and a few trinkets here and there—and the fact I had received nothing in return. She and DeDee have even called me out for being in love with her. But Cindy brought up the point that you can’t buy a person’s love. From what I observed of Dax and Wild Child, that wasn’t the case. However, after baring witness to that exhibition, I don’t think that is the type of love I want. It reminds me too much of my parents. My mother had me so she didn’t have to work. My father thinks sending a $20.00 check at birthdays and Christmas says: “I Love You.” (As soon as I can, I’ll find a way of getting my Touch and the redbook back, but I’m not in a rush.) After all was said and done, Wild Child gave me her old wallet, gave me back the Dell, and my iPod Shuffle, and after a few rousing games on her Wii, I went home and didn’t get to bed until 4:00 PM.

Sunday I think I found a “replacement” for DeDee, a reliable friend, less opinionated, that I can count on. At least I think. Beka, a cart-pusher at work, is a character I can hang with and not being married or having kids, I don’t have to hear about that shite. Not that I dislike it or jealous, but it seems most of my girlfriends are always in relationships, relationships that are falling apart (or damn close to it). It is a given that eventually she’ll be in one before I ever find myself in one, but for right now I can appreciate a certain calm.

Our day out basically began with me asking her if she wanted to go to a funeral, not a real one mind you, but I saw an ad for extras on Craig’s List and thought some of my friends might want to attend. Wild Child said no, of course—she would be busy sleeping or running errands with her, most likely getting drunk and playing with her Wii. I asked Cindy and she flat out said: “Hell no… I don’t like real funerals. Why would I go to a fake one?” Then she went onto the diatribe about her mother’s death. Finally I asked Beka, before explaining it was a fake, she said: “Sure.” Like my former-self, Beka is a bit of a movie buff, so the notion of being in one, even it was just a two-second part of an audience shot would be a kick—I also offered lunch afterwards, which sealed the deal.

Before going to the shoot, during and even after, I was overcome by mixed emotions. Kevin’s ambition was to become a filmmaker (write, direct, produce and so on), Keira’s (mine) is to be an author (of books and plays), but whose ambition is it to act? One (or many, depending on how you look at it) could argue that I have been acting all my life, pretending to be something I am not. The Old Man has always tried to drive me towards comedy, to be the next John Candy (merely because of how heavy I was). I couldn’t move in that direction because I never found myself really all that funny—sarcasm doesn’t necessarily denote humour. As for acting, I have the ego for it, that’s for certain, I can see it as a hobbie, but not a career—I could never go to casting calls. After taking this class from the Master’s work, I want to write plays more than I did before. I mentioned this to Wild Child and she suggested I take another acting class. Maybe next semester was my only reply. I mentioned this to Beka and she was actually interested in what the play might be about. (I’m not sure, yet.) After my time with Beka on Sunday, I didn’t get to bed until 3:30 PM.

Yesterday, the Old Man, in his infinite wisdom, chose to ask me if I was planning to have a sexual reassignment surgery (well, in his words, sex change operation, but I thought I would clean it up on his behalf). Of course, I am, but this time I decided to call him on it unlike last time when he asked whether I was gay or not. What spawned this discussion was my refusal to turn back when visiting my relatives (i.e. my Great Aunt and my Sister-in-Law). I didn’t mean to go self-righteous on him, but if they won’t me accept for who I am then why should I bother being around them? As for the reassignment, or my ascension as I prefer to call it, I’m certain he’d figure it out (you know, once I’m on hormonal therapy and my features start to change—not easy to hide). The day was really for doing my taxes, not to discuss my lifestyle, but somehow it always seems to come back to that. I’ve noticed a number of my conversations have been based around it—shit this blog turned into a TS/TV/TG blog and I’m writing a novella that is half that. I definitely have to stop, or on the other hand, learn about it and get a degree in it.

As you can guess, later on, I ended up going to lunch with the Old Man. Not the Noodle, but another a new place, which was a mistake. I finally figured out what my stomach problem was. After lunch I was feeling sick. The meat from the soup got to me. The result was me throwing it up in a restroom at the mall, and then again in my bathroom. A small amount of meat to virtually none I had on all those lunches never got to me, but eating that larger amount really did me in. What I find odd people keep telling me I should eat more meat, and yet, eating more is what’s making me sick. Go figure. I guess it is more vegetarian and vegan foods for me from now on.

February 11th, 2009 – 5:48 PM PST – (Geek of Yor)

2009-02-11T18:27:00.000-08:00

The geek of old comes out of me so easily at times. I want to shut it off, but it spills out of me without any control. I claim to be a new person, dismissing my former love of tech, yet I profess an encyclopedia of knowledge in the subject. It is not that I am trying to vanquish that part of my life—lord knows I must confront it every night at work—I don’t see it as the cornerstone of my being. Literature seems the more prosperous future. I’m coming to understand it as I would a movie or consumer ware—at least I think I do. I just don’t want to be that anymore. Looking at my shadowed reflection in the window of the library window, I can see all of me: who I was, who I am, who I will be, the fractures of time via etched glass.

Another truth I must realize, my partnership with a certain Irishman is at an end. I came out to him. Despite his claims of being open, after six or seven follow up messages, with no response, I’ve come to realize even he has his limits. I can’t say I am surprised, nor can I blame him, I only wish it wasn’t in a cold manner. Now I wonder what reactions I would receive from Dr. Vampyre and those I will receive from Groggy-Ego, or if/when my North Carolina contact gets his act together, what he might think. Then again, do I want to collaborate with anyone again? The only professional who seemed to accept it was the one who currently holds the video rights to “Opposing Views”. But how long will that last? Of course, I could just look at them as Kevin’s contacts. He started them; it is not really my fault that they fizzle out. After all, all I was trying to be was honest, nothing more. I guess I will be a solo author.

One other problem I am finding, not really a problem per se, but rather an observation of myself; correction, observations. First, one minor obsession, unlike Kevin, for some reason I find myself attracted to blondes and women younger than me. I don’t know why, but for some reason I do. The other problem, since I’ve started this Shakespeare class, I find myself more and more wanting to write plays. I know I have made this claim before, but now more than ever I feel compelled to write one, and what is even scarier, in the similar manner as the master. Of course, knowing me, if I do decide to go forth with such posturings, I wouldn’t be able to write them in a traditional manner—more sketch-comedy like than play, and as the master, too many locations. Then again, I might have a lot of fucking going on in them. Who knows, right?

February 9th, 2009 – 1:42 AM PST – (Another Collision)

2009-02-11T07:17:00.000-08:00

My stomach is churning in that weird and whacky way which doesn’t refer to illness, but rather another collision, a collision that will be costly. I either have or will commit an act that will cost me my future. I know this because I had the same feeling on Mistake Day, five years ago and I ignored it. I detest the act of second guessing myself and would merely attribute it to something I ate, however, the sense is too familiar. I see myself as Keira, but I am still ruled by Kevin’s wicked manners. I can understand why this is occurring, I have grown tired of being punished for no reason, did like control of life, but that doesn’t seem possible, but not being careful, a slip up is afoot.

I thought I have grown beyond such petty repose, but my self-control must come into question. The ever-growing frustration of still having to be the “me” I don’t want to be will heave something to do with it, I’m sure, especially if they call me in on my nights off.

February 7th, 2009 – 11:21 AM PDT – (Mental Disorder)

2009-02-07T11:48:00.000-08:00

The past few hours I have spent trying to build up some motivation to write in my active story, with little to no success, but I am not surprised. With my mind being as scattered as it was from nights of not actually working at work I’ve had a difficult time being inspired. So what do I do, the same ol’ same ol’, looking up people like myself in virtual reality; only to become outraged, like others of my kind, and needed to vent at those who would dispose of us. A Canadian doctor has maintained that being trans is a mental disorder—GID, Gender Identity Disorder. I don’t believe it is a disorder, I don’t believe I am mentally sick for being what I am. Nor am I sick for striving towards what I want to become. I do believe, however, I was sick, sick for hiding it, for being ashamed of it for so long, which eventually led to my breakdown. But I am not sick anymore. I know who I am and I know what I am. I am what I am. Psychologists, rules, laws and society be damned, I am what I am and I will become what I want to become.

February 4th, 2009 – 5:48 AM PST – (Single)

2009-02-04T19:05:00.000-08:00

Well I guess there was no need to worry about planning a vacation or worry about my girlie hopes of being dashed by Wild Child, it seems life stepped in to fill that role via large bills and potential destitution—both hers and mine. The Stop is closing, so she has to look for work. Slightly I’m mad, not at her, at circumstances, but I am not surprised either. Since she doesn’t have a dual identity issue, she’ll probably find a job sooner than later. But I have the double trouble at my direction, which I assume is the result of having a good weekend. The Gestapo has taken away my powers again at Reich-Mart, along with a reset they haven’t approached me about; I am assuming that it is no longer a question of “if” I’ll be fired, but “when”. I know I have discussed this before and then it was nothing more than a piece of paranoia. Now, however, through watching the world, the economy, and my stroke of luck, it just seems inevitable—especially the fact that I am being replaced by a tweaker. Fuck it! I’ll just focus on school and not let it concern me too much. My life is not that fucking store or that fucked up department. I am a writer, I am a scholar, I am Keira, I am Trans-woman hear me roar.

