These training classes are terrible. They are horribly organized, poorly structured, not documented well, and poorly presented. These powerpoints must be from the fucking 80's - come on!

What's more is I can't bring myself to pay attention to this shit. I don't see how our leadership can realistically believe we plausibly take in enough knowledge from these online courses to actually enhance our knowledge. Any idiot knows that we are too preoccupied with our actual project - and all the ansillary responsibilities that come with it - so we just dial-in, make sure our name is on the attendee list, and do other stuff while some technocratic caveman - well beyond his peak in technologic use so he just teaches aged skills and knowledge. And when it comes time for quizzes? Well we just ctrl- the shit ouf of powerpoints and Google stuff.

Whatever, fuck it.

I have better things to look forward to. I leave for home tomorrow and am spending the weekend on the Cape with the best friends a man could ask for. It should help me get through the rest of these months.

Since when tickets to see bands like In Flames and Fear Factory cost between 60-90 dollars? I can't even afford to go to shows anymore.

Where's the Lupo's down here? Where's the small, local, affordable club you can see great bands at for a reasonable price and just forgot your life for one hot, angry, loud night of primal reverie and brutality? Since I moved down to this pretentious shit hole. That's when.

My life isn't beautiful enough. That's all it comes down to.

Beauty is what makes life worth living, it's what makes us happy. And that is the pursuit of life: happiness.

My life was more beautiful before this point. That's the simple means of it. I've lost things that made me happy, and circumstance prevents me from regaining and rebuilding such losses - or at least makes it painfully difficult to, making it a catch 22.

I can feel it. Everyday. I get closer and closer to some change, some moment in time where my path in life will violently shudder and flux.

So I just spent some time talking to the leader of the program I am in. I talk to him regularly because he's invovled in many side project I do for the program.

Anyway, he works in HR, though he uesd to be in IT. HR manages all training programs. I let him know that I was wondering if he had any rotations that I could apply for. We then got into talking to why, and I told him straight out that I'm not happy with the social condition in my current IT environments so far, plus, I want to get my head into different areas and departments if I can.

We have good rapprt. I actually have pretty good rapport with quite a few influential people aside from my direct bosses. So, the point is that he was very happy to hear of my interest and thinks some of his projects may be right up my ally. But - I would have to convince my bosses to rotate out of my business. That is not very common, but it happens, and I imagine it happens more so for people with good relations with their bosses.

The rotation would be in Connecticut. That would be great right now.

We'll see ...

I had to deliver another presentation to all the big wigs in Bradenton again this past weekend. This is the part of the job I really like - I love it. Though, it does harken back to my love of being on stage, entertaining, interacting and telling a story.

Once again, I impress almost everyone. I elicit comments from even the most taciturn and discriminating of executives. The funny thing is, the amount of work I put into it. It was good, but it was only a little more than half my ass. I can't drive myself to apply all of me at this job ...

Just imagine if I found out where I belonged - the amazing things I would do ...

I recently received an article from a friend which is about modern work culture and it's influence, and synergies, with happiness, self-fulfillment, and 'success'.

I post it here not just so I can share it with anyone else, but so I can keep a copy for myself. It hits very close to home, what with all the related musings I have been guilty of:

"Today's generation of high-earning professionals maintain that their personal
fulfillment comes from their jobs and the hours they work. They should grow up,
says Thomas Barlow.


Copyright The Financial Times Limited

A friend of mine recently met a young American woman who was studying on a
Rhodes Scholarship at Oxford. She already had two degrees from top US
universities, had worked as a lawyer and as a social worker in the US, and
somewhere along the way had acquired a black belt in kung fu.

Now, however, her course at Oxford was coming to an end and she was thoroughly angst-ridden about what to do next.

Her problem was no ordinary one. She couldn't decide whether she should make a lot of money as a corporate lawyer/management consultant, devote herself to charity work helping battered wives in disadvantaged communities, or go to Hollywood to work as a stunt double in kung fu films.

What most struck my friend was not the disparity of this woman's choices, but
the earnestness and bad grace with which she ruminated on them. It was almost as though she begrudged her own talents, opportunities and freedom - as though the world had treated her unkindly by forcing her to make such a hard choice.

Her case is symptomatic of our times. In recent years, there has grown up a
culture of discontent among the highly educated young, something that seems to flare up, especially, when people reach their late 20s and early 30s. It arises
not from frustration caused by lack of opportunity, as may have been true in the
past, but from an excess of possibilities.

Most theories of adult developmental psychology have a special category for
those in their late 20s and early 30s. Whereas the early to mid-20s are seen as
a time to establish one's mode of living, the late 20s to early 30s are often
considered a period of reappraisal.

In a society where people marry and have children young, where financial burdens accumulate early, and where job markets are inflexible, such reappraisals may not last long. But when people manage to remain free of financial or family burdens, and where the perceived opportunities for alternative careers are many, the reappraisal is likely to be angst-ridden and long lasting.

Among no social group is this more true than the modern, international,
professional elite: that tribe of young bankers, lawyers, consultants and
managers for whom financial, familial, personal, corporate and (increasingly)
national ties have become irrelevant.

Often they grew up in one country, were educated in another, and are now working in a third. They are independent, well paid, and enriched by experiences that many of their parents could only dream of. Yet, by their late 20s, many carry a sense of disappointment: that for all their opportunities, freedoms and achievements, life has not delivered quite what they had hoped.

At the heart of this disillusionment lies a new attitude towards work. The idea
has grown up, in recent years, that work should not be just a means to an end a
way to make money, support a family, or gain social prestige - but should
provide a rich and fulfilling experience in and of itself.

Jobs are no longer just jobs; they are lifestyle options.

Recruiters at financial companies, consultancies and law firms have promoted
this conception of work. Job advertisements promise challenge, wide experiences, opportunities for travel and relentless personal development.

Michael is a 33-year-old management consultant who has bought into this vision
of late-20th century work. Intelligent and well-educated - with three degrees,
including a doctorate - he works in Munich, and has a "stable, long-distance
relationship" with a woman living in California. He takes 140 flights a year and
works an average of 80 hours a week. Some weeks he works more than 100 hours.

When asked if he likes his job, he will say: "I enjoy what I'm doing in terms of
the intellectual challenges."

Although he earns a lot, he doesn't spend much. He rents a small apartment,
though he is rarely there, and has accumulated very few possessions. He
justifies the long hours not in terms of wealth-acquisition, but solely as part
of a "learning experience".

This attitude to work has several interesting implications, mostly to do with
the shifting balance between work and non-work, employment and leisure.

