'Fart face'? And you're how old?

I'm using my sister's computer, which has all of these interesting things that mine does not--my favorite so far is being able to see all the titles that she's used for things. Including this title. Who knows, who knows. She's seventeen and about to start college, that'll all I'm going to say toward that.


My cell starts ringing in my bag on the couch next to this one--Zero's head and mine turn at the same time to look at it, but I'm not about to get up to check.

It's funny how you look at things that happen in the world and somehow see a connection--a luck that's more like the anti-luck, but luck nonetheless. For instance, the traineeship I want desperately was postponed to February. At first, that was a minor setback. Now, it's essential since I'll have to stick around to play the adverbial parent.

Looks like I'll also be able to keep the dog. We're both going to get buff. Read my lips.





The first point is that I finished Until I Find You. And now I have madly fallen in love with John Irving. He's doing a signing in Chicago, instead of Ann Arbor, and that is one major bummer that I don't know how to handle correctly. The first third of the book was long--it was dense. You read because you wanted to know what happened next, but not because you were dying to finish the next page.

The entire ending. The last third of the book was perhaps the best I have ever read.

Reading what he wrote--I'm not sure how to craft something so well. But I'll learn.


Up next is A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers who created the 826 organisations. Brilliant. That's all I have to say.

On the other side of Right.

It feels funny to have some time where things are calm and restful. I haven't checked my messages yet this morning, so we'll see how long things stay that way. The other thing that comes into play is that we'll see how upset my supervisor is with me for not telling her yesterday that I was putting in my two weeks. That's right, my time at the Borders store in downtown Ann Arbor is quickly coming to a close. (This only means that I'll be transferring to another store--but not before I take a decent chunk of time off.)

A new six month strategy has come into play. Because the mom has gotten sick, something called dermatomyositis, and it is pretty clear that I need to be the Responsible One again and move back home once the lease ends. The little sister goes to college and Mom cannot live alone, no matter how much she suggests that this is possible. Amber and I were going to find a short lease here in Ann Arbor, but going home the other day made it very clear that I should go home, no matter what she says. Long ago, I was introduced to someone called Reality and haven't given up that assosication yet.

I tell myself, there are worse things in the world. Because, absolutely, there are.

There is something inexplicably awful about being the caretaker of a parent. Not for the selfish reasons of throwing a cog into The Plan of whatever it is that is coming up (in this case, it's very good for everyone that I have no idea what I'm doing anytime soon and have the most fluid plans ever). It's something a bit worse than realizing your parents aren't the end all be all of human beings when you're a little kid. It's the first (real) lesson of the frailty of the body outside of all the stupid injuries that youth brings.

While it is hard to stomach losing the excitement of something Great that was to come, I'm trying to keep in mind all the benefits of moving home. Quick calculations told me that I could have six grand saved up by the time I leave in February if I stick to the 40 hours a week thing at my low-paying job.

Either way, I think four will be sufficient and that will allow a lot of slacking time. To watch more films (you should see the queue of their netflix), read the books I always meant to (beginning with Roald Dahl's The Umbrella Man) and contact enough people in the Metro Area to have lunch so that hopefully I may have a better idea of what I want to do in the future. Beyond this, there is the opportunity to take the time to learn how to cook like I've always wanted to. She has dietary restrictions that will force us to spend the money on better foods, take the time to cook things. Currently, I am dreaming of kitchen utensils I never needed before.

Until then, I may buy some books from work about the GMAT and LSAT. Who knows? Right?



Either way, I will begin working intensively toward my Genius Award. And I will finally have time to do more community service. Working for another non-profit would be nice. And hopefully I may find a way to do fundraising for Michigan.

Who knows. This may be something uncomfortable that I may not like discussing a ton, but every bad day is an opportunity to change something else your way.

Happy Birthday, Andy.

It's very odd to look at the face of someone who used to be your friend. There are few times that I wanted to not know someone--and I dare say that I've never felt it this strongly before. Life is too short to consider liars and cheaters anything more than breathing organisms. At most, acquaintances.

I would say that I wish I had more lessons on how to be rather than how to not be, but then that would probably be a lie. On the way here, to the @office in the union, I thought about it a lot. When you consider all the shitty things people have done to either you or others, that's a pretty big indication of what not to do. Regardless, some people continually are that model of Who Not To Be. I can't imagine how much that would suck--nor could I, or will I ever, imagine what it feels like to betray, lie and screw over those who are supposedly your closest friends. (If you treat your friends that way, maybe I wouldn't want to be on your bad side.)

For the most part, it seems that you learn all those good things that people like President Bush may call "Values" as you grow up. I suppose all the lessons of Who Not To Be comes more like the mortar between the bricks.

Go Figure.





But. Beyond that, I had the best babysitting gig of my life at work the other day. Sitting alone in a room with Steven Page while he writes a song--I'll get paid for that any day of the week, thank you much.

It was the oddest experience--I didn't want to sit there cheesin', and I didn't want to sit there staring at him. All I could think about was how weird I'd feel if there were someone else in the room when I was getting my creative rock on.

All I know is that I hope he inserts a line about the girl in the basement of the bookstore.

He signed my CD: Thanks for babysitting me, Colleen! Then the most unintelligible scribble I think I have ever seen.



Christopher Paolini comes August 31. Salman Rushdie and Tom Robbins in early September (the 9th and 12th), then Billy Collins in the beginning of October.

Still, what I think is: Holy shit. Tom Robbins. !