The other development that has me at odds is a bill I received from the hospital for the examination I had. I found out nothing is wrong with me and the thanks I get is something requesting large sums of money, rather than being paid for by the goddamn insurance my paycheck is going towards. Well to hell with them. They can chase me to the end of time. I am not paying those bastards. I have had enough of being fucked over by everything. This is my life, no one else’s. I was going to pay it and not take my vacation, but since I found out if I don’t use it I lose it, then screw it, I’ll use part of it for myself and part of them for the events I want to attend. I just need to figure out when. (Oh, I know when, I just don’t want to admit it.)

February 2nd, 2009 – 2:05 PM PST – (Old Habits)

2009-02-04T19:04:00.000-08:00

The past comes back with a vengeance at times. Not only do I find myself living through a rather peculiar situation with someone, I find fighting myself over something trivial as a vacation because I can’t get over the satisfaction of nothing and reliability. Nor can I avoid finding myself rushing something I shouldn’t. Goddamn me. On top of that, I must contest with the possibility of future events. I’d like a makeover, I’d like a vacation to do nothing but write during the day and go out at night, I’d like to participate in Superhero Crawl and Pride Week, and I’d like to do something on Halloween and New Years, yet I fear I might not. Cindy is too busy, and Wild Child, well as much as I love her, her flakiness is beyond acceptable. Before cementing any plans with her, I will test her with a girl’s night out. Truth be told, I should just meet other people.

January 28th, 2009 – 6:53 PM PST – (Across the Universe)

2009-01-28T20:26:00.000-08:00

Post and before my class, instead of working on the work for the class in question, I find myself working on my own writing. Although overdue and deserved, part of me will be glad to move on from the short to novella I’ve been working on about the Sci-Fi version of my situation, finishing it being my overall objective, I find it odd that I am getting more of it done here in a library (like before and the archive) rather than in my office in my home. Then again, I was to go shoe shopping after class, but I felt more inclined to write than go to a shoe store—the hours it has, it will be there in the morning if I so desire and since I don’t feel like being rushed, that time will probably be best. I suppose I always feel more inspired around works of literature than in my place of residence (or at least I have again lately). Perhaps I should just turn the office into a bedroom (or at least somewhere I can do my hair and makeup that isn’t the bathroom). Then what would the living room become if I put away the TV and DVD’s? It’s about time I buy that bookshelf I have been neglecting. I hate to admit it, but I am probably going to be in that apartment for a couple more years at least—hell, April 1st, it will be a year. A waste of effort to contemplate I suppose—I should be careful how I pursue it.

This morning I have decided that I will try to sink Spring Break and my vacation from the Enemy, Reich Mart, during the same time frame so I can… get ready for it… get a makeover. What prompted this was not another selfish fantasy but rather merely wanting to pamper my way towards being full-time. I have stopped changing back for the Old Man—he, to my growing surprise, has accepted this of me. I know this seems fast compared to what has occurred over the past eight months, but since I hid it (not very well as I have come to find out) for the past twenty years, it seems about right for me. Also, as much as I would love to take my trip to San Francisco and the forest with Wild Child, I do realize it most likely not going to happen since I’ll most likely end up taking Summer classes (I know me), and there isn’t a break between Spring and Summer semesters. Part of me wants to believe that if I return from a vacay to school and work more en femme than before, both will take my ascension seriously. Truth be told, I just want to be really girlie for a week. (Although, I am pretty sure my Wild Child will wonders how I could be anymore than I already am, since I am more of a girl than she is—and she was born on no less.)

Another surprise to me has been the recent return of a recurring character in my life, my Brother. (I rather certain he’ll read this entry, all I can say is: “Oh well.” If you’ve read this far, then by now you probably know how my head works.) Had I conformed to cantankerous styling’s of the Old Man, I’d probably suspect something was up, or obsessing over was caused the over two year rift in my head, but these days I don’t care. He has his life, I have my life, each a part of our universes connecting via a digital wormhole. Looking back, in my lifetime, I probably spent more time with my surrogate brother, Groggy-Ego (who, ironically bares a similar first name, spelt differently), then again the distance and age difference probably played as major factors. Perhaps getting older, on both our behalves, has something to do with. I don’t know, I could be wrong. Granted, he probably won’t call me Keira (or his little sister for that matter), but at least it is one more person in my life that I can count on to accept me as me—thankfully I didn’t have to explain to him the Trans versus Gay argument. My sisters, shunning me in other respects, would probably curse me to an nth degree. To that I say: “Fuck ‘em”. I’m closer to my Cosmic Sisters (Wild Child and Cindy) anyway.

From looking at my past blog entries, normally this is where I would make some grand proclamation about the future or rant about some other innate action. What’s the point? Tomorrow is another day, another day without pretending to be something I am not, another day that leads into the rest of my life, which I admit has been progressively becoming a happier one. Funny, I guess our 44th President was right, this is a time of change. Although, I don’t think he was envisioning of people like me when he made that declaration to the world. Then again, who knows, or cares for that matter? Just as long as the “world” doesn’t end in 2012 or there isn’t a “Back to the Future” remake in 2015, I’ll be happy.

“JAI GURU DEVA!”

January 26th, 2008 – 2:01 PM PST – (Strange Condition)

2009-01-28T19:11:00.001-08:00

This is the second day of my classes. I read as I was supposed to and I am here on time, and I am dreadfully tired. Not enough sleep and knowing my luck, the four hours I have mustered will be all I receive until morrow. I shouldn’t be as sleep deprived as I am. I do not have facilities other than my occupation to take my time all except an old habit of Kevin’s that lingers ever so prevalently. Depending on how today transpires I believe it will be time to completely put device and its digital codependence to bed once and for all. The future I have in mind doesn’t posses that part in the least. Granted, I have caught myself imagining from time to time a work of mine being adapted, thus requiring me to maintain the demons of broadcast and waxed projections, but I will never grow if I keep falling back on it. I never should have purchased that Plasma—the regret I receive for ignoring a Déjà vu as I lived it.

January 21st, 2009 – 4:06 PM PST – (A Proper Beginning)

2009-01-22T08:18:00.000-08:00

I just got out of a class I wanted to be in it was exhilarating. I never knew a discussing of Shakespeare could make me feel so at ease. I ran into an old friend outside the English Building. (Amazing, Farnsdog is married and a kid on the way, and on the way to becoming a Ph.D.) This is how it should have been before—on my own terms. It was only the first class, but staring out this pane of glass within the new library I feel full of hope, I feel I should be here. I sit here, not just as Keira, but as myself, the self that will go places. I am not making a grand proclamation towards my future; I am stating a fact. This is my time.

January 19th, 2009 – 12:19 PM PST – (All You Need Is Love)

2009-01-19T12:32:00.000-08:00

For the sake of those parties involved, I am keeping the details of this vague. I just found out that someone was in love with me, both versions of me, while half of me is in love someone else, while the other half of me waits for its inevitable death. I was too blind to see it, but now that I look back I realize what I missed by my lack of attention. I have also come to the realization that someone in my life is love with what I am becoming—I can’t love that person until I am that.

This is a strange situation for me to be in. It is definitely a moment of inspiration. I honestly never thought it would happen to me. I hoped it would. I just wish there hadn’t been some pussy-footing around and the person who was would have just came out and said it then. Then again, who the hell am I to judge? Why can’t people say to one’s they love: “I Love You?” I would hope if this happens again, or if I grow a backbone then maybe it is said and hopefully that person will love me back and vice verse.

“ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE…LOVE IS ALL YOU NEED!”

January 18th, 2008 – 9:38 AM PST – (Cinching Ado)

2009-01-18T09:58:00.001-08:00

So DeDee’s been gone a couple days and I haven’t been out much. I’ve been trying to say because I am tired, but the truth is I feel a tad alone—like there is only one place I can go as myself as opposed to a plethora. I guess I am afraid even though I shouldn’t be. She was right, she did have an impact on my life. I should be able to pay it forward by just by getting up and going out, but for some reason I can’t. Then again, with the pending days ahead, and my wardrobe, I realize I have very little down attire. (I should go across the street and do that for an hour.) Of course, I also feel like I am wasting my time instead of being productive. Perhaps it is still Kevin shouting at me wanting me to be finish working on the story or finish an email I’ve left hanging. The medical appointments, prepping for school, helping out my adopted family and staying employed have all taking their toll. It is hard to be the woman I want to be when I am being torn at different ends. What a life I lead. Oh well, at least the waist cincher and waterproof mascara I bought are doing their jobs.