Because fulfilling and engrossing work - the sort that is thought to provide the
most intense learning experience - often requires long hours or captivates the
imagination for long periods of time, it is easy to slip into the idea that the
converse is also true: that just by working long hours, one is also engaging in
fulfilling and engrossing work.

This leads to the popular fallacy that you can measure the value of your job
and, therefore, the amount you are learning from it) by the amount of time you
spend on it. And, incidentally, when a premium is placed on learning rather than
earning, people are particularly susceptible to this form of self-deceit.

Thus, whereas in the past, when people in their 20s or 30s spoke disparagingly
about nine-to-five jobs it was invariably because they were seen as too routine,
too unimaginative, or too bourgeois. Now, it is simply because they don't
contain enough hours.

Young professionals have not suddenly developed a distaste for leisure, but they
have solidly bought into the belief that a 45-hour week necessarily signifies an
unfulfilling job.

Jane, a 29-year-old corporate lawyer who works in the City of London, tells a
story about working on a deal with another lawyer, a young man in his early 30s.
At about 3am, he leant over the boardroom desk and said: Isn't this great? This
is when I really love my job."

What most struck her about the remark was that the work was irrelevant (she says it was actually rather boring); her colleague simply liked the idea of working
late. "It's as though he was validated, or making his life important by this,"
she says.

Unfortunately, when people can convince themselves that all they need do in
order to lead fulfilled and happy lives is to work long hours, they can quickly
start to lose reasons for their existence.

As they start to think of their employment as a lifestyle, fulfilling and
rewarding of itself - and in which the reward is proportional to hours worked -
people rapidly begin to substitute work for other aspects of their lives.

Michael, the management consultant, is a good example of this phenomenon. He is prepared to trade (his word) not just goods and time for the experience afforded by his work, but also a substantial measure of commitment in his personal relationships. In a few months, he is being transferred to San Francisco, where he will move in with his girlfriend. But he's not sure that living in the same house is actually going to change the amount of time he spends on his relationship. "Once I move over, my time involvement on my relationship will not change significantly. My job takes up most of my time and pretty much dominates what I do, when, where and how I do it," he says.

Moreover, the reluctance to commit time to a relationship because they are
learning so much, and having such an intense and fulfilling time at work is
compounded, for some young professionals, by a reluctance to have a long-term
relationship at all. Today, by the time someone reaches 30, they could easily
have had three or four jobs in as many different cities - which is not, as it is
often portrayed, a function of an insecure global job-market, but of choice.

Robert is 30 years old. He has three degrees and has worked on three continents. He is currently working for the United Nations in Geneva. For him, the most significant deterrent when deciding whether to enter into a relationship is the likely transient nature of the rest of his life.

"What is the point in investing all this emotional energy and exposing myself in
a relationship, if I am leaving in two months, or if I do not know what I am
doing next year?" he says.

Such is the character of the modern, international professional, at least
throughout his or her 20s. Spare time, goods and relationships, these are all
willingly traded for the exigencies of work. Nothing is valued so highly as
accumulated experience. Nothing is neglected so much as commitment.

With this work ethic - or perhaps one should call it a professional development
ethic" - becoming so powerful, the globally mobile generation now in its late
20s and early 30s has garnered considerable professional success.

At what point, though, does the experience-seeking end? Kathryn is a successful American academic, 29, who bucked the trend of her generation: she recently turned her life round for someone else. She moved to the UK, specifically, to be with a man, a decision that she says few of her contemporaries understood.

"We're not meant to say: 'I made this decision for this person. Today, you're
meant to do things for yourself. If you're willing to make sacrifices for others
- especially if you're a woman - that's seen as a kind of weakness. I wonder,
though, is doing things for yourself really empowerment, or is liberty a kind of
trap?" she says.

For many, it is a trap that is difficult to break out of, not least because they
are so caught up in a culture of professional development. And spoilt for
choice, some like the American Rhodes Scholar no doubt become paralysed by their opportunities, unable to do much else in their lives, because they are so
determined not to let a single one of their chances slip.

If that means minimal personal commitments well into their 30s, so be it.
"Loneliness is better than boredom" is Jane's philosophy. And, although she
knows "a lot of professional single women who would give it all up if they met a
"rich man to marry", she remains far more concerned herself about finding
fulfilment at work.

"I am constantly questioning whether I am doing the right thing here," she says.
"There's an eternal search for a more challenging and satisfying option, a
better lifestyle. You always feel you're not doing the right thing, always feel
as if you should be striving for another goal," she says.

Jane, Michael, Robert and Kathryn grew up as part of a generation with fewer
social constraints determining their futures than has been true for probably any
other generation in history. They were taught at school that when they grew up
they could "do anything", "be anything". It was an idea that was reinforced by
popular culture, in films, books and television.

The notion that one can do anything is clearly liberating. But life without
constraints has also proved a recipe for endless searching, endless questioning
of aspirations. It has made this generation obsessed with self-development and
determined, for as long as possible, to minimise personal commitments in order
to maximise the options open to them.

One might see this as a sign of extended adolescence. Eventually, they will be
forced to realise that living is as much about closing possibilities as it is
about creating them."



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I feel this actually supports, and almost justifies for me, many of the feelings I'm having about work right now. I think if you have the right job, you will want to work long hours - but forcing yourself to do just that in order to achieve happiness isn't the way. I feel like that's the routine that I'm in now, or at least the culture that surrounds me.

I'm also very aware that I essentially have many options open to me outide of this job, but the difference in my case is 1.) I'm only, technically, qualified for the one I am in now (just one degree, people) and 2.) I'm financially and contractually indebted to the one I am in now

And I can say, with unwavering conviction, that I am more certain with every passing day that this job is not for me. It doesn't reciprocate my mind, thoughts, and soul - it will not satisfy my deep desire to create things that are profound and meaningful, to stir people's minds and heart - to enrich their lives.

It's funny seeing myself write that. I wrote those same words many years ago in high school when trying to describe what I wanted to do with my life without pinpointing an occupation. It doesn't fit at all with where I am. I'm far too human for my job.

I've made a conscious choice lately to more or less return to my more introspective and sedentary wasys. I won't be going out all the time during weekends, and occasionally during the week, throwing money at waitresses and bartenders. I no longer plan to try in vain to meet people, only to ultimately have to cope with the icy cold feeling of dejection and depression that surmises at the conclusion of the evening. I've more or less decided that these kind of escapades are no fun without friends in the first place, making my efforts nothing more than a Catch-22.

