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 Hi.It's 10:01 PM, August 29th, 1998, according to my system clock. My system clock is never accurate. To the left of the monitor is a bottle reading Thomas Kemper, Pure Draft, Original Recipe. Root Beer. I stole it from the fridge. One of my roommates did mention earlier that if I or Ceige wanted one to go ahead, so it's probably okay. I haven't worked on the website for awhile. I just haven't been in a down mood for a long time lately. I appologize for this. I always dread birthdays. This year, this day, August 29th. I'm 21. I don't know why. Birthdays always have a little distaste lurking behind them. Maybe it's the attention or something. I don't know. Dunno. Never do. Last year I drove. Lots. For at least six hours I think. Didn't go anywhere. Just got in the car and drove all over Portland by myself, listening to the radio until everything of interest went off the air around 2:30 in the morning. Weird. I met a girl. Not today I mean. And she met me really. Seven months ago. That's my excuse for not updating this site as much. I don't look for people. I have this genuine fear that this entire little story thing is going to sound whatever. Tacky. Something to be sneered at. Let me try your patience world. Let me ramble. It's my day. It's magical. It's yeah. First, I want to appologize for my unreplied mail. I don't know any spanish, tho if I remember to forward your letter to my sister, she might be able to do something with it. Yes, I think lasting happiness is attainable. There will be no gastrointestinal real audio clips, sorry. It's all in good taste. Ceige. All I said to her was, "hi." Portland State University (where I go to school) basement pool hall. I'm not a pool player. World always seems to want to be complex. A friend who now works in my office, used to work for a different company, with a different friend. He saw a photograph of some girl in this guys possession and somehow got her icq address and started talking to her. All I said to her was hi. My friend didn't say much either. He was pretty quiet all evening. I was bouncing off the walls. Friend of a friend wanted to know if I wanted to play for money. Play pool for money? Fun is a higher stake! Bah! Silly mortals! I am so blind. But no worries. I am not really that much of a social type. I can talk up a storm at times, but when it comes to women, social interaction is not my proverbial cup o' tea. Sheer terror. :) We went out after emailing back and forth. Friday the 13th, Febuary. We saw a international film at the Guild theater. By accident. It was long, and involved two brothers, one mute, and a poet living in war torn Chekoslovakia. We ate at Shari's restraunt. I looked like hell. She was divine. "Non-smoking!" Laugh. Some old lady in front of us yelled at me for talking out loud during the film. She was told by the attendant that the snack bar was closed when she went out to get candy during the film. We got stuck in traffic on the way home. We went out Febuary, 14th. "Red-lovin' Vday." Clinton street theater. Was playing "IT CONQUERED THE WORLD." Old black and white horror film. I brought her a white flower. People were not happy. People are never happy. I was happy. I don't really talk about this kind of stuff to people. Life. All that. Dunno. There is a thick space between me and the world. Between me and reality. I don't like to let people through that, and it is terrifying when you realize suddenly that there is someone that has cut through that fold and is standing there. You are vulnerable. Love is about being vulnerable, some wise sod said. If you aren't vulnerable, you will never find it. I never let myself be this vulnerable before. I love her. (Barf bags are to the right.) In the uh.. Les Miserable movie that came out not long ago, the main character, (I am wretched with names) said something along the lines of that he was stealing happiness. And it was always paid back in the end. Cornicopian vs Malthusian. Is the world supply of happiness never-ending, or is it a limited commodity that must be stolen from someone else and hoarded jealously? Is the contentment and joy of one man the wretched sorrow of another? Where have my little sorrows gone? They do not visit frequently. Afraid of the her presence they have scattered to find another soul? Will they be back, older and wiser and missing me? I do not want them back. When I find them, I tack them up here for the world to pick over. All the world ever sees of me. They always visit me on my birthday. My little sorrows. I do not fear them, though any sane man should. Makes ya wonder? Thx for your time. :) -JH 8/29/98 11:15 PM.
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