January 1st, 2009 – 2:53 AM PST – (Valkyrie)

2009-01-01T04:21:00.000-08:00

In a way I am glad it is the start of a New Year’ 2008 was so trying to my emotions, it didn’t exactly end on a high note—I spent most of the past couple days in my other clothes because I was with the Old Man. Tomorrow the Old Man turns 73 and he still hasn’t gotten over his birthday bullshit. I hope this May I’ll finally be over mine because now I am me and not the idea of me. The downside didn’t come from being myself, but three days in a row of entertaining someone else. I don’t mind spending time but now I know why Wild Child gets her headaches—being forced to be uncomfortable for an extended period of time. Spending some time with her on Saturday and last night, then my time the past couple of days I understand that even more.

The real low of the weekend (aside from not being me) was watching a passion of Kevin’s—movies. With the Old Man I saw “Valkyrie” (2008) by director Bryan Singer [“Usual Suspects”, (1996), “X-Men” 1&2 (2000/2003), “Superman: Returns” (2006)] and I left it feeling really fucking depressed. I mean, it wasn’t a bad movie, it was put together well, HOWEVER, the way the movie was presented it came off as if the German Underground could have (and almost) overthrown Hitler. And I knew the history and I knew the German Underground didn’t, but when they didn’t in the movie, I was crying. Is it the girl I am becoming showing her tastes? Kevin would have been taking it apart—history versus cinema. This time, I was Keira, I was watching the movie as a movie and I couldn’t take it. When I got home I went shoe shopping online to get over it.

I have to admit, the coming attractions didn’t strike a cord with me either. “X-Men Origins: Wolverine” and the new “Star Trek”, which I was excited before (denying it as Kevin, of course), I’m really not now. I am still excited for more “Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles” episodes and “Terminator: Salvation”, but not the others (hell I feel a bit indifferent about the next season of “Dexter”). I feel like I have to see a cartoon or a Rom-Com to get over what I saw. (Is it wrong of me to be excited to see “Confessions of a Shop-a-holic”?) I guess I have moved past Kevin’s passion. When he would write something, it was about entertaining a gimmick. When I write something is it move a character.

The one plus of the past couple days was sending the message to Les, telling him about this. I am fairly certain this will probably end our correspondence and partnership, but that’s okay. Now that I know who I am I can move on, and if it is has to, it will be alone, but not having to lie or hide finally feels much better. That’s why before my next birthday I am going to look for a job and return to school as myself because now I am ready.

December 25th, 2008 – 9:12 PM PST – (And So This Is Christmas!)

2008-12-25T21:35:00.000-08:00

Another year almost over, an in the course of one day, although the Eve of today, I spent it with my Father, my surrogate Family (Cindy’s, but what the hell) and my cosmic sister Wild Child. Instead of feeling as if the world is coming to an end as I usually do on this day (even though I have lost both my MK Mascara and Concealer), I feel at peace. Last night (or this morning, depending on how you look at it), I finally came up with my Resolution for the New Year, a simple one I should have come up with long ago but it took a year like this to do it, I am going to stop obsession over an escape of Delusional, and to do so I just have to give up on it.

Looking back at everything I accomplished over the past year, most if not all of it came to me when I had stopped pursuing it. My apartment, the weight, my job, coming out trans—I am sitting here typing on a keyboard with nail polish on my fingers and makeup on my face—all things I drove towards as if they were some crusade, only to drive me to depths of unimaginable depression. When I finally stopped, they came to me. So as for escaping Delusional, I give up. Now if somehow I leave after this declaration, then I will have deserved it rather than obsessing it.

So what does this mean for my writing? Am I giving up on that? NO! But I am not obsessing over, nor am I going to overwork myself. This time I will take it one project at a time, since spreading myself thin isn’t getting anything accomplished. So that means I have tell someone about myself to see if he wants to continue with me. I’m sure that message to Northern Ireland will be a doozy, but I am not doing to intentionally end a partnership or seem proud, I just don’t want to lie. If Les can’t handle it, I won’t hold it against him.

As for my education, I’ll probably just concede and become on of those students that hang around the campus collecting degrees and doing nothing with them, but then again, I guess that was inevitable, all things considered.

Finally, my ascension… Well I guess you know where that is heading…. ;)

December 19th, 2008 – 10:43 AM PST (Keira V. Kevin)

2008-12-19T11:30:00.000-08:00

I have updates to post and placing this online before the previous entries, but I need to comment on a fact I’ve come to notice about my life. I have probably commented about it before, but I have to point it out. I am restless as Kevin. I cannot concentrate anymore as him. When I am Keira I am more relaxed and collected, I can, not only concentrate on what I am doing, but I find my state of emotions are in control.

Examining this as Keira, I can admit that I want to be Keira more than Kevin, therefore, I am more driven towards making her a positive, and she has a future full of possibilities. I’ve been able work on my writing when I am her—trying to write as Kevin, nowadays, I feel lost. Meanwhile, as Kevin, or in the idea of being Kevin, I have given up. He has served a purpose and continuing as him is becoming futile, in the back of my mind, at least. Examining this as Kevin, if it were at all possible, he just doesn’t want to be anymore.

Either I have to see a therapist about this, or find a job as Keira before I am incapable of being anything because I can see where this is going.

November 29th, 2008 – 10:57 AM PST

2008-11-29T11:38:00.000-08:00

[NOTE BEFORE READING: It took me a while, but I finally decided to restore this blog. Everything below is probably outdated, but I figure for sake of continuity it should be re-inserted. I figure this gives a greater insight into my psyche' as everything else.]

It has been so long since I made an entry in my diary I figured it was about time for me update. So much has happened over the past twenty-one days that I couldn’t begin to go into the details to summarize them properly. I’ve been hanging around a friend more (DeDee), I have been out more (night and day) as Keira, and I have bought new clothes (new sweater, suit, skirts, tights and so on), and I’ve even indulged in more coffee, new nail polish colours and the piercing of my ears. However, a pained heart, both physically and psychologically, have taken their toll upon me. I dropped out of my voice lessons and was unable to re-establish my college career with UNR. The prior was becoming too much like a bad therapy session, one I really didn’t need, while the latter occurred as a result of the fact that I already possess a degree in an Art. Neither has seriously depressed me for I have seen them as a safe sign to move on, as does a certain factor in my personal life.

As my previous blog entry indicated, waters have been choppy with my beloved Wild Child. Just when I think the world is beginning to balance out, reality steps in and sends us further apart. Granted, I am not “with” her, but I find myself hard-pressed not to fantasize in that respect. Where there in lies the problem, it is just a fantasy. DeDee pointed out to me on a number of occasions that I should refrain from trying to get much closer to her, and after a failed Thanksgiving and a questionable text message, I take a cosmic-hint. Back to my prime objective of leaving Delusional. Despite the letter of denial, I do love her and for that I will keep my promise to retrieve her music, a special birthday present to say the least. After that, I will move on and plan my “vacation” and my move.

Negativity aside, I have enjoyed the past few weeks of the ability to be myself and I have my friend DeDee to thank. It is a shame that she will be moving, either in January or April, but the time with her has been well spent (even though it has cut into my writing time—if you think I have been neglectful of this, I haven’t made an entire in my book in nine days and the script in a month). Not only has she taught me to be less afraid of the world as my-true-self, she has allowed me to make a few essential realizations, most importantly of not dwelling in the negative (hence, why I haven’t made an entry to this in so long). Also, her being a Wild One of sorts, along with Cindy and Wild Child, have given me a glimpse into lives to avoid. Granted, deep down as Keira I might strive to be a Wild One, it doesn’t I’ll be one, I’ll be ascend to myself. She says to be patient and to find the right woman who would accept me for me, a “nice” woman, so to speak. I’ve known a few, and I know one now, although I don’t think I would want to move to San Francisco (let alone afford to).

However, the lessons I have gained from the Wild Children cannot be ignored. Despite my best efforts, I can’t but want to write about the revelations of this time spent. Therefore, once I finish my current book (or at least the section I am writing now), I will start work on something a little different, a non-fiction book—much more in-depth than these diary entries. Why would I make such a bold proclamation? Because like my current book, the script, and “For Lynn” (my TG/TV/TS script from 2006/2007), it for anyone other than myself (don’t be surprised, though, if I decide to put in another sappy dedication within its texts).

Now only if I can have that cup of coffee with Candy-Girl before she or I departs.

November 8th, 2008 – 11:00 AM PST – (Draining season or other?)

2008-11-08T11:59:00.000-08:00

[NOTE BEFORE READING: It took me a while, but I finally decided to restore this blog. Everything below is probably outdated, but I figure for sake of continuity it should be re-inserted. I figure this gives a greater insight into my psyche' as everything else.]

This same time last year I complained about being drained from the work I was doing. Despite everything I was able to move on. However, I am feeling that sensation again. Not from, not from creativity, not that from this place (surprisingly), but from a person, and not whom I would expect. Lately I have felt drained just thinking about her. Writing this is very difficult to say the least. It is as if the positive she feels me with is being replaced by exhaustion, as the energy is being zapped from. Perhaps it was bruising my ego, her slanted attack on my logic. Perhaps it was her contribution between the war within me between Kevin and Keira. Perhaps our differences, hers and mine have finally collided. Or perhaps it was the inevitable, the fantasy layering away to reality, peeling the onion to its core.