Actually, I proved that just last night. What started as a usual meeting back home with some of my friends about our small business venture, turned into an all-out virtual party. Thats right, 'virtual party': I think we may have coined that. Since I was teleconferencing in with my webcam via netmeeting and mic with Gtalk (since Gtalks audio is better than netmeetings), and since it was Saturday night, meaning were having some drinks, talk of ASP and Databases quickly turned to watching Dane Cook on YouTube, sing along of Gnarls Barkleys 'Crazy', virtual jamming with the bongos on my side, and the jugs and keyboards on their side. And then, the best part, virtual Cranium. I acted out charades on the webcam with my partner over on the other side watching on his monitor. I read the cards that were held up to the screen for me (having to process them backwards) to the other team, and even drew on the netmeeting whiteboard for the pictionary-esque challenges. We didn't finish the game, but my team was clearly winning when we all started passing out.

My roomate said when she came home she knew I was the only one here, but she distinctly heard a party in my room. She was right on both accounts I told her - and she was visibly confused.

In other news, this weekend, and the past, I have spent with myself. Reading, writing, playing video games, taking walks, thinking deeply about my job and life and where I want to go with it. It's been a while since I've lived this way - funny, too, cause that's the only kind of life I knew before I started partying and drinking at some point in my Junior year and college. It feels much more rewarding overall, right now. I also sacked up and bought a guitar. I've thought long and hard about it for a while, and even consulted with my younger brother, who plays, about it. I think this is the real creative outlet I need. It also aligns well with my decision to not go out as much, seeing as how she cost me about five-hundred bucks - yet, a bit of a setback, but it will make up for itself in lack of bar tabs and club covers ...

anyway, in case you want to see the future object of my devotion and time:



and if you understand guitars - not that I do much right now - here's what she has goin for her:

* Neck thru body design
* Carved top mahogany body
* Black pearloid binding
* Black pearloid vector inlays
* USA Seymour Duncan pickups: JB at the bridge, '59 at the neck
* Black pearloid vector inlays
* 5-way pickup switching: Position 1: full power bridge humbucking sound; Bridge pickup (series). Position 2: single coil sound with hum cancel; Bridge & neck pickups; Parallel (bridge pickup's bridge side coil & neck pickup's bridge side coil). Position 3: full power humbucking sound; Series (bridge pickup's neck side coil & neck pickup's neck side coil) Position 4: single coil sound with hum canceling; Parallel (bridge pickup's neck side coil & neck pickup's neck side coil) Position 5: full power neck humbucking sound; Neck pickup (series)
* Black chrome hardware
* Grover Tuners
* TonePros tune-o-matic bridge
* Thru-body tail

My brother Craig tells me it's one of the best things out there for lefties right now, and it should last me a good while, which is what I wanted to hear. He also tells me those are REALLY good humbuckers. Alrite!

So yea, all in all I'm feeling good. Which I think means no one will leave comments on this entry, cause it seems when I'm not struggling with the perils of my situation people don't feel compelled to add their thoughts. I mean, my last entry was the most upbeat and humorous thing I may have ever posted, and I got only one response. Not that I do this get attention or anything - I stand by the fact that it's a creative exercise for me, akin to a mental unloading and checkpointing of my life - but I did note that lack of feedback as an oddity in my mind.

Also, I noticed that my post about Quixtar months ago is still garnering comments and controversy between a Quixtar robot and a Hero of Truth. I find that kind of disturbing, since it speaks to the raw brain damage that Quixtar doles out to it's victims, causing them to feel compelled to preach, and defend in this case, the fabricated virtue and legitimacy of the parasite corporation leeching off of their frontal lobe ...

So, some of you may know that I have a messageboard with some of my good friends back home. We use it for staying in touch, talking about work, times well meet up, events, everything.

My friend Nose, who is the Site Admin, loves Kung Fu. Actually, we all do. But he is enamored with the concept of 'Cruel Tutelage', which was coined in Kill Bill 2. SO enamored, in fact, that he decided to instate 'Cruel Tutelage Thursdays' during every first Thursday of the month.

What that boils down to is that a member, chosen by a poll where we selected random numbers which we didn't know were related to the order in which we joined, gets kicked off the board until he completes the task of 'Cruel Tutelage' assigned to him by the Admin.

Of course, I was chosen. Here were my instructions:

"...You must photograph yourself carrying two buckets on a pole across your shoulders. You must be solemn and oozing disicpline in the picture..."

so I decided to take that a step further and create a montage of pictures and edit in stuff and also write an accompanying story ... which I want to share with everyone.


The Cruel but Fair Tale of the Rod and the Pail





Being the sixth of order to join the ranks, student Bone was chosen for a trial to determine his worthiness among the clan. Why six? If you have to ask, you'll never know.




If succes was gained, he would not only be assured a place among the ranks of the Beerz clan forever more, but be enligthened and wizened beyond his years for what he would endure...







Young Bone was presented with a rod and two buckets and was told that he had to find the path to wisdom through the discipline these tools could afford.



Young Bone knew what he meant, he had heard of such trials of endurance. However, he felt it was a petty method. He did not see the true power that resided in this ancient technique.







The Master scoffed at his ignorance and answered with nothing but a wry smirk and a beard toss. Young Bone knew that he would not garner any further advice, and resolved to accept the task rather than the punishment for not doing so.









He marched for days on end. At every corner the master appeared to dole out deserving shares of taunt and encouragement. Young Bone almost gave up, his spirit was dissolving and he could hardly hold up his head ...







The Cruel Master laughed easily once again. And why not? He truly understood the simple nature of such divination through exacerbation. He then confessed that he thought from the very start that choosing him was a mistake - that Young Bone did have the inner strength to complete such a journey.







However, he knew how Bone, his proudest and most determined student, would respond to such a remark. It awakened the beast within and, in his failing moment, he was able to summon his dormant inner stength and manifest it into a fiery torrent of willpower and fortitude.







To prove his worthiness beyond a doubt, Young Bone travelled far beyond the limits expected of him. He journeyed to the sacred temple, where he, as a child, heard stories of a deadly game of Champions simply called 'Ball Game'. Upon reaching this destination, he climbed the stairs with unwavering speed, entered the hallowed chamber at the peak, and meditated for two weeks straight.



Upon his return, his Master, remaining ever the antagonist, remarked at how terrible he smelled. Young Bone then mentioned that it was the contents of the bucket, and not himself, for he drank the water for nourishment before meditating, but then replaced what he had consumed with his own sweat and blood.







The master was indeed impressed with the efforts and sacrifice put forward by Young Bone. He stroked his beard and pondered for the duration of two moons, and then told Young Bone that his efforts were satisfactory.



He then revealed the meaning of the training. It was to prepare himself for training in the ancient, deceptive, art of the "Rod and Pail". Initially conceived by a farmer who was a secret student of a Shaolin Monk. The "Rod and Pail" technique was very useful for meek townsfolk who were often accosted by bandits during their long trips to and from the river for water.



