While I realize that relationships and people are no objects, I’m sure anyone who’s ever been in love has come to know that possessiveness that takes us over for that special person on occasion. These are tiny moments when their attention and their life are under the constant grasp of your scrutiny and it is just so difficult to let go for even the smallest passage of time, to let them flee the love nest and be themselves without you for a while. It’s something I’ve been struggling with a lot with lately, especially when the summer has offered a plethora of time between the two us. I am fighting to change and grow out of it, to reclaim any semblance of independence beyond what has allowed me to stray from my own family nest, but it is really so damn hard, and it’s going to take such a long time.

Some days I don’t remember what I am without him. Personal hobbies? Personal friends? Bah! What good are those things when I have the greatest person in the world?! It’s really quite pitiful, and wrong. I don’t like to make him feel guilty for wanting a break for a while, for wanting to hang out with his friends without me, for wanting to be a guy, no strings attached. AKA a dick, sometimes, it feels like. But I realize that’s just my insensitivity, my selfishness talking. And if people are going to be happy, sometimes they need to switch up the scene for a while. I know that, but it’s taking forever to get it through my thick skull. I leave him to escape from the cage himself when there shouldn’t be one to begin with.

It’s gotten so bad that I’m not even interested in meeting new people. I avert my eyes and keep on moving. Friendly neighbors? Fuck that. They must want something. Fucking sluts. That’s how I felt last week when he made a passing remark to one of his friends about a pretty girl next door. I’ve answered the door to her twice, and I can’t bring myself to look at her. I still don’t know what the hell she looks like. I had never felt the pangs of jealousy so strongly in my life. Sure, let’s go admire Kim Kardashian’s ass together. Hell, I’m down with Halle Berry and that one porn star you like so much too. Ah ha ha, there’s a boob shot! That’s hot, right? But the girl next door? Hell no. Somehow she’s too easily attainable. But he was never interested in her anyway.

So you see, I have a problem. I’m trying to do something about it by staying out of the house and making plans with local friends, but its going to take some time. I just hope he doesn’t give up on me. It’s quite possible he has been just about ready to these past few days. Can’t say I blame him. He’s doing his part, being patient and open and independent. Now it’s my turn.

There’s nothing like a shower to wake me up… or put me back to sleep. The temperature of the water ultimately determines my alertness, so after bathing in lukewarm water, I found myself wide awake, although agitated. I prefer my showers to be as hot as I can take it, even with the promise of the languid heat of summer. With the rain and all, the heat did not turn out to be such a big problem.

Of course, the hair on my head is seldom inclined to agree. I had braided my hair up and twisted it into Bantu knots after applying gel the day before in order to get that crinkly, wavy appearance in my hair to wear out today. The humidity quickly dismantled my plans, and I was left with a voluminous, puffy ponytail. Eh, who was I trying to impress anyway? By 9:12AM, I was finally out of the house.

I really hate construction sites, especially when they become intrusive in a public environment, which is pretty much all the time. Squeezing past the fenced in street on what was left of the sidewalk adjacent to the site, I splashed a man with the rain drops from my umbrella as wild vegetation brushed it and sprang my skyward shield forward. He didn’t seem to mind and kept moving.

I continued down the street, and perhaps my hair plans hadn’t all gone to hell as a raggedy man in red decided to hit on me. Not interested in the least, I passed him by as he repeatedly asked me “Are you all right?” or “You need a ride?” even as I did not bother to make eye contact with him. Is it so difficult to tell when people are ignoring you? My scowl clearly should have given it away. I quickened my pace until he was finally out of range, passing the track and baseball fields and the parking lot well ahead of schedule. Nothing like a mangy old man for motivation.

Sometimes the very sight of a man makes me cringe, if not physically, mentally. After years of being reminded of the so-called central aspiration of the male species (sex), and by both parents, mind you, I seem to have developed a mentality not unlike that of meek prey sensing its predator just on the horizon. The media certainly hasn’t helped with its depictions of men, especially those of color.

Try as I might, I can rarely fully shake what has become something of an instinct, but more accurately, my prejudice, towards men. It’s this very mentality that has led me out of one relationship after another; until I finally decided that I could fully trust myself, and in turn, someone else; until I found love. It hasn’t done much for that mental condition I’ve been telling you about, though. Pity.

People forget too often how it’s the simplest of things that bring joy to our lives. I of course count myself among the whole, but I was pleasantly reminded when I came home to my boyfriend’s computer casting an infinite banner of love and reassurance across the screen. It made me miss him even more to see that he was thinking of me and thought to remind me of it, even in such a small way, but while simultaneously stifling the pangs of longing. I really am lucky and I really need to stop forgetting it, lest I fall into a similar trap of misery and self loathing that my sister has so readily taken to.