I am not saying the friendship is over. But I am not certain how much life it has left. I guess it is my fault, I suppose. All those wrong decisions, all those times I chose to close off, all those times pushed people away when they would get too close has made me the wreck I am. The only close friend I ever had being inside my head probably didn't help either. My lack of stability of emotions coupled with an overbearing logic, not knowing when to trust is a mixed bag.

I know what I am about to do, send her away so I can't be hurt by her, only to hurt myself in the process. Deep down I make the excuse that it will serve for me to return to the main plan, to escape this wretched place, but then again, what is the plan? Ascend? Escape Delusional? Escape Delusional ascended? I have no idea anymore.

Of course, as I said earlier, fantasy layering away to reality. I know the idea of Wild Child, the wild children in the garden—Wild Child, Tiger Eyes, Angel, Jade, Candy-Girl, even my alter ego Keira—is nothing more than extension of the mind, the mind to be set free. Now that one seems devoted to that, of course I am afraid of releasing a side of me that has no boundaries. She is a spiritual, a free spirit, something I can't be outwardly. I am a Wild Child, Vulcanized one. But I forget, as does the ego of this lustful expectation, Wild Child is a real person that occupies this world, not that of courtship based literature, not that of scripted friends, no text space as spending time. All I know I am stuck with the impact, the imprint she had laid upon me, knowing I would not have been able to come as far as I did without her.

If another Wild One should cross my path, I just for once, just once, there are no comparisons of broken lives, or some stupid conflict brought on by expectations in my head. I mean, would it be too much to ask the cosmos to meet a nice "available" girl for once?

November 3rd, 2008 – 7:45 AM PST – (Judgment Day)

2008-11-06T07:43:00.000-08:00

Another Tumbler Zen Monday and another day in which I’m in pain, and another day my body fights its own futility.

The rest of this entry I have omitted because it redundant considering I didn’t die. Apparently, writing about it and deciding not to give into my own laziness kept me alive. That and a peculiar discussion with Wild Child. Go figure!

The other reason I am not typing up the rest of this entry, despite its length, it also has information in it I don’t want read since it is too depressing for me to relive. Sufficed something else was supposed to happen the day after that I was lamenting about, and like the collision, never happened. So much for Judgment Day—I’d make a Terminator reference but I’m not in the mood.

October 31st, 2008 – 11:40 AM PDT – (Twists and Turns)

2008-11-06T07:11:00.000-08:00

I guess it was a matter of time when my past and my future would collide with the present. Today is Halloween, the biggest drag day of the year (or at least I’m told). Tonight I’m working so this gurl will be missing this unholy night, but not the day. Restless, instead of going to bed, I decided to go out, while in the interim of debating with myself of being blunt about an issue with Wild Child. I should just send her the damn note, but I know it would be a half-truth like the note before. So I am on the fence to that.

So for the past few weeks I have been reconnecting with people of my past and they have been accepting, to a point, of my other half, except expounding “I knew there was something about you.” Amongst a girlfriend’s makeup party, a couple of outings, those words have pushed me to the breaks of tears. Not as much, though, as the lunch I partook.

The Mandarin Gourmet in Minden (South Delusional), a former frequent of the Old Man and I was once a temple of consumption, at least for Kevin it was. Amongst prices and poor food quality, the service leaves much to be desired, especially in the tact department. There are a few terms I know in other languages, but the sexual mockeries I know the best. As the waiters came and chuckled, my appetite went south. There is only so much I can take, being called faggot in any language is where I draw the line. Unfortunately, I wasn’t alone or paying my lunch, I made the mistake of going with the Old Man. I’m sure he knew what they were saying, and slowed his eating so I would endure it longer. Every time I’d stop eating he would comment as if I were intentionally depriving myself of nutritious-slop that he seemed to enjoy. I finally forced feed myself the food, pitting it in my stomach so I could throw it up later. As we were leaving, he bothered to tip them nicely for my embarrassment.

As I write this, approaching my car, I realize I can be a bit sensitive to these matters, even more so now that I’m out. So far my experiences have been rather tolerant and accepting, with a few hiccups along the way. Even I hope for the best as I ascend only to be taken for a loop by something minor. Oh well, at least there are voice lessons to look forward to on Tuesday.

October 29th, 2008 – 6:12 PM PDT – (Silent Sigh)

2008-11-01T16:47:00.000-07:00

There are moments that really loathe being a loner. In fact, I down right hate it. I hurt inside right now. I don’t know why, but I do. Although social outlets of comfort ecist and family of its own capacity takes shape, it is not the same as another warm body of admiration and amorous leisures, not necessarily sexual, but the bonding those of love and love between one another. I begin to wonder am I not allowed that? Then I ponder my rotten luck. How I always meet someone who is my emotional strength, my opposite, and she always occupied. I don’t mind being friends I just want to be more with someone, someday. But when?

October 27th, 2008 – 8:23 AM PDT

2008-11-01T16:45:00.000-07:00

Last week’s festivities took their toll on me without a doubt—the facial and the mental battle that followed—then this week topped that. Keira visited Jade and her husband at her place on Coffee Night and, believe or not, was accepted. I could never have been happier. After fames of Duckie (group solitaire) and fifteen Espressos, I was on a high, higher than ever, something only being out and free offers. Beyond the party I wanted to share the good vibrations running through me. I raced to Wild Child because I wanted her partake in good of my psyche—I might have kissed as happy as I was.

Then she wasn’t at the stop. I found out she called in sick. I was worried. Texting her immediately, I waited. Nothing, then I got really worried. I called her. No answer. Then called her every hour. Still no answer. I drove over to her place. I had that bad feeling in my gut. Perhaps my visions were of me, but someone else, someone I valued to a great degree. Finally I arrived and found her car in its stall in one piece and cold as the night. I walked to her door, not shivering from the night air blowing through my skirt, but rather for Wild Child’s state of being. I knocked three time, no answer. Seeing the lights off, I texted her once more, then went home and tried to sleep, but didn’t fade away until I received a reply of well being from her. I don’t know what got into me. I’ve never been afraid for someone else, but this time I really was. Looking back, I realize every time I called her, I called as Keira not Kevin.

My worrying must have taken its toll on me. The following night I caught the cold/flu or whatever it is going around. My throat was soar and my nose was runny, and I had to got to work. Monday through Wednesday (Thursday night through Saturday night) I ran out of energy, in fact, I was so out of it I left work early two nights in a row. Then last night my energy came back, not all of it I know—I’m below 50%--but it was enough to get my freight thrown, do a modular change and got to Tumbler Zen today. Hopefully it will be enough to do my shopping and after bed survive new release night. At least being lighter and nocturnal has its benefits: faster healing and more stamina. I just wish growing an acute sensitivity to light wasn’t the side effect.

Speaking of which, I’ve come to find out Erica was right. Keira likes brighter coloured clothes. She’s not entirely against but would like some variety. Well she’ll have to wait until the body is feeling better before that trips occurs. Besides, the Mary-Kay party is pending. I’m sure she doesn’t want to miss that.

October 20th, 2008 – 9:20 AM PDT – (Full Circle “K”)

2008-11-01T16:44:00.000-07:00

For the first since I was a child, I was making an order and I identified myself with my last name because I wasn’t sure which “K” to use. Similarly I haven’t called Cindy because I don’t know who to say is calling on the phone. Christ, this problem is growing out of control. I’m afraid to text Wild Child because it would violate my revised one rule. Certainly I won’t be hanging out with her on my days off unless invited and even then I’m hesitant to be around her because of a tiff with her boyfriend in the Meadowood Mall Parking lot on the day after the Facial and yelling at her due to fighting myself—the turmoil suppressed feelings.

I’ll try to call Cindy at 10:00 am. I hope I get her voicemail—I don’t think I’m up for a “girl-talk” on the phone. God I really fucked up. Who am I supposed to be?

Today I want to go pick up some new/old CD’s of what I currently listen to, but will probably end up seeing the Old Man instead as he will inevitably call me to come down. I really don’t want to see him or anyone I know right now. Of course, with my luck, my bills will arrive and I’ll have to do down to Carson.

October 20th, 2008 – 12:34 AM PDT – (Logic and Will)

2008-11-01T16:43:00.000-07:00

I didn’t think a facial and messing with my hair and people within my living space would ripe a whole in me, but the fire of my mind are burning from the powder keg. I have no idea who I am and who or what I am supposed to be. I know that is no different than anyone my age or situation but I feel devastated nonetheless. Following a strong—be it the Old Man, Wild Child, DeDee or the Chatty Cathy Supervisor—is all I am capable because I am too afraid to truly follow what I want (if I knew what that really was) since the results seem to hinder more than they evolve. I think of the Star Trek quote: “The needs of the many out weigh the needs of the few… or the one.” The opposite is too ill-logical. Am I fighting my logic against my freewill? If so, is it my logic? And do I only attach myself to free-spirits because I desperately crave to be one? This life seemed so full of hope, just not my own.