With this art, they are able to defend themselves skilfully and masterfully and, moreover, without losing a drop of water.







From that day forth, Bone was designated as a fighter of and for the people. He was tasked with spreading this art to those humble men who work the land - for they ensure that the cycle of life continues for every man and, in turn, should not only be respected, but protected, from every man.

---

This story is posted on the board, and it gets voted on to decide how well I did. Since it's an open forum, why don't you go and give me a good vote so I can pick the person to endure tutelage next time!

Vote Here!

So tell me - is it still considered drinking alone if you go out to a bar by yourself, but are surrounded with other people? People that came, met, and left with friends? People who already have their lives established and friendships created who really have no intention or desire to recruit a lonely, desperate wanderer into their ranks?

I thought I had told myself I'd stop doing this long ago. No more going out alone. No more filling my head with false hope only to end up slouching over the bar with a look of dejection and aura of discontent about me. I don't know how it happens, but every now and again I see that newpaper with the matrix of daily events on it for every week and psyche myself up over some college or whatever night event.

It was karaoke night at this bar. I fucking love karaoke. I would have been up there had in been in high spirits with friends. Eric Pope! I know you love the karaoke! We have never karaoked together, but one day we will. Mark my words. One day, when I escape all of this ...

I've been so strong, I am strong, and I will continue to be strong - but that doesn't mean anything is getting better. The only certain thing as that I am building a tolerance for unhappiness, pain, and loneliness.

I'm still unhappy. I greeted this new job with open arms and a clear mind, tossing away every grain of discontent in my mind for the job I previously had. But still, I feel wrong: I don't feel my calling here, I'm not satisfied, I'm not fulfilled, I'm not proud. If anything, this job is becoming more and more of a nuisance to me. Between chasing down money that is owed to me from moving and relocation and mistakes, and having to strategically converse with those around me in a manner that is so manufactured simply because of protocol - forcing me to forego my instincts and personality - is becoming debilitating and tedious. I feel less and less attached to my job as the days crawl by, and I feel more and more anxious to move on and start over - to tear apart the world around me and follow my heart for once. A pity that time comes when it's most impossible.

I'm still in pain. I feel as if I'm in a perpetual vice as times. Lately, I've been getting sneak attacked by my emotions. It'll start with some simple discontenting or dissatisfying thought, and then that thought it ran through a gauntlet of association in my mind that burns it down to a foundational reason that I usually connect with some poor decision I have made. It hurts to live out a mistake that you are constantly reminded of. Especially one that incessantly taunts you with the fact that it is not going anywhere for a long, long time.

On a more tangible level, I'm a financial mess. I've been trying to find ways to reduce my loan payments, but it's not possible. There are no other terms that could really put me in a better position. And throughout the course of gathering such information, I came to realize that I really do carry a financial burden much worse than most people do. It kills me to realize that I did not have the foresight to predict this consequence - that being forced to take out such significant personal loans would bereave me so. Why me? Why do I have to suffer? Why, when all I ever wanted for myself was just a good education and a decent life - to make a name for myself and my family - does this need ruin everything for me? Sure, some people had to pay a lot, but maybe their parents did it, maybe they didn't need loans. More so, maybe that over-generalized and over-appreciated SAT convinced the simple minds at their school that they had so much more potential and were worth more of their money than a hard-working, dedicated, driven average high school student that proved, beyond a breath of a doubt, that he was worth far more than they thought throughout his years at school by graduating in the top of his class.

No, there is no system to compensate for this rampantly unjust, yet acceptable, hindsight. Why the fuck does life feel the need to put me through the goddamn ringer? Why is every path at every point of my life the hard one? Everything has had a catch so far, every-fucking-thing. Where the fuck is the foundation for people like me? What - middle class white men who altruistically decide to fight against the wave of momentum pushing them into social mediocrity and change their future for the better by going to school only to have their dreams and hopes of a better life smothered in debt don't deserve help?

One thing could have fixed this for me: if when I was in high school I was told what it about - if someone approached me and said "Kyle, how you perform on your SAT's will determine who you are and, most importantly, what your worth and how much aid you'll get, when applying to College" well shit, I would have taken AP courses and studied for the SAT's. But of course I didn't know that, and why should I have? That just fits so well into my life not to. I wish I could just be like "Hey, look the fuck at me now, WPI!! I work for fucking GE in the most prestigious and highly reproduced IT development program in this fucking world! How average do I look to you know? How much money would you have given me NOW!!!"

Even though I don't particularly love my career path, my point I think is clear enough. There is no system to financially help those who seem to prove themselves after the fact. I hate that fact that I didn't know this stuff. I'm hatefully jealous of those who had it all paid for, who live as comfortably as I thought I would be after graduating. Every fucking day is a goddamn financial debate for me. What's worse, is nobody believes me at first, not a single person. Everyone assumes I make all this fucking money and I have it so good. And what's worse is when I break it down for them and get their shocked reaction. My car eats gas and is in contant disrepiar and I'd like a new one, but can't afford a payment; I'd like to go home to visit my friends and family, but can't justify the ticket purchase; I'd like to buy nice things for myself now and again, but I still buy grocery market brand foods and cheap clothes - just like I did in College ... because nothing has changed. Except for now I have no friends, no family, and no love.

I'm still lonely. I'm tired of expending my time and precious money trying to meet people to no avail. All I'm trying to get right now is friendship - one of the two things I value so dearly in this world. That's all - I'm not even trying to meet a significant other - someone to understand me and help me grow as a person, someone to make me feel like there is a real purpose to this life. Right now I would just settle for some acqauintances to waste money with out on the town - because I pretty much still do it alone. I've had some success I guess in this area lately, but it just hasn't felt right - it was somewhat forced and desperate I guess. I've made myself, and others, feel uncomfortable and I really don't know what the fuck I'm thinking anymore. Thanks again to the destructive and reliable qualities of coincidence that guide my life down the hardest of paths to not only stick me, once again, in a job site where I work alone with no one my age, but also in town mostly full of aging, wealthy, baby boomers. Anger almost seems useless these days. A synergy of sublime confusion and desperation is more appropriate I'd say.

Keep your head up Kyle, it will get better. We're all so proud of you, you're doing so many things and meeting so many new people. Everyone always has it hard once they get out of college.

It's only gotten worse since I first heard that during college when I was looking for a job. I'm not very proud of myself, nor does going anywhere and meeting anyone matter to me unless I do it with those whom I love. Not as hard as me.