With that, I’ve taken to one of my older hobbies, reading. It was more of an accident that I even picked up a book although I had considered it in a conversation last night, but while I was at my school’s computer lab today, I saw a box of books that were to be given away and I decided to have a look. I discovered two “erotic paranormal” books in a series by an author named Sunny, Mona Lisa Awakening and Mona Lisa Blossoming. At this point I haven’t been able to put it down save to perform the daily ritual of checking my internet sites.

At first I laughed at the pairing of eroticism with the paranormal, but then I recalled this series I collected in middle school and high school called The Last Vampire by Christopher Pike. I’d discovered the series in a similarly accidental way a long time ago during a trip with my parents when I was but a wee little preteen. We had paid a visit to a local library when we were visiting a relative and once we were several blocks away, I discovered the second book in the series on the ground. My parents were in a hurry to get somewhere so they didn’t bother to have me return it. I started reading it on the bus ride home and I was immediately drawn into it, even in spite of my age. I quickly forgot it about it, and while cleaning my room a year or so later, as always, I rediscovered the little treasure… only to forget about it again.

The weird thing was that later, in the seventh grade, I discovered the next book in the series, abandoned in the art classroom. Never one to pass up a free book (I used to love Scholastic RIF days) I grabbed it and continued with the series. Throughout high school, a friend helped me gather the series in its entirety and I devoured the books, rereading them again and again… until I discovered the Confessions of Georgia Nicolson series by Louise Rennison and The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky (whom I would find out just now was responsible for the screenplay for the film adaptation of the musical Rent). Gossip Girl, however, was never my thing. The little suburban girls could live out their fantasies of life in the big city, but I’d already been there and as I was schooling with them for a momentary departure from said city - I didn’t need to pay a visit back to it, and certainly not as it was depicted in such an exaggeratedly ridiculous light. That’s right, I am not a fan.

Such are the wonders of reading. The books I found today have reinvigorated that same spark that I used to have for reading. I’ve always had a certain curiosity about the paranormal rather than a fear of it like some people have. I’ve always had this part of me that refuses to write these things off as fantasy. I like to imagine them as being real instead. It’s more fun that way. Honestly the naughty bits are not even the half of what makes the books intriguing to me. I just find the fact that people create whole mythologies on paper fascinating. Strangely enough though, Harry Potter never really grasped onto me in the same way. Anyway, I’m going to go back to reading now. Sex scenes in books are somehow hilarious.

I feel like I’m being exploited, and I can’t stand for it much longer. I am generally a very tolerant individual, but no other entry on my resume has caused me as much emotional and mental fatigue. Maybe it’s the transition from the corporate internship I had last summer to this rinky-dink small business here now that I am having the most difficulty adjusting to. I am so ready to quit, but I’m really worried about doing it in a professional manner that won’t leave these people in too much of a squabble to have me replaced. Then again they haven’t shown me much professionalism, so why should I owe it to them?

What should I do? Should I throw niceties out the door for the sake of my own happiness and move on? It’s not like I had any intention of asking them for a reference, so it’s not likely that I’d risk damage to my networking capabilities in the Philly area by quitting. I don’t recall any contracts binding me to this opportunity, so I should be free to leave at any time. It’s just decent to give people notice. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do…

It’s a little business in Philly and I’m helping them establish an e-commerce website. I didn’t really have a lot of experience with this particular aspect of web development before, so it’s a great experience in that regard, but the atmosphere doesn’t sit well with me.

My neighbor near my desk is nice, and more than willing to talk to me, but he’s kind of old. I guess that’s to be expected since the business has been in existence since 1922, but I couldn’t deny the creeps I felt when I first started working there. Even nice older people make me uneasy.

Still, I’m not completely satisfied, and with another opportunity looming, I might have to ditch this place. I feel kind of bad though, because it’s not really professional to commit to one thing and go in search of an alternative without telling them. If I get this other job though, I’m probably going to forget to care.

Not only would the other job pay me more, but it’s also closer to campus, so I don’t have to worry about paying for transportation … except for the fact that Bryn Mawr still has me on a leash. I did agree to work there this summer, so I’m not upset about that, but SEPTA is just so damn expensive. Gas prices might be worse though.

So in the job department, everything is peachy keen. It’s creativity that I need to take a step towards! I have a lot of ideas, to the point where its been keeping me up at night. I’m just having some trouble putting it all into action. I’m hesitant, as usual. In any case, I have no choice but to keep on moving. Ciao for now!

Tuesday I have to fill out some paperwork for a job. I’m not completely satisfied with the description, but it will definitely provide some experience in a different arena. It will help me expand my skill base, so it should be great. If it doesn’t work out, there’s always a job on campus that I can apply for. It’s dull, and I’d much rather not have to do it on campus since transportation is so expensive, but it is an alternative, and one I might actually have a little more fun with. If I’m lucky, I should be able to participate in the position off campus or at least for part of the week.