October 10th, 2008 - 10:24 PM PDT - (Cosmetology and Sideburns)

2008-10-10T10:23:00.000-07:00

Last night I had a lesson in cosmetology from a Supervisor, of all things, one of the Chatty Cathy's. But to my surprise she was very helpful, she seemed really into makeup and style and really into my situation. Either she has experience or she really does have a heart underneath that tough interior, but is it nice to have more support, I just find it odd it is coming from my "adopted" family as opposed to a real one. Oh well, I'll take what I can get I suppose. She offered advice I am still trying to process, in fact, I think I am going to have her write me a shopping list so I know exactly what to get because I am having trouble remembering everything she showed me--she even has a place in mind that I can get waxed and a place I can get shoes. The part that threw me off was when she mentioned my sideburns.

Eyebrows are a given, I have to have mine trimmed/waxed; however, it had never had occurred to me how masculinity and femininity can be determined by an extension of upper facial hair, but now that I think about, I know it is right. She is right, I have to get rid of them. Now I am obsessed about it. I spent the past several hours looking at female hairstyles to get an idea of where I should trim from, but then it reminds me of the time I did shave off my sideburns. Accidentally, of course, I wasn't sure where my beard stopped and my sideburns began and wound up shaving parallel to the top of my ears. I figure if I did the same thing again it would probably be wrong and too straight. I'll add that to the list of things to let someone else do that knows what the hell they are doing. I'd like to have something like that as well as a full body waxing, new nails, my ears pierced and new clothes; however, I can't give way to impulse just yet.

The two credit card bills I am dreading are still pending. Now I know why I had second thoughts when buying that TV. If only the Deja Vu had worked, I wouldn't have bought it, but I did. And as for those phones weren't really needed, but I got them anyway. The only thing on either bill I'm not ashamed off are my skirts from Chadwicks, but then again, they're the least expensive items, go figure. Once they are paid off, then I'll move forward. Until then, I have to do it in slower increments. I guess I am missing this Halloween after all. Oh well, maybe I'll be well underway by one of my Birthdays.

October 9th, 2008 – 4:07 AM PDT – (One of the Girls)

2008-10-09T04:23:00.000-07:00

It is funny, instead of talking about morbid shit around my friends, I find myself talking about makeup, clothes, having cleavage and curves, nails and so forth. I mean, I know I talked about it before, but it was always under the guise of being ashamed of it. These days, not so. In fact, I just had a lengthy discussion with Wild Child about hair removal and then, at an extent, the amplified figure my shapers (as well as with the Whiny Clerk at the store). But besides here, the negative still has it presence with Cindy, though. I guess misery loves company. I suppose I have always been one of the girls, considering that most of my friendships have been with women and I am trying to be one, stepping back, by not having to worry (or caring to worry). But there are a few setbacks to this building happiness.

The other day I went to a Walgreens to get a flu shot and a pneumonia shot in the middle of the day as myself. When it arose that I was paying in cash, I filled out the form as Keira and was proud of it. The clerk at the store even called me “ma’am”. Until… I found out they were checking ID’s. I switched the letters back to Kevin and waited for the inevitable eye stares when I handed the form and my license to the clerk (I should probably update my license photo). What I found annoying about myself. When I want to make a feminine voice, I can’t but when I am embarrassed I drop a few octaves (something that goes back to childhood). Once I had my ID out, you guessed it, I was embarrassed and my voice dropped. But once I was home, when I wanted to speak in my female voice, it was gone. And it wasn’t that I didn’t try. Yesterday, I went out all day as Keira but couldn’t sound like her—I guess because I wasn’t ashamed. Some life.

October 7th, 2008 – 9:28 AM PDT – (An Exhausted Week)

2008-10-09T04:10:00.000-07:00

For some reason, I have been really tired. It is not from work, I have no idea what it is from. Maybe it is from the season change. (Maybe I’m pregnant—yeah right.) Part of me is still pissed at the Old Man for a joke he made at the expense of my lifestyle. A goddamn New York broadcast of breast augmentation and, in his fashion, proclaimed he wasn’t going to pay for “my” breast implants. I said nothing more than the standard “fuck you” at the time. Other than that, it became clear to me he doesn’t respect me for who or what I am. I just… why am I not surprised. Fuck him! I am not going to stop being me.

Meanwhile, a bright light might shine. Normally I would write about it, but I think I’ll wait until it happens before examining it.

Perhaps this is why I am tired, too many extremes. When Wild Child was of Delusional, I really missed her. Then I went boot shopping again and didn’t find shit. An upside, I bought more pushup bras and bodyshapers. Again probably too many extremes.

September 30th, 2008 – 9:32 PM PDT

2008-09-30T21:38:00.001-07:00

Just as I was publishing these posts, I have an eerie feeling something is going to happen. As much as I think I might have changed the future, which may not be the case. Well, if tonight is the night at least I’ll die as the “me” I am and not as the “me” I was.

September 29th, 2008 – 3:22 AM PDT

2008-09-30T21:30:00.000-07:00

A great deal has occurred since my last entry; one year evaluation at work, took a short trip to Tahoe with Wild Child, got a phone specific or texting… oh, and I came out to the Old Man. Yeah, the latter is probably more important than anything else. Because I had gotten myself into a corner by way of stating Wild Child was my girlfriend and both parties wanting to meet each other, I found myself coming clean and telling him the truth. I didn’t tell him about Keira or ascension, but he didn’t seem all that surprised, in fact, he thought I was gay (and probably still does). Then, in his own way he started analyzing the situation, asking me why transvestites were called transvestites, I played dumb to that effect even though I could told volumes.

With that off my chest, I’ve actually been able to sleep. I changed the future now I can start my ascension with out real concern.

September 25th, 2008 – 9:13 PM PDT

2008-09-30T21:28:00.000-07:00

New TV, new car, new radio, new script, sustainable friendships (possibly), different bullshit, the inevitable ending. I have a new car, the Old Man’s 2007 Impala. Getting closer to Wild Child, taking a ride with her and her beau, I am certain of an issue I have been avoiding for a while. Lately, more instances of Déjà vu have been popping up. More dreams surfacing as reality, which can only bring me to the following conclusions, the dream from three years ago with the girl was not a dream, nor was the collision from January. I don’t want to start second guessing myself; however, all events seem to be leading to an inevitable end, mine.

September 18th, 2008 – 4:26 AM PDT – (Flaky Crust)

2008-09-18T06:02:00.000-07:00

There is no way I could refrain from commenting on my act of contributing to the ever growing detriment surfacing itself through the whirling “zeroes” and “ones” of the web (or net—no I am not going to call it the interweb ). Granted, my diary is just a large of sore, I feel producing a video is waste of effort, not to mention time. Christ, I spent two or three hours editing the damn thing, plus the added hours of uploading it. And on the side of vanity, the upshot from Mac’s iSight camera was anything but flattering.

My vague declaration of re-pursuing my passion, just from watching it, part of me has to lament and the other has to laugh. The part of me that is laughing is the part that actually thinks I could do it by using myself. I am not an actor by any stretch of the imagination, yet for some reason I think I can sell my fucked ideas with me in them. The part of me that is lamenting is the fact that I am the only person I can rely on. It is not that I doubt the support that those closest to me would provide; I seriously doubt how reliable they can be.

I mean, my partner during college abandoned me on a number of occasions because he didn’t want to get out of bed before 8:30 AM. My partner during the Morbid Years was never in one place long enough to get anything other than a faux teaser trailer and a few unusable scenes. Groggy-Ego and Morrison’s Ghost always seemed to be going through some tragedy whenever I’d work with them. Morrison’s Ghost was in a number of car accidents during and in post of Idlewild. Groggy-Ego, besides a couple of car accidents, had the death of a couple of family members, a dog, and marriage nearly come apart. Vile-San, in all my dealings with him, was too concerned about his club and his fire-magic and paying his bills to be of any use. And I could go on about many others, but I’m not completely innocent either. My documentary feel apart because I couldn’t take being around the Amtgarders any longer, especially after they started referring to me as the “Camera-Guy”, taking claims to my project as if it were theirs not mine and shutting me out at every chance they could. Then there’s that Native American footage I shot that I wound up holding on to—I should have just given it to the woman I shot it with and left when I had a chance. Even though taking Groggy-Ego’s advice of doing what I can do and not attempt the grandiose impossible is great conjecture, but redundant without a few mildly reliable people.

The one who is offering the most support, the one who has my number and the one that has had me reconsider my one rule for a while (I am being vague for a reason, in case she’s reading), has a mixed track record at best. I would hate something like this to affect how I feel about her. I don’t want to grow frustrated and hate her for what keeps me around. I would rather have the drama captured on film not behind the scenes. The lamenting part of me knows this better than the laughing part, more than the (what little) optimistic part of me. A test would be prudent, however, may end up proving futile as it did with Tiger Eyes and Jamie Kennedy’s Copy (or Clone as I said in the video). For once I don’t know what to do. Maybe I should just plain one project at a time and go from there since I have no idea how much longer this will last.

