Too blank. The pen is silent.
When there are too many words, it becomes impossible to speak. The same is true of when there are no words. Naturally. But this moment is too full. Strike that. The moment is something else entirely. All I know is that I am too full -- too full and too empty.
When there are words that cannot be said; hopes that cannot be realized; losses too deep to withstand; metaphors too extreme to be true... semicolons too prolific to be allowed to remain...
It's hard to fill my dreams says this song I'm listening to at the moment. Hard to grip my dreams, anyways. So much of me has changed, I stop and wonder. It is awe-filled, and awful.
Not all is disaster -- I am parts hero, parts leader, parts Doer of Great Deeds. But I am too parts cynic, parts bitch, parts unforgiving bastard.
Surgery time.
One chapter is ending. The conclusion is taking longer to write than expected, and the climax is held off. Delays piss me off, but not much can be done... well, not quite true. Something can be done to speed up the future, but I -- what was that X-Files tagline? Fear the Future? -- whether it was or not, that's what I'm doing, in some measure.
Joe Cook, 23, graduate of Caltech. A fearful prospect, and one to be greatly desired. I don't know who the hell he is, though. That's the scary part, obviously.
I've always had a good grip on who I was, or at least who I wanted to be. I think I did, anyways. And now I stare at a vast future of possibilities... possibilities which lack certain key elements to the man I wanted to be.
No engineer I. Among other things.
I have always adored Cyrano de Bergerac, partly for his bravado when he says:
I've read other versions where he essentially says, "To be perfect in everything I do!" And that is how I sought to live my life, moment by moment. Now, there are plenty who'd argue I did no such thing, but perfection is in the eye of the beholder, and I feel that, up until Caltech, I sure as hell was doing my damnedest.
I won't blame Caltech... much. They only screwed me for the education they claimed (and still claim) to give. I was the one who screwed up what education there was available, and let it get to me to the point where I lost who I was. Not that I didn't learn anything, academic or otherwise, but that, on the whole, Caltech was a disappointment, and there isn't much I hate more than disappointment and regret.
Once upon a time, I swore I'd never regret anything in my life. Before my stay at Caltech, I never had. Now, I do. Futures lost to the depths of ignorance and incompetence, not all of it my own. (Positive note: new doors opened, nevertheless!) Desires not followed, opportunities denied myself.... Best friends lost because of stupid blunders on my part. And worst of all, the losses of beloved women who, after slipping wondrously into the deepest parts of my heart, departed because I loved and wanted and needed too hard, not well enough.
I've never experienced anything worse than the women I love telling me they don't want to see me again (yes, that's you, Rachel, and you, Mollie, and you, Karen, and you, Laura -- you may not believe it, you may not care, but I MISS YOU IN MY LIFE), because of my blundering.
Mea culpa.
...not that I slept with somebody else or anything quite that blindingly stupid. Just that I didn't think hard enough -- I always *felt* hard enough, loved intensely -- but as good as I am at seeing things from the other side, I didn't see the obvious things. Like one phone call, the words themselves meaningless, but the action itself that would have stopped heartbreak. Like the one damn night that I spent away, because the breakup that was already in place was too painful to endure, and in the process earned a scorn that pretty much destroyed everything that I was. And so on.
Learn this. Small things add up. And sometimes small things are the greatest things in the universe, for good or for ill.
So much for no words.
There is little here I've not said to my diary, or to my best friends. It is certainly more explicit than what most people see of me. Not that I lie to them; I DETEST lying. Just that I try to avoid showing this side of me, the hurt side, the crying side. The part that hates some of the things I've done or not done. The one that begs for one more chance...
Ah, but the past, she is a long ways away, and the present is here, and the future, coming up like a bullet train. And I know that. Don't think that I'm a morose bitter SOB. I have my mountains to climb, dreams to dream, and laughter to laugh louder than anybody (with the exception of Doug). I do live life, and I do thrive, and most people seem to consider me quite a positive, energetic person.
But I am at a crossroads, and I am different than I once was, and I'm trying to understand and survive the transition. I have lived life -- some of it grand, some of it hell -- more than I ever anticipated. The highs are so incredible, they can barely be explained. The lows are so fucked up, I find myself burning all my night oil just trying to find some way to escape them in all my futures.
Who I was, I know. Who I am, I've got a sense of. Who I will be... is a question. A question which this ramble is trying to answer.
Okay, okay, I was going to end this here, but I cannot let myself. It's not that my readers (if there are any) might be missing a climax or think I'm a schmuck after all of my self-bashing (I'm really not so neurotic -- well, I am, but there ARE balancing positives, really there are!). It's more that I can't continue to let myself end it there. I've ranted to myself, my friends, and my diary along these lines too many times, always ending with "there must be change" or "I'm trying to figure who I am now" or some such nonesense.
Time to figure that out better.
Okay, this should be interesting... I love music. I love performing. I hate bitching at my friends. I hate my friends bitching about each other behind each others' backs. I hate lying, hiding, untruths. I love laughing. I love, I crave, I need to do that which is impossible. I LOVE WOMEN. I love making women smile -- I love making all people smile, but especially women, especially if it's the kind of "you're the center of this entire universe" kind of smile that certain women radiate in an amazing way. I love having faith in myself and in those I love. I hate not having that. I need more of it. I loved being unpredictable, being quirky and separatable from the crowd for my creativity -- it may still be there, but I don't feel the stuff flowing through my veins like I did when I was younger. I loved being The Doggy. Somebody somewhere please help me find that guy again. I don't have to be him, I just have to feel him within my possibility. (No, I'm not schizo, it's just my way of describing the youthful energy, positive vibe, and wild creativity I had as a frosh, and fear I've lost.) I love swords and directing stage combat, and acting it. I LOVE managing a huge team of people who know what they're doing. I LOVE it when a plan comes together, like last year's Ditch Day project and this year's Ditch Day stack.
Well, that's quite a list. Nothing resembling completion, but it's a start. So where does it leave me?
Aw, hell. It leaves me tired is where it leaves me.
But I feel so good... because I'm writing again. Something shall
come of this. The next chapter -- the seeds of it are being laid.
Prepare.
