Poems about Claire: Magic

One night

We watched the wizards cast.

You said

that it reminded you of the seventies.

I didn't even 

blink.

I knew exactly

what you meant.

Silence followed.

I pretended it was a

Comfortable Silence.

You just bared through it

until the wizards were done.

You asked me if I was okay.

I snapped

Yes.

Why do you keep asking me that?

You said

I don't know. I can just tell.

I didn't even

blink.

I knew exactly 

what you meant.

Poems about Claire: When

I remember

something you told me then:

"Just because

you live in between the 

past and future

doesn't mean that you're living in the 

present."

Now

I want to tell you about my

present

I want to tell you about my

future.

But you are the girl of my 

past

And it's there that you intend to stay.

A New Day

It's a new year for me at Coe College, and more than ever I'm realizing that every day is, in fact, a new day.

A falling out has happened with some of the members of my classic crew. With H and B now dating, C seems to have dropped off the face of the earth--or, at least, the face of Coe--and L went into a frenzy of bitching about H and B, primarily B and how he's changed.

I live with B. I have sensed no change, except that his penis is now obligated to only H's vagina. And I, for one, think that the relationship is a great thing.

And so I spend my nights with H, B, N, E, and S. Funny enough, without certain influences in our lives it's been pointed out that we've been less bitchy. Okay, correction: it's been pointed out to ME that I'VE been less bitchy. The less negative energy you have around you, the happier and less less stressful your life will be. And so MY life has come to be.

I'm still triple majoring in Creative Writing, English, and Theatre. Balancing the three has been a little crazy at times but still great. I auditioned for my first Coe Production, "She Would If She Could," and I was recalled but not cast. All the same I'll be super involved in set design and wardrobe--it's going to be a killer show, I recommend that you all find the time to go.

I will soon be changing the name of my blog, as I am no longer an Abercrombie boy. That's right--I've quit the ole' A&F. It was great while it lasted, but it's long since due for me. For now, I'm just working sixish hours a week at the English Department at Coe, and that's more than enough for me.

My fiance S will be graduating this December and moving up this January, so we've been figuring out a lot of plans surrounding that. Oh, I didn't tell you all? I'm engaged. (Yes, for real.) We're planning on a September/October wedding in 2011, the beginning of my Senior year here.

Well, I'd love to go on and on about books I've been reading, movies and shows I've been watching, things I've been writing...but I really don't have the time. I still need to read five chapters from "The Picture of Dorian Gray" by Oscar Wilde, research the musical "Hair", research the Greyhound service from CR to Chicago, read over the first three chapters of my Tech book, watch a movie for my Film class and write a paper on it, watch a movie for my Irish Lit class and write a paper on it, and read through a play for my Acting I class. 

Wish me luck.

Forever yours,

Abashed Adonis

At Ole' Coe College, In Cedar Rapids, We Sling-a-de-ink And Push-a-de-pen Along.

MONDAY
10-10:50 Irish Literature
12-12:50 Concert Choir
1-2:50 Musical Theater Acting
3-4:20 Fiction Workshop II

TUESDAY
9:30-10:50 Tech Production
2-3:20 Acting I

WEDNESDAY
10-10:50 Irish Literature
12-12:50 Concert Choir
1-2:50 Musical Theater Acting
3-4:20 Fiction Workshop II

THURSDAY
9:30-10:50 Tech Production
12:30-1:20 Concert Choir
2-3:20 Acting I

FRIDAY
10-10:50 Irish Literature
12-12:50 Concert Choir
1-2:50 Musical Theater Acting

SUNDAY
7-9(pm) Film Festival

Where I Live

Mainly for my parents to see, but everyone can have a quick looksee. :)

From the top: S's and my bedroom, the kitchen, the dining table, the living room, the staircase, and the entrance hall. 

So, just a quick update. In St Paul and loving it. I'm transferred into A&FRosedale and should start soon, but at the end of the summer I am done with A&F for good. In the meantime, I plan to get some writing done. Finished The Railroad and have been editing (I need to do some editing with my personal editor S) and writing Stranger Things, which stemmed from my poem on here a few posts ago "C". 

Having a wonderful, fantastic time. Love you all!

~Abashed in Abercrombie

Everyone Treats Themselves.