September 17th, 2008 - 4:08 AM PDT - Vlogging My Heart Out

2008-09-18T03:38:00.000-07:00

This is the first (and possibly last) video blog entry of my wayward life. Although epiphanies are aplenty in the downtrodden I call the Daily Distortions, I wanted to post something (sort of) positive, while at the same time showing the state I am in when something comes to me. So, for your viewing pleasure, enjoy!

September 12th, 2008 – 9:52 AM PDT

2008-09-12T10:29:00.000-07:00

Sitting here waiting for Wild Child to show put me in the uncomfortable position of answering my phone while texting her. At a weak moment in the conversation with the Old Man, I asked him what he was expecting me as an adult. He had hoped I would have become a chef because of how good of a cook I was. (His words not mine.) However, he was happy that I had become a responsible, stable adult, that I found something I liked doing, that I was determined and persistent. Hearing the latter made me feel ashamed since I regard myself as anything but. Then, as the conversation went along, it put me in the other uncomfortable position of admitting something I never thought I would admit to the Old Man. No, not that I am a trans, something even more affirming: the real reason as to why I ever tried to make movies. The Old Man, my father could be considered the toughest movie audience, he is really drawn by satire (satire within any genre not just comedy) and because there are very satires done these days, it takes a great deal to get him to go to the movies. But he was the one that got me into movies; it was something we could always connect with despite what was going on in our lives. So, when it boils right down to it, I wanted to make a movie that he would go see, one that would make him go to the movie theatre. Unfortunately, that never happened. I failed to make anything that could bring that dream to reality. He was choked up by that revelation, covering his tracks a bit by stating how gratified. For a brief, as when I wrote in the story of Kyle admitting to Alicia in my ill-fated summer novel, I felt relieved, then immediately thereafter I felt ashamed, not only for admitting it but for not doing what I had set out to do.

I feel worse just recapping it because, as my realization from the previous post exudes, life is not a movie. In a movie, a moment like that would have brought closer to the main character’s problem, allowing he/she to move on. For me, I have to live with the knowledge of now he knows why I feel guilty. I suppose I could rectify the situation by going to the CIA (Culinary Institute of America), but I’m no cook, I’m just some guy who knows a few tricks and follow directions. I guess what I was really looking for was an answer to the question of what I want out of life through someone else’s eyes since I have no answer to that question.

September 6th, 2008 - 7:05 PM PDT (Ken & Barbie and Left out, again)

2008-09-06T19:55:00.000-07:00

Last night a Ken & Barbie came into the Department Five Diablo. I haven’t been able to get them out of my head since I saw them. Except for their “friends”, I am pretty sure I am the only one that could tell what they really are. I found myself feeing jealous, not just of their unique relationship, but of Barbie herself, she was so convincing and I am anything but.

Actually, I take that back, their relationship is what I am jealous of. Not only because they are together (which makes me jealous of most couples be they straight, gay or trans), I’m angry at myself for not being able to cross a threshold of trust. Right now, the closet thing I have to a relationship is the exchange with Wild Child (now that she knows I am not gay she is probably keeping that distance thing wide as the Grand Canyon), a few flirts with Candy-Girl, my discussions with Erica (which I reckon are coming to a close since she seems apathetic to our chats, to which I am not surprised, it was only a matter of time), and the Old Man. To some that would probably be enough, when is a handful ever enough? I guess love is either an overrated concept or something I can never partake. I’m a shut-in that’s plain and simple. Even my virtual counterparts have abandoned me, then again I didn’t do to dissuade them of that. Eventually Wild Child will grow tired of my incessant whaling (because I know damn well it won’t come down to me admitting how I feel, although I am rather certain she already knows), either Candy-Girl or I will leave the Enemy, and the Old Man will die (it is hard for me to admit, but once he’s gone, his death will probably be the hardest or the only one I will ever mourn since once he’s gone I’ll have no one else who will tolerate my many delusions and foreboding mood swings, at which point I’ll probably cut myself off completely from the world around). As for Erica, I think I’ll do her the favor and stop bothering her. She has enough to worry about without the anxiety of hearing my bullshit.

I originally I wanted to comment on the fact that my neighbours neglected to mention to me the birthday of our fellow compatriot, but this entry became entirely self absorbed (as most, if not all of my entries seem to). The only thing I am fairly certain about from everything that has happened: Life is not a movie. There are no moments of epiphany; there are no plots, no character pitfalls, no musical score, no editor, no director, no credit roll at the end. Everyone is the writer and the main character of their own lives, but there is no Markey to that effect. If anything, this journal has taught me that life never ends. Even death is not necessarily the end because someone else is still living one, reading, developing the pages of the next scene (although I am fairly certain no one is reading this). The only other thing I am certain about: Life is something I am not a part of, in really any capacity. Even in this journal or in my writing or at work or anything, I am just dysfunctional sprite to a larger game. And no matter how positive or negative I am, no matter how much makeup I wear or habits I try to quit or do whatever to stand out, it won’t matter, it still won’t matter because my life, in a nutshell, is really meaningless. Just as everyone else who keeps a diary or posts a blog, there is nothing special; there is no value, no worth to my life. Not even to me.

So I guess I must occupy my sad, quiet existence until I fade away to obscurity.

August 28th, 2008 – 1:02 AM PDT – (Brand New Year, Same Old Bullshit)

2008-09-06T19:50:00.000-07:00

Note: If you've been reading so far, you'll notice I have abandoned the DD Log Entry to the title. I figured it was rather redundant to do anymore since you're probably already aware of what this is and that it takes up title real estate. The dates and times are staying, however, because half of the posts are transcribed from my mobile log.

Anyway, enough technical shite, Welcome to Year Two.

A new year starts with a new entry. I bailed out of that class as expected. On the upside I did have breakfast with Wild Child, unfortunately with her boyfriend in toe. And I find myself reverting to old habits, cutting off from other people (namely my neighbours). I know something will come of recent events, something bad. Granted, last year a “positive” from that disaster in the form of a job, then another “positive” was my apartment, all based around the foundation of this “positive”, and a few more, but I am still here. Even with the “positive” of exploring my other self, the continuity of my life never ceases, if last year was light, then this one will be dark, or a strong series of “negatives”.

YEAR ONE FINALE

2008-08-28T06:47:00.000-07:00

I debated whether or not to include this. I figured I would go back and reinstate the incomplete entries, but this entry seemed more important. A few days ago I had a panic attack after a shower. Sitting in my office chair stripped down to my salmon panties, I wrote this on a piece of paper I have been carrying in my wallet. Looking it over, although my last entry of the years claims I learned nothing, I feel this would be a more prudent way to conclude the year.

Note: If the Daily Distortions were to end, this would the conclusion. Not the one I was after, but at least it is true.

Whenever I have outwardly spoken about what plans I have had about the future, it dawns on me that what I said was merely to sound good to other people, or whatever fuels my subconscious in creating a fantasy of the end result with no regard of how to get there. Either way, both sever the same function, utter denial and avoidance of the present. When it boils right down to the nitty-gritty, I have no plans, I have no goals, and my ambitions are lofty at best. Everything I have assimilated in my head are nothing more than a series trained responses to nothing important. I don’t know who or what I am supposed to be. I know I am supposed to go this journey alone, sadly as a result of my temper. I wish that wasn’t the case but I don’t know how to force myself to remedy that. Pathetic as it may sound, the future wouldn’t be difficult to face if I had another body near mine, not sexually, I just want to be cradled and hugged and kissed and loved by a woman. I can’t believe I am harkening back to something I never had in childhood, but I guess that is all I really want, all I’ve ever wanted. God I’m pathetic. Perhaps that’s why I have so many female friends (or desire to be feminine for that matter), so one will hold me like their child.

Time for the New Year!

DD Log Entry - August 27th, 2008 – 3:26 AM PDT – (Year One – Full Circle)

2008-08-28T06:46:00.000-07:00

Well yesterday was my first day of class and it will probably be my last. I didn’t go to class in my skirt as I had planned; I chickened out. I was a bit jealous of the scantly clad female college students, wishing my figure was as pronounced, my chest was hairless and large so I could show it off, wearing a pair of heel, and could be as chatty with everyone around like the other girls. Instead, I found myself standing in the darkest corner saying nothing. Only a few minutes in and I instantly revert to my old habits. Well I had makeup on my face so I couldn’t my nose excessively.

The class itself arose old wounds, an old Nightmare I could never shake that has been with me since elementary school and has grown stronger since my forced school days in Oregon. Instead of being half-naked in a schoolyard or wandering around an over developed campus (a la Berkley or Stanford—both campuses which I have stood on), it was on a green campus (a la Humboldt State—another campus I’ve been on) mixed with a middle school, displaying my lack of self-control at the childish acts of a bully. Honestly, I am disappointed in myself, but I can’t trust myself.

So, as Year One draws to a close, I’ve learned… absolutely… Nothing!