I'm not being pathetic, I'm not being selfish. I know plain and simply, that, compared to the sum of people in my general demographic, I've got it really fucking hard. I always have, and what kills me is that I have not made one decision in my life that hasn't been made without the idea of avoiding such pain in it - either the world has it out for me, or that's just how I perceive my reality. Either way, something has to change. Hopefully something drastic, wild, and chaotic because I am so fucking tired of this mistake of a life...

Florida roadways are nonsense. They do not have pressure sensitive plates under the roads; red lights usually last 4+ minutes; entrance ramps to highways come 100 ft after Exit ones in some cases which causes obvious amounts of traffic, and stress, between them.

I sit, sometimes in my car, between outburts of swears and horn beating, sometime I just sit and try to comprehend the logic behind this construction. I try to search my mind for the kind of person who would do this, the kind of person who lacked the basic foresight to design sensible roads, some rich jackass sitting on his ass somewhere, stupid as he ever was.

It makes me think of how many things were made wrong that just stick. Things so significant and full of momentum that they simply can't be redone or fixed. The Internet comes to mind among a few things.

Work is going well - at least that's what I'm told. I have my boss give me weekly status updates on me. I think this was a good move seeing as how I can hardly ever tell if what I ever do is good enough - that's a terrible skill to lack in my job where your goals, short and long term, are so amorphous and undefined.

My financial situation is terrible. I'm trying to find a buyer for my private loans since I just found out that Rhode Island Student Loan Association won't extend my repayment terms for more than 15 years, which would help me decrease my huge monthly bill and let me sleep a little easier. That's not my only pecuniary petulance - but it certainly is the worse.

I joined Golds Gym. They are everywhere. They will be in every city I move to - but so will their annoying, teenage, physical trainers. How am I supposed to take you seriously if you work at a gym and I am in better shape than you? much less if you don't even understand my workout as it is ...

I get complaints for playing my bongos too loudly. Bongo playing comes in one volume, loud, and to music such as Bob Marley and Sublime. Deal with it, bitch, or I'll shove stones in your parrots throat. And SHE wants to complain about loud noises ...

Speaking of music, I got a book on guitars, have been reading it, and have decided to buy a guitar. As soon as the expendable income comes my way, that is. I've been doing a lot of thinking of how to creatively extend myself over the past few months, and it was a toss up over a few things - martial arts, photography/graphic design/web page type stuff, and music. More and more I felt like music is what I needed - especially since every time I go to an open mic all I could think about it myself up there performing and entertaining. Although I did get that from comedy, it's no longer an option, not in my situation anyway. Which is the same reason martial arts got ruled out - not enough time to commit to a single dojo long enough.

Keeping my mind occupied is the key.

My headset arrived today for work. Apparently I'm too loud and annoying when I am on speakerphone. This, however, will not stop me from being a loud and boisterous speaker. They're just going to have to deal with it ...

I worked from home the past two days and it was amazing. Maybe I'm more suited for that kind of lifestyle. Only if I didn't have to use my cellphone for conference calls ...

In other news, my sickness is fading, but is tapering in it's last legs very, very slowly. I have had very minor sniffles and congestion for the past 4 or so days. It's not painful or really distracting, I just know it's there, and it confuses me. I think I should see a doctor to make sure I don't have allergies.

My Mom, however, thinks they are stress related. About half a year ago, I would have scoffed at the idea, but now I think it's quite plausible. In fact, the conversation where that suggestion came from was quite an emotional one for me. That's what happens when I talk to Mom. I have problems, I have thoughts, and doubts. And I keep them mostly to myself, but when I talk to Mom it always comes all out like that. Sometimes to the point where I find myself sobbing with confusion and regret.

For now, I'll just sniffle my way through the rest of this week, build the rest of the main pieces of furniture for my home, and have some fun with the guests that will be visiting me this weekend.

Time is going by so fast.

So, here's the story:

Once again, my immune system startles me by not being able to fend off a cold ... in Florida. Way to go body. What, do I not eat enough vitamins and get enough exercise for you?

So, this past Monday I was having a shitty day, not feeling well and just dragging on. I left work early to head home and rest, and what do I see? Some strange pink-slip on my doorknob. Pink is usually a good color in my dictionary, but I got closer and noticed the word 'disconnected' on it.

My power was shut off.

On top of that it said I owed 90 dollars - which I didn't understand at the time cause I had only been there a few weeks, no way I consumed that many KHz. So I frantically look over the slip to find a number to call.

No fucking number ...

All I get is a ton of locations to go to broken down by city. For the record, the prospect of having to get back in my car and drive around in a feverish haze did NOT excite me.

Luckily, it seemed that the closest office was pretty damn close. It said 1 West Hillsboro. I passed the area where it should have been and noticed a very unlikely building in the vicinity. I reasoned that maybe I had to drive down further, seeing as how you can't get much more East on the road than where I am, and if I go further West, maybe the numbers will reset.

Wrong.

Driving awkwardly and slowly, peering at building to find numbers the entire time, I reach the area of the 5000's before I decide to pull an enraged U-turn out of nowhere and return to the unlikely building for a closer inspection. At this point, it dawns on me to call my coworker. I call Deanna, have her look up the number to the restaurant, and call her. This is necessary because she NEVER answers her cell phone.

I call Jen, and ask as politely as I possibly can at the time if she has any idea why our power would be off. I ask if she even checked the mail while I was gone - she did not, she even further claimed to not even have the mailbox key. This came as a shock to me, because I assumed she would have received it while I was gone. Furthermore, I had no reason to check the mail at all, seeing as how I told the Power company to send my bills via email. This adds a whole new element to this developing catastrophe.
Jen tells me to calm down and that she will call our landlord to try and get some answers as to why the bill was so high (maybe her balance transferred since we just did a name change on the account), and to ask about the key. She did not trust me with such a call.

I barrell down the expressway to the strange building. "The Check Cashing Store.". No fucking way this is the place. I check the pink slip for the next closest location. I continue driving. I rehearse how I plan to bitch these people out in my head, pointing to the slip and describing how their stores don't even exist. Anger rises, headache worsens.

I near the next location. As I close in on it, I notice a strange pattern of barricades in the middle lane. Strange, why is the middle lane barricaded? I don't think much of this logistical phenomenon, and keep driving. I approach an intersection which is no more than 50 yards from where I need to be. It's CLOSED OFF. Barricades everywhere.

There is NO detour sign.

I turn around and squeal through the barricade slalom and make a left at the next intersection, hoping to find a way around the unexplained barricade. This leads me into a decrepit neighborhood of small, dirty, typical floridian homes. The kind with the spanish, adobe style, architecture. It's a maze. A maze of dead-ends. This neighborhood is surrounded by marshes. I let out screams of fury and throw my fists wildly at the air. I find my way back out by following a similarly lost cargo truck. I get back to the intersection and go straight through, going the other way.