With all the obligations spoken for, I hope to work on sprucing this site up a lot this summer. I want to bring it in the direction of a portfolio, especially since I’ll be a senior next year and I will finally be making my official debut into “the real world.” This is going to take a lot of time and effort, so, it will probably be a while, but I hope to achieve the task before my 21st birthday on the 8th next month. It’s going to be a blast! I have a lot of ideas, and I won’t be home, restricted by my parents with the internet connection, so I should have a lot of opportunities to work on it. In the mean time, this theme will stay up because I’m tired of looking at the default.

Senior year is very hard for a lot of people, and considering the fact that we’ve been so distant this year, I expect it to only worsen with the necessity to trek a short distance across campus in order to see each other. Loneliness was a huge problem for me this year, so I don’t know how that’s going to factor in when I can’t just go downstairs and see a familiar face.

Of course, I’ll have to put it out of my mind, because there are much larger things at hand. Next week is the last of classes, and shortly thereafter is finals. I have no exams because as an English major, it makes sense that my finals are all essays. Considering all the writing I’ve been doing, that normally wouldn’t be a huge problem, but the issue is that two of my largest papers are due before the finals period, and there it is absolutely not feasible that I can balance both projects. It’s not like I haven’t been working on them (during the week) but things are only going to get harder from here on out.

With that said, these sporadic updates are certainly going to be more common until mid May. All my creative energies are invested elsewhere as the final crunch comes into play for yet another year. Don’t worry about me though. I’ll be fine. To all of you also taking finals, I wish you good luck. Happy blogging.

• Terrence Howard: I was on an Amtrak train traveling between New York and Philadelphia (I’m not certain anymore of which direction) when this stunning young fellow dressed in a beret and a fancy coat, eyes aglitter, entered my car on the train. He certainly had that movie star glow about him, his glance somehow hinting at the notion that I should know who he was. At that time I had only seen him in passing as a villain in Martin Lawrence’s Big Momma’s House, so I didn’t quite get that he was famous until a woman followed after him, returning to her seat with a sheet of paper boasting his signature. I was too shy to confirm what it was she was holding in her hands, so I sat in silence and wonderment. It would be years before I recognized who he was, but this is one of those occasions I can say I regret that I did not follow my instincts.
• Angels & Airwaves: At the time that they arrived in the Virgin Megastore in NYC to sign copies of their debut album, We Don’t Need To Whisper, I really didn’t care too much about the band aside from the fact that Tom DeLonge was a part of it, which, in itself wasn’t a big deal. It was my sister who insisted that I attend the signing, especially since I had grown more appreciation for Blink-182 just as they made their exit (a replica of my experience of the boy band era). I hadn’t expected to be really excited about the event, but as we neared the artists’ table, (after a long line comprised of what was largely not even New York teens) I found myself bordering on fanaticism. I have to say that he was kind of boring though, with that eternal somber glower of his that he seems to have adopted especially since his creation of AVA. His band mates were a little more exciting, so much that in the two minutes I spent having them sign the album (which one of them neglected to do as I would realize on the train ride home) I was able to crack a joke with one of them. This experience would be my first taste of true, transient idolatry, the kind my father would mock me about as I sat in front of the MTV Video Music Awards almost every year of my adolescence.
• Luke Wilson: Sometime early last week, a series of trucks claimed the short series of parking spaces lying just outside the entrance to my dorm. As gossip travels quickest in a sea of women, I soon learned that a movie was being filmed on campus. I thought it was pretty awesome at first, especially since there was the prospect of meeting the film’s star and seeing classmates as extras, but now that no one will shut up about, I’m just about ready to have these people leave. There have been several occasions where I have had to go out of my way because they needed “quiet on the set.” Once was fine, but everyday I’ve had work? Not so much. The only good thing that has come out of this is my eyes-closed photo with Wilson. I’m still wondering whether I should post the photo here. I’m not a huge fan or anything, but as with the AVA experience, the excitement was there.

I guess if there is any point to this post, it’s the question of why we even care about celebrities. What is it that’s responsible for that excitement we feel in their presence? Do celebrities have the same feelings amongst each other before they’ve met? All it would take is for this person not to have ever been a movie or a music video, and we would care nothing about them at all. It’s like with Heath Ledger’s death. So many people that didn’t know him mourned him, when people like you and I die every day. Hell, children die everyday. Obviously we can’t be in mourning every day of our lives, but what made his death so much more significant? Until I am able to set myself aside from this blind idolatry, I don’t know that I can ever answer these questions. I suppose this is as prevalent a sin as any other.