DD Log Entry - August 25th, 2008 – 8:31 AM PDT – (Pride)

2008-08-28T06:45:00.000-07:00

I avoided turning this into another mistake day by swallowing my pride and taking the fall for my errors. If there is no penalty then why do I feel like shit? Because I almost repeated myself again, that’s why. Staring at my made-up complexion in the Tumbler Zen mirror, I was able to stop myself—of course the threat of a look at the camera recording might have had something to do with it. I have to get the hell out of there before I incur another Mistake Day; this is getting serious.

DD Log Entry - August 24th, 2008 - 7:06 AM PDT - (Basque Sheepherde)

2008-08-28T06:42:00.000-07:00

I sit atop the Basque Sheepherde overlooking Delusional and the “N”. I have silenced my cellphone and iPod to hear the mourning hums, to pay my respects to those I squandered. Two and a half years ago on a cold January Sunday, a snowy weekend of Martin Luther King, I shot my last piece of footage, last piece of life I could never live. I was here shooting what I thought would be the closing shot of “Lay-on,” but deep down I knew it to be the end. Oh, the end didn’t occur for another year or so with the death of my screenwriting, this was the end of my directing and shooting.

In all fairness I suppose I came for more than lamenting, but to acknowledge my future by facing my past and examining my present. Staring at the last of the many sites of that failure, I must acknowledge I may not end up a success as a writer, this from the clear view of my mistake, may not become a successful student, leave Delusional, ascend to my proper form, or the very least, get a better job. Looking out at this yet-to-be developed land devoid of distraction may very well be the best moment of my life. No matter how proactive I become, all I can do is hope my life will reach some semblance of prosperity.

If the class on Tuesday turns out to be nothing, I think I’ll put in for a transfer and just leave. I have no reason to stay, no one to stay for.

DD Log Entry - August 19th, 2008 - 8:02 AM PDT

2008-08-21T08:47:00.000-07:00

This week I purposely refrained from providing daily entries, merely for the sake of not wanting to repeat myself. I mean, how often can one talk about my misgivings at one’s place of employment, or obsess about not being completely passable as the opposite gender, or come to revelations that only crushed by self-doubt hatred. I did, in my absence from dictating these diatribes attempt to write a bit of science fiction, a dabble and mockery of the current state of the realm. However, I’m not sure where I truly want to go with this, part of me wants to infuse a bit of TG/TV into it while another part of me wants to inject some duality. I see where it goes—assuming I finish it.

Another annoyance the part wee has thrown at me is a bit of a headache. IMing with Mary, she said it might be from the late hours. Without bothering to stop myself, I mentioned my desire and pursuits for a new job, she mentioned a sporting goods store named Scheel. I don’t know shit about sporting goods, or anything masculine for that matter. Besides, I don’t know if I want another retail job, and looking across the street from the Tumbler Zen, if I were to go or retail again, I think I would rather work at a bookstore, but I’ll still put in application, at this point, anything is better than the Enemy. I recall my original reason for choosing the Enemy as a place of employment was a means of my long term to escape Delusional. The more I examined it over the past few months, the more I realized it is another flawed Delusions.

DD Log Entry - August 15th, 2008 - 9:24 AM PDT

2008-08-21T08:46:00.000-07:00

It is difficult not to find one’s self reflecting after the digestion of deep material, but if it has an audience emotions running high, ever if it is an audience of once it did its job. As you can guess, I partook of “The Shawshank Redemption” (1994) once again. I have probably watched that movie more times than Charles Schultz and his addiction, “Citizen Kane” (1941). Each time it hits me the same way, I have to write, I have to create something beautiful. This time I had to stop myself after all, it is the masterpiece and I am nothing more than the student. Putting it away again, probably not for the last time, the cases of DVD’s stared down upon my weary soul, reminding me of the many hours I spent in their pursuit and the many days, weeks, months, years of life wasted watching the achievements of others. The Old Man always warned me that a lifetime of television and movies was no life at all; it takes away the essentials. Looking at my empty apartment and my empty heart, though, he intended towards education, I find myself without the lights of life—he was right.

Every attempt I’ve had at mastering this craft has been in vain, at least when it comes to my own life. Abandoning my own as I have had to with everything else this summer, this year, this new life, needing pursuits, at least I would hope it would give away to something of achievement or at least some kind of identity I sorely lacked. If anything this year has taught me the value of life, and the value of one, my own does not come close to that spent their alive.

DD Log Entry - August 14th, 2008 - 9:19 AM PDT

2008-08-21T08:45:00.000-07:00

The weekend was spent in a skirt, or most of it anyway, while saying goodbye to another piece of my past. As I readied my new Mac, I was saying farewell to a piece of mine. Which I must work my way to two other decisions. Today Wild Child was supposed to come over to my place to view my computers for future purchase. It was supposed to be her and her “companion”. She never showed. I am attracted to her by more than lust, perhaps it is love—I have no idea. However, I can’t violate my one rule, which would be required to pursue anything with her, or anyone for that matter. So I must stick to the one rule. It will result in more isolation, but I can’t afford anymore mental anguish from a past of I no not decision, leave my life to this and my writing to noble fantastic. If I am moving on in other respects, I must move on in my writing as well and stop drowning from my lament to extend apparatuses that only fuel it. When I get home from work, I must red box the red books. Everyone must learn their purpose in the world. I have, kicking and screaming reluctantly learn mine.

DD Log Entry - August 12th, 2008 - 2:19 AM PDT

2008-08-21T08:43:00.000-07:00

I could bitch about the idiots from the day not lifting a finger to help; I could complain about a back of sleep; I could go on at nausea about seeing “The Dark Knight” (2008) again; but I won’t bother. I will mention, however, I did go job hunting and applied for two positions—Library Aide and Community Service Officer (Meter Maid). I probably won’t get either because of how close I’m applying to the deadline, but at least I did it rather than talking about doing it. It felt weird it took this place to make me more proactive in my life. I wonder how long it will last?

-- 9:28 AM PDT

Right this second I am sitting in the Tumbler Zen in on of my skirts and I feel great.

DD Log Entry - August 11th, 2008 - 3:16 AM PDT

2008-08-21T08:42:00.000-07:00

I have to admit, I am returning to college out of boredom. As much as I can tolerate the minutia of life, I am returning because I am tired of talking about the minutia of life. Now I have a serious problem. I’m not sure how much longer I can control myself before snapping customers or an over zealous loss and snap there I’ll go. Class starts in fifteen days and I don’t want to be too tightly wound or bog myself down, but I can’t afford to be out of work either I was going to wait after election day, but I have to start now, I have to look for a new job.

DD Log Entry - August 10th, 2008 - 12:26 AM PDT

2008-08-21T08:40:00.000-07:00

It is one of those days, one of those days I wish I could say: “Fuck it” and walk out the door. It is not just because of the customers or the inept managers, or the fact that I do a job for teenagers for people who share said mentality. I just feel dead inside. Like why did I bother getting out of bed? To say: “Can I help you” a thousand times, drink coffee and eat bad food, collect a paycheck? Yes the latter, always the latter. What bothers me even more is that damn question people seem to poise to ask me. I shouldn’t let it bother me but it does.

DD Log Entry - August 9th, 2008 - 2:57 AM PDT

2008-08-14T07:24:00.000-07:00

My eyesight repaired itself—thank god, I was getting a headache from the light coming in on the side of my eyes. A few days ago I purchased a couple of skirts, both online and in reality. Wearing them, I never felt so at peace, only for epiphanies to run flurry with my mind. (1), I hate pants, I never liked wearing them and if I could, I’d wear skirts all the time. (2), I have and always will be a loner and, these days, I am not bothered by that notion. (3), The book I think I’ve been working on al this time is the wrong one. I am simultaneously following and violating the writer’s credo: “Write what you know.”

As much as I want something it doesn’t mean I know enough to write about it. I can’t write about love, being in love, or a couple in love because I know nothing about it, and I’ve never been in a couple. I could write the children’s book, not only because I had been a child, but also from knowing that’s the type of work—work of the mind—I could relate. Since there are no rules to writing, and I still need to be published, perhaps I should combine my journal entries with the book I’m trying to write and publish that—at least at the end of the first year.

Finally, as the year is drawing to a close—the year’s worth of journal entries—I find myself wishing I had kept a journal throughout bad years. The only thing mildly qualifies would be my films and writing from that time. I can’t reopen those wounds without reason—and no legitimate one comes to mind. Thus, another part of me wishes I had kept one for most, if not all my life.

DD Log Entry - August 5th, 2008 - 3:14 AM PDT - (Mac II)

2008-08-14T07:20:00.000-07:00

How the hell did a trip to see “The Dark Knight” (2008) again lead to buying a new Mac? Christ, I haven’t slept in a few days, I screwed up an order for my skirts, which won’t come until after school starts, meanwhile I have to decide whether to wait , go to the store and buy some, and also figure out how I will pay back the Old Man for a purchase that should have been for later. On the upside I have an iPod Touch now, but not at the capacity I was planning on later.