Traffic, EVERYWHERE.

I knew I was going the right way, but it had the wrong effect on me. I was backed up in the ooze for about 20 more minutes. At this point I called Deanna because I needed someone to calm me down. Silent rage was the name of the game.

I finally pull out of the mess and exit to the other side of the barricade. As I approach the intersection, I notice to my left, exactly in the area where my next location would be, another Check Cashing Store.

You have to be fucking kidding me.

This is some wild coincidence, I tell myself. There is no possible way this is the address. There is no number on the building, so I keep driving. Not even a mile down the road and I realize I went too far. I drive to the Check Cashing Store and enter with intent on demanding where the Power company is, and why they are stealing their addresses!

Then I notice above the service counter, a sign: "FPL customers, bay your bills and reconnect your service here".

You can practically smell the ash of flames on my breath.

If you are going to give someone addresses of what is supposedly your place of business, but only an agent through which you receive payment, you would do good to MAKE A FUCKING POINT OF THAT!!!!

I sit in line for 20 minutes. I am surrounded by crack heads, derelicts, hobos. People who do odd jobs for odd people and that don't have bank accounts. I am terribly out of place - I can feel their dirty eyes all over me. I am noticeably uncomfortable.

When I get to the service counter I flash the slip, and she gives me another to fill out. I do so, and present my credit card for payment. She then looks at me and says - "cash or money order only".

I think my proceeding gaze turned her to stone because she said nothing at all when I followed up with: "what kind of payment establishment does NOT offer the most common, convenient, and efficient method of pay?!!? as I crumpled up the slip and tossed it, and the pen, over the counter and stormed out.

I get in my car and call my landlord. I am driving home. I muster all the energy I have to remain composed while I probe her for answers. Her account was clean upon transfer, she gave the mailbox key to jen - enough said, I hang up.

The key is home, in the envelope, unopened and forgetten by my roomate.

WONDERFUL!

I march from my car to my kitchenette like a blood-thirsty soldier. Part of me knows that there is something I do not want to see in my mailbox. I find the key, go to the mail, and warning notices spill out onto me. My vision blurs with anger.

I asked for fucking email bills.

It's dark now, so I have to read these bills under the lights of the walkway outside of my apartment. I call the power service and demand to know why I owe 90 dollars, and why I didnt receive this notice via email. His answers were deposit and 'I don't know' respectively. To which my answers were 'I was never told of a deposit' and 'your customer service team are dipshits', respectively.

I pay the bill over the phone - but since I took all the time running all over the town for no goddamn reason, it was too late to get my power back that day. My face pulsates with sickly heat.

I enter my dark, warm, apartment using my cell as a flashlight. Pee - all over the toilet seat. Step on the cat. Shower by candlelight (which was rather relaxing), cough up a green blob, and pass out - stuck to my muggy sheets.

Worst Monday Ever.

I am not well. Again. I have been sick more in these past few months than in the past 10 years of my life - easily.

I don't know why, I don't know how. I am easily one of the healthiest and most health conscious people I know. I take vitamins, I eat well, I workout, I get adequate sleep.

Can some please tell me why my immune system seems to provide no more defense than a cheerleaders prom dress?

=\

I previously left off in a whirlwind of thoughts and events that were then steering my life through what could have been fairly called a gauntlet.

Since that time things have fell into place - and the second they did, I left that neat little puzzle where it lay and launched myself into yet another physically and emotionally challenging foray.

Just for the record, I would like to say that I now have a nice townhouse apartment in Deerfield Beach, Florida. My roommate, Jen, and I are very happy with the place. I have a Florida license now, too.

I have only gone out a couple of times before I left Florida for my vacation and training, but I have come to realize a couple things as of yet: The age demographic varies wildly almost wherever you go out at night, and there are many homosexuals. I’m not saying this in contempt – not at all – I only want to highlight that this is more or less a big deviation from the social constructs I am accustomed to.

Right now I am sitting at Gate B-16 in Logan. I’m awaiting my flight to Ft. Lauderdale and relishing this pure moment of repose, using it to reflect and gather my thoughts, as it has been the first in a long while.

The past two weeks I have been gone: the first, in Cancun, Mexico, with some friends from school; the second, in Crotonville, New York, attending a leadership training seminar with some colleagues and friends for GE.

I am not even going to attempt to summarize either event in it’s entirety here, but for the sake of remembrance I’m going to try and attempt to call out the highlights of one or both right now.

Cancun was still relatively in shambles. The entire week I was there, you could not walk a block without witnessing some form of construction; expectedly enough, however, the tourist ‘strip’ around the lagoon was in much better shape than the surrounding provinces. The weather was magnificent and the breezes were revitalizing.

The nightlife was hedonistic and the booze flowed like a summer rain. True, it was a vacation, but it was more a challenge of my constitution and willpower than anything else. To conjure the strength and gusto to press on each consecutive day – party to party, bar to bar, club to club – was treated as something more of an epic journey than simply a bar crawl.

Admittedly enough, my friends and I were a bit older than the average crowd there. Even though we just graduated, I was often reminded of my age thanks to the collegiate contrast. We also weren’t tempted by the calls of open bars and free drinks every day and night. We treated ourselves to a sojourn of sorts in the form of a day trip to Chichen-Itza – the most venerable and significant of Mayan Ruins. It was quite the site to behold: The temples, the architecture, and the sheer skill and thought that went into each. Each construct was designed so that in certain times of the year you would see a certain image on the side of the building, or if you clapped from a certain angle the echo that returned would be that of a bird call. These Mayans understood the earth and the heavens so well that everything they did was just brimming with connections to them – consequently, the ruins themselves just seemed so natural and intrinsic to the immediate world around them. After receiving the grand tour we were treated to some authentic Mexican fare along with some authentic Mexican dancing.

My favorite part, however, was meeting a Mayan descendant who was a silversmith. She provided her services to travelers in the form of cartouches with symbols that represented the letters of your choice – simply stunning and meaningful creations. They are hand pressed and molded with tools not so removed from the original Mayan descendants. I bought one for myself and one for Deanna. I plan on buying a chain so I can wear it sometimes, though I am concerned about wearing a piece made of such soft silver and gold.

We also visited Playa Del Carmen one night in hopes to seek out a nightlife scene more in tune with the real Mexican culture, and that’s exactly what we found there. I enjoyed Cancun quite thoroughly though, but I could have done with a lot less frat guys and stuck up American women – guess I should have expected as much however.

Other key highlights involve: my friend Magic and I wearing wrestling masks around town which ended up with us wrestling a midget and his friend at the place we decided to eat; winning a contest whose key skill could only be best described as dry humping; tequila Volleyball; teaching some guy to do the worm on a booze cruise; finding girls to play beach volleyball with almost every morning; relentless taxis; playing maracas with a Mexican guitarist; smoking a fine Cuban cigar while sitting on the beach outside of our hotel and gazing into the stars – questioning reality, hard.

I’d say that gives a good general idea of what Cancun was like for me. I’d be happy to fill in the plot holes for anyone at anytime, though.

Directly after leaving Cancun, I caught a connecting flight to New York. Literally. I didn’t even have time to stop home and drop off my stuff and repack – I actually took everything I needed for both trips with me to Cancun, since the best flight I could get into New York was an hour after I was supposed to arrive in Ft. Lauderdale. This would have been a great time to rest and rejuvenate myself. However, there is no rest for the wicked.

Seeing as how the training was with many of my good friends from work who I haven’t seen since we trained in the summer, this was, in essence, another sort of social gathering for me. Even though our days were filled with lecture and group exercises and the sort, they ended around 5 or 6. We would have some light work to do afterwards, and have our dinner, but at 7 there would be free open bar at a place called the ‘White House’ on the campus. So, after a week of rampant alcohol abuse, explosive dancing, and infinite walking, I subjected myself to even more open bar for the next 4 days. It was a great time, I had a lot of fun, I learned many things, and was treated very well – this campus is mostly used to train top GE executives, so we get the finest of meals, service, treatment, etc.

In addition, I did stay the weekend after training to hang out in Boston for St. Patrick’s Day. That way, I could meet some friends from home and my brother, as well as party in a more comfortable environment with my work friends. I had a disappointing Malaysian meal, bought a silver celtic knot ring – which brings my ring collection to two, and received the rejection hotline number for the first time in my life. All in all, it was a very exciting two weeks, but it was also exhausting, and I am glad to be going home.

That’s a funny thought in itself, however. When I left, my home was just inundated with boxes. I only had time to arrange them into the room they belonged in, and unpacked a few key items, but my roommate had undertaken the task of decorating and arranging in my absence along with a few of her friends. Have I mentioned how great she is? She’s wonderful.

Although I am not exactly sure what to expect after she picks me up and takes me home in a few hours, I have faith that I will be pleased. The one thing I really hope is that there is Internet.

As far as work goes, I am nervous. With my harried move in and home search, coupled with my Assignment Leader being too busy the second week to debrief me and start initial planning, multiplied by my vacation and training, I am technically 1 month into my 6 month rotation and haven’t done anything significant at all.

I’m nervous because this project seems a bit more significant and visible than my last. Put simply, GE Securities Data Warehouse has been storing customer PO’s, Invoices, and all related sales data, for about 8 years and has not been outfitted with any strategic purging or archiving strategies for this data. All they have ever done was just increase the size of this database. For it to perform optimally – and for the company to save a lot of money – rules need to be identified and implemented to decide when we can delete data that is not being used, and when we can archive data that is used constantly to save space on the main machine. This is a 1.5 million dollar project that has the potential to save much more than that if done correctly, and it is being personally monitored and sponsored by GE Securities CIO. This needs to be done correctly and efficiently. I’m really feeling the pressure to perform, more so than usual due to recent tension amongst the hierarchy in my program, but that’s another story for another day.

I look forward to returning to stability and routine for a while. There are many things I am looking forward to doing with my life right now, many plans I have for myself, and I’m excited for the immediate future.

So - I'm finally healthy and have a place to live. Much pressure has been relieved and an imaginary, yet extremely forceful, burden has been liften off of my shoulders and face. Getting here was no easy feat, however. And, for the sake of those who are curious, and for my own future recollection, I'd like to take the time now to capture the essence of the events which have lead me here.

About a week and a half ago, back in Charlottesville, I'm getting packed up. I'm sitting on the floor of my bedroom on my computer, which is also on the floor. I'm chatting with friends and burning CDs for the long ride ahead of me. At this point I'd been sick for about a week and a half. At this point, the sickness was so much a normal part of my life that it just adhered itself to my usual reality, causing me to life a more jaded, and painful, version of what I was used to.

I got in contact with my friend, Carlos, who let me chill with him at his place that day. We hung out, he made me some tea, I made my frozen pizza - since it was all I had left from my freezer - and we watched that Rob Zombie horror flick, but the second one, the Devils Rejects I think it was. Not bad for an inexperienced filmmaker if you ask me. It was really graphic and all, but still a more or less enjoyable flick.

Against my better judgment, I decided to go out one last time that night with my friends to Karaoke. I didn't drink a drop though - I at least was smart enough to stick to being sober for the sake of my health. All in all, it was a good time. Haha, I ended up doing a nice rendition of 'End of the Road' by Boyz II Men with my friend Sara for my last performance. I can't say we did a wonderful job, but it was appropriate and touching nonetheless. Goodbyes were easy, which was nice. They are good people, and I trust I will see them again someday.

The next morning I get up, get ready, and get out. Carlos sends me off with a book called 'How to be Bad' by some edgy British author. He listened to me talk at length once about how I am a big Chuck Palahniuk fan, and he claims that this guy does what he does tenfold - and that this guy openly claimed that Chuck was tame and simple compared to him. I'll get to that book one day - still reading 'The Art of War'.

There really isn't anything spectacular to report about my 1000 miles journey. All except for the fact that it was very difficult, painful, and consisted of me stopping about every 30 miles to pee since I had been drinking so much water. I did see a lot of nostalgic signs and landmarks I had seen on my last Spring Break trip to Panama City Beach where my friends and I drove all the way down from Mass in an RV. I stopped off in Panama for halfway point in my trip at a Best Western. That hotel would prove to be the nicest and cheapest one I stayed in up until now. More to come on that in a second.

I arrive in Boca Raton on Friday night. Here's where things get really interesting. I had Googlemapped myself to Boca Raton, the city, so the diretions would throw me in the heart of the place. That way, I figure I would be able to easily find all necessary amenities at hand, including a hotel. Wrong and wrong. I got off on this dark, scary, main road that was wrought with construction and had no street lights at ALL. Any signs of civilization or business were blocks apart. I would literally drive for miles seeing nothing but grass and palm trees. Eventually, I pulled over and had a friend of mine Google me the directions to the closest hotel. When I get there, they tell me that the only thing they have available is a 350 dollar suite. Fuck that, Peace Out. I call MJ again and have him look for more hotels. Upon doing some research, he quickly found out that almost all hotels are booked solid. And why? A boatshow. A fucking boatshow.