DD Entry - August 2nd, 2008 - 10:46 AM PDT - (Ups and Downs)

2008-08-02T11:52:00.000-07:00

This weekend was a mixed bag. After I left work I had the treat of being called “miss” by a clerk at Crack-in-the-box as I picked up my breakfast. A smirk crossed my face and I couldn’t help warm up and fix my makeup as I went to do my extended-laundry. Then, after a quick bit, I went down to Carson to pick up my credit card bill as planned but forgot to remove my nail polish before seeing the Old Man. His first reaction was laughter, followed by asking why. I simply explained stress. His comments continued by further comments of laughter. If he saw my(actual)self I am certain it would meet more of the same. Later, when he said he was going down to visit my Great Aunt in her new hostel, I made an offer to tag along that I now regret since I didn’t get any writing of my book, except a note of change, which I’ll go into.

I didn’t end up seeing “The Dark Knight” (2008) again as I had planned, but the following morning started with a pleasant surprise—Wild Child once again. She was at her work at her “Clerks” (1994)-esque job past the borderline. We got to speak for over an hour and I said things I had to fight myself and Owen to say, eventually asking her out for a cup of coffee. Not that morning, but hopefully one in the future. Nothing more than a friendship will probably develop—I can’t hope for more but I won’t relive that again. Then I left to get my gas and gave her my watch. I’d go into more specifics, but I would like to keep that happy memories to myself and not mention the embarrassing ones, since she wouldn’t have it that way.

A glow came over me the rest of the day, which came in handy because I needed something to connect to after taking a trip into the SF Bay-Area. The drive in was a blur as my mind activated a fantasy I didn’t want to experience since I would rather live, but as the progressed, I let it work its magic. I won’t go into the details—you can make your own assumptions to what it was—from the disappointment of forgetting my journal or the very least a pad and paper, I was able to fix a major problem in my book that discussed with Wild Child.

I like the couple stuff in it, I like the evolving life elements, but having them meet is just too much of a dead horse. I remember reading something on TheaterHopper.com from the creator Tom Brazelton in his blog about why he likes the notion of having his main characters Tom and Cami an existing couple, it is easier than the same “will they, won’t they” get together bullshit of a sitcom, while opening the storylines around the lives of the characters. The plotlines don’t have to drown around coupling BS—they are together, that’s it. They can easily be separated, but putting them together is just overdone. I think if I do the same in my book, I’ll be able to focus on the main themes of being in love and growing up, rather than the same back and forth. Doing my best not to lose that decision, I let the fantasy continue; even during the few times I slept.

Later, the visits were more or less ranging from mind numbing to a strain of emotions. My Great Aunt had no idea who I was—I am rather sure, because of the length of my hair and black shirt, she confused me for my Sister-In-Law. She went on at nausea at the points she likes to repeat—Idaho, dead relatives, my siblings, and her social security. Despite those senile setbacks, she seemed happy in her communal home—deep down I hope she is. Our visit wasn’t too long. The Old Man ended it after a call from my Sister-In-Law was received. His excuses were that he feared my Great Aunt would bring up the touchy subject of my resemblance to my mother and that the residence were being moved around for their meals. I could tell it was something else. The once carefree woman he knew had been replaced by a broken record that could not, by any means, be repaired. Closing in on her decades of existence, he probably feared a similar fate as I do of becoming a bitter-lonely racist. Life is never fair to the good, nor is karma forgiving to the wicked. One must know to be enough of both, but not too much of either. At that point I could see why he deeply valued the time we shared. My Great Aunt feared dying alone and forgotten, the Old Man fears forgetting, and I fear a life lacking accomplishment. To each their own solution.

Following a visit to my Sister-In-Law for the Old Man’s mail and a number of pictures at the expense of my new waistline (“Yeah, he takes after his mother,” my Sister-In-Law joshed), the Old Man decided to go for Italian before departing the SF Bay Area, I was more interested in returning to my apartment and my bed than eating, but I wasn’t driving, so there you have it. Looking for parking in San Mateo on a Friday Evening brings a whole new meaning to needle in a haystack. Stupidly, I advised him to park the Impala in a Yuppie/Grocery Story parking lot, despite all the signs saying otherwise. I figured his Handicap placard, even though from another state, would prevent towing. But the thought of losing my future new car didn’t leave my mind. I can’t remember what I had to eat, all I can remember is looking over at the store parking lot and hoping it didn’t get towed. Once the relay race of consumption ended, we adjourned across the street to witness other cars making tow-bar departures, the Impala was luckily safe, for the time. So, to remedy, I walked inside the store and purchased an ice-coffee to pretend I was a customer, as did the Old Man with his two litres of water.

On the ride home, I slept the way back processing what had happened that day and the remainder of my fantasy with one I’ll never share reality with, my mind rested for once in a long time. After my return to my apartment and a bit more sleep, reading glasses and a new watch would become required purchases, not mention having to reapply my nail polish, but epiphanies would run rapid. Regret wasn’t something I should spent my life marveling in, but rather a goal to shoot for. I had always thought that leaving Delusional and moving to some grander Metropolitan would be the solution, anonymity in numbers. The sight of the overbuilt, overpopulated and under green SF Bay Area has convinced me otherwise. Like a nightmare I’ve been having for the past few years, the industrial environments are not for me, nor is the desert but at least I can still see where it starts and ends, despite the ever urban expansion. I won’t mention my goal because I don’t want to jinx it from happening. Most likely it can happen, nor do I want to obsess over it as I did with Washington State or my home outside Vancouver B.C. Life is what each of us makes of it. From what I saw this weekend in every capacity, including the beloved Wild Child, I have to take my time in making one for my own.

DD Entry - July 31st, 2008 - 8:37 AM PDT

2008-08-02T10:31:00.000-07:00

I did it! I survived the long week. I can’t believe I actually did it—the seven days of hell are over at last. My reward, I suppose, was seeing Wild Child once again, my other “reward” was a new headache in my life. The later I’ll have to deal with by simply saying “piss off” when the time comes, but I can wash it out by the sight of Wild Child captured in morning afterglow. The other dominating headache in my life is the department in which I am enslaved to—electronics. Looking back through old entries I can see how it was what I thought I wanted, so far I have figured it was not. What is making it worse, I can’t any rest these days. Idiots riding carts coming out of their sand tombs to discuss or complain at me with bullshit I don’t want to hear, and they always seem to think I am their buddy. I could seriously give a shit. I can’t stop helping people because, for some fucked up reason, I have to, but I don’t think I can take anymore of this. If I can’t find a better job elsewhere, I can at least get myself out of the department five Diablo by transferring to another department or promoted to something that won’t require dealing with the ineptitudes of these wastes of space.

That aside, I must pay my rent and decide whether or not to go down to Carson today for my credit card bill. I’d rather see “The Dark Knight” (2008) again, but I have to pick it up. I just have to figure out how not to let another old fart with too much time on their hands take up my limited portion of life.

DD Entry - July 30th, 2008 - 12:18 AM PDT

2008-08-02T10:30:00.000-07:00

What a fucked up day. Instead of going out for clothes, which part of me is still surprised that I wrote that sentence, I ended up replacing a minor part in my car to entertaining a lonely Old Man until late in the afternoon. During the course of the day I did manage to watch “Stargate: Continuum” (2008)—the first on my list of last ditches. When I was setting up the PDQ for it the night before, it bared the film and all ten seasons of Stargate SG-1. I was seriously tempted to say the least since it was a show I enjoyed and it was cheaper than purchasing the combined box-set. Luckily temptation didn’t win over because the film was a bit of a disappointment. It wasn’t bad, it just seemed like a long episode from the later seasons—drawing out too many solo-character what-ifs and hanging threads, as opposed to using audience’s benefit of the doubt. One might argue “The Dark Knight” (2008) has stifled everything else in scope, not the case. Quitting this obsession with film stems from a frame of growth. I would finally like to put my past behind me, grow as an individual, hell, if possible, fall in love. After observing other people’s longing for many years, it occurred to me that I really only had one thing I truly was passionate (geeked out) about and that was movies. Unfortunately, every time I watch a movie now, especially in repetition on my TV in my domicile, the past few years start flooding back, all the remorse I endured drowns out the joy, replacing it with a perpetual numbness and even emotional overload, and I can’t live through that anymore. I have to move on, but I can’t quit cold-turkey as I tried before because then someone will take to the movie theatre, I’ll feel something or nothing, and then feel I have to reexamine my library, and then expand it. Hopefully, my five selections—“Stargate: Continuum” (2008) (29 July 2008), “Dexter” Season 2 (2007 – 19 August 2008), “Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles” (2008) Season 1 (19 August 2008), “The Nighmare Before Christmas” (1993) Special Edition (26 August 2008), and “The Shawshank Redemption” (1994) Special Edition Blu-ray (04 November 2008)—should ease that process. When I finally put my TV and DVD player to rest, I can only hope that when I watch a movie from then on that it will be on the big screen with another without it becoming a driving force in my life—entertainment not obsession.