I was tired, I was hungry, I was sick. I wanted to sleep. I call my last boss and let him know of my situation because, even though GE incurs the costs of my relo expenses, I'm supposed to front it on my personal CC first - there is no way I can let those expenses just sit on my credit line waiting three weeks to be relieved. So I get the go ahead to stay at that 350 dollar suite and put in on my corp card. But I was told to do some due diligence the next day to find something more reasonable.

I called the corporate lines of the 5 major hotel chains in the area. The best I could find was 150 dollars a night as some place 30 miles south of where I wanted to be looking around for a place to live. Just fucking swell. I booked it for a few night hoping after Presidents Day Weekend prices would dip again. I put it on my GE card again, cause that's still too much to front.

The next few days are spent running around, meeting potential roomates from roomates.com and, in some cases, their places. It was also spent imbibing copious amounts of water, zinc, Vitamin C, echinacea, and green tea. I decided that I had been taking Sudafed and Ibuprofen far beyond the recommended duration and consulted my friend Gavin who always has sound advice for, well, anything. This recommendation was sold as ever - I swear by this natural treatment.

Driving around was fucking terrible. Seeing as how the hurricane decided to take a good deal of street signs with it, even Googlemaps logistical prowess couldn't help me. Thank god for McDonalds and their free Wireless though. Actually, thank god for Nintendo for giving it to them. Thank you Shigeru Miyamoto.

It was this weekend where I had met a few people, one of which I decided to be roomates with, one of which lived in a neighborhood far too nice for me, and one of which was responsible for me partying with OJ Simpson.

This entry is long enough for now. I'll finish another time.
\

This can't go on much longer, it mustn't. I hope I find a place soon enough and stop havin to jump from hotel to hotel.

I'm still pissed about how we had found the perfect place and it was sold out right underneath is by a call in while we were talking about it. I mean, I know it's no good to dwell on the past, but it was absolutely fucking perfect.

Jen, my roomate, has a friend in the real estate business down here. He's supposed to get us some good leads, stuff that's not open to the public. Tomorrow, I take the day out of work to hunt with her.

Here's to hoping we find someting. And here's to hoping I can get well before I leave for Cancun next Sunday.

More to come on how ridiculous my new assignment with GE Security is.

I've only been in this town two days and I have the mother of all stories to tell to date.

VIP Rooms - free drinks - the hottest club in Ft Lauderdale - exotic, gorgeous women everywhere - Rockstar energy drinks - Bottles of vodka - insane breakdancing - and yea, OJ Simpson.

Stay tuned, I'll post the story soon enough ...

For now, I need to find a hotel to live in while I look for a place to live. Some fucking boatshow in Miami has ALL major hotels booked to the hilt within a 70 mile radius of here for the entire Presidents day weekend. All I can find at 250 a nite suites. Even though GE is paying for this, they expect me to put it on MY card and get reimbursed. Suffice to say, GEs line of credit is not as sensitive as mine - I can't afford to put rooms like that on my card, so I am going to have to use my GE card which might cause some issues but hey, fucking boat shows man. What the hell.

A little help here.

I was stumbled across an online application - I think it was Flash based - that was this amazingly vast network of bands and artists.

The thing about it that was awesome is that each band or artist was graphically displayed in this network as circles of varying size and color. The size I think was related to how much music the band has produced and color, perhaps genre, I don't quite remember.

Anyway, what I mean by network is that all of these circles were connected. They were connected based on similarity of genre and sound - so the closer a circle was to another, the more similar they were.

You could type in the name of a band, and the application would jump to that bands circle. Then you can observe the web of connected bands around it and see what sounds similar.

An amazing way to discover new music if you ask me.

But yea, I never bookmarked it, unfortunately. I was hoping someone would have an idea of what I am talking about, and maybe has seen it, and could help me find it again.

So, today marks the final of work here for me in Charlottesville. It was nice. To finally pack up all the shit on my desk and get out of that office. Quite honestly, I won't miss it here, not the work anyway, not even the people. Well - the CIO was quite a guy. In doing my rounds of awkward, forced sentimenal, farewells, I actually meant the words I said to him. He was real intelligent, fun, stand-up man that I could relate to.

Funny thing, though. I had a talk with him a few weeks ago at a IT team party at his place, and asked him about his degree. I had found out through an internal article at GE that he studied psychology. I asked how that got him into IT, and he is answer kinda startled me. He told me that he was originally a Chemical Engineer - however, the studies got way too hard for him and, moreover, got in the way of his partying. So, he made the decision late in his college to career to swith to psych, took some classes over the summer to catch up, and the rest was history. He got an MBA later on, went into business, and advanced up the IT ladder.

Is it wrong for me to have lost a bit of respect for him because of that realization? I just find it hard to grasp that concept - how it produced such an influential and powerful leader. Life definitely works in strange ways.

Speaking of that, I can't even celebrate this right now. I've been on and off sick the past few days. I even contracted a serious fever this morning at work and had to plain up and walk out of our team meeting. My entire head was pulsating like a heat bomb. I could barely focus on anything people were saying, and was noticeably swaying to and fro. I went to the bathroom and ran cold water over my face and hands for awhile. After my farewell lunch, I called it a day, left, saw a doctor, and paid $15 and 2 hours of my life to be told all I have is a viral cold and I should get these three OTC's and get plenty of rest and fluids. All I could say was, "So you can't give me any strong shit? No antibiotics??".

I guess I deseerved this. I kinda partied too hard this week. I sort of made it a point to go out every night, seeing as how it was my last - also seeing as how I iroinically really started to have fun here lately and was desperately trying to get in as much time with my new friends as possible. I even went out when I knew I had a cold, and drank, while on medicine - I was an idiot.

I hope I am well enough tomorrow, though. My friends here are throwing me a farewell dinner party that I am really looking forward to. My boy Carlos is breaking out some Absinthe for it! I never had that shit!

All in all, it was an educatioal 6 months here. I did learn quite a bit: Dating older people definitely has it's ups ... and downs; living in a nice place is hardly worth it unless you plan on having company over some time; when signing a lease get absolutely everything in writing - assume nothing; I really enjoy, and am apparently pretty good at, karaoke; This job may very well not be for me, and will require closer analysis on my part over the next 6 months; Taking control of your life and changing it for the better is a difficult, but very rewarding, experience; I have many flaws and much growing to do - which I look forward to; I love my friends and family back home more that anyone will ever know.

I suppose that's a short list. Oh. I did forget to mention that I have developed an alter ego - a Mexican Wrestler named Carlos Del Grande. I'll leave that story for another time, as he is in his early stages of character development. I'll leave you with this picture for now:




Fear the wrath of Carlos Del Grande!



Fear the wrath of Carlos Del Grande!




quién desea alguno!!