So, I have paid for an ENTIRE year of car insurance. Woo go me! And since car insurance is all that I pay for (on a strict bills-type monthy basis), I have no more bills or anything for a full year.

And then, what happened? A&F received a bag. All leather. Tote. Beautiful. 

They mentioned it in an A&F conference call, saying that "Each store would be getting one and only one."

And I bought it.

$250.00, minus 30% aka $75.00, equals ~$185.00. SO worth it. It is wonderful.

Snow

White flakes

Disguise the earth

As Pure.

Snow swirls around me.

You built a

Snowman

Who smiled like you never could.

Snow falls onto me.

I like rain

I said

Because it washes everything away.

Snow covers me.

You yelled

I said nothing

And then I left.

Snow eventually melts.

C.

It was dark

It was wet.

My shirt was tight

My underwear short

My flip-flops covered in the aftermath of rainfall.

Your dress was scattered

Your hair pulled back

A heart and star on your ear.

I sat on the dryer 

And thought of him.

I think you might have been thinking about him

Too.

I pretended I was happy

You pretended you weren't sad

We pretended that everything was going to be okay.

Rain started to rap on the ceiling

We got onto the bed

And our legs intertwined.

Maybe I wasn't happy.

Maybe you were sad.

Maybe everything wasn't going to be okay.

But then

There

Things felt good.

We took a picture.

This is what happens when it rains.

The Last I'm Going to Say On the Subject.

Perhaps you're right P.

Perhaps I really have changed. I mean, I don't feel very different. But when I look at my life just a few months ago and now, yeah. Things have changed. I'm growing up. It's taken me nineteen years, but I am. I'm maturing.

And maybe that's something you're not ready to do. Maybe that's something you'll never be ready to do. 

And that sucks, because I always valued you as one of my closest friends. You knew you could always come to me, like the time you were upset with your boyfriend and came to CR to spend the night. I liked to think that I could always go to you, too.

But I never did go to you, and that's my fault. I felt open with you, and yet I never did really open up. Probably because I'm embarrassed. Maybe because I'm scared. Of what you would think, of how you would see me.

But all of that is irrelevant now. YOU chose to see me in a different light. YOU chose to make me the bad guy--even though I've never been in a serious relationship with someone for their money, or cheated on any of my boyfriends every chance that I got, or used my boyfriend's money to drink and drink and drink until I couldn't feel anything anymore.

But, i suppose all of that is irrelevant as well.

I am changing. You were right when you said I've changed. I'm growing up. And I really don't think that you ever will. Which is also irrelevant, because we're no longer friends (at your doing), and that's just how things are.

And now, in general to everyone: I hate it here. I hate West Des Moines, the snotty shoppers that come into A&F, the bitchy kids who think they're all that because they have money (at least, money by IOWA standards, as if that's even a big deal), I hate the gays and the way that they all judge me for things that I've never done and words that I've never said, I hate taking every MINUTE of work that I can just to try and save up money,  I hate being away from my boyfriend S, I hate being away from my bestie J, I hate being away from my close friends B, L, H, E, and C at Coe, I hate not being in class and seeing my professors everyday, I hate that I haven't written as much as I'd planned on, and I hate summer.

I just want to go home to Cedar Rapids. And I pray to God, Jesus, Buddha, Satan, and everybody else that I do not have to come back to West Des Moines next summer.

And that's the last I'm going to say on the subject.

But Oh, Oh Those Summer Nights

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"

"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.

"I don't much care where--" said Alice.

"Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat.

This quote was posted on my boyfriends facebook, and being the literary genius that I am, it really made me think. It moved me, even--I know that sounds very strange, but I read it and I thought "You're right. It doesn't matter which way you go." I thought about this quote for literally hours, forgetting about it only when something else demanded my immediate attention, and then when I had a moment of free thought my mind returned to the quote.

Furthermore, it made me want to read. Last summer I told myself that I was going to read like crazy, but that never happened. I didn't even read the book that I was required to read for my First-Year Seminar class. But, this summer is going to be different.

This is my summer reading book list. I'll keep reposting this blog as I add more books, read more books, and have opinions to write about them.

~The Reader by Bernhard Schlink*

~Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass by Lewis Carroll

~One Fifth Avenue by Candace Bushnell

~Doubt by John Patrick Shanley 

~A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess

~Lolita by Vladimir Nabakov

~1984 by George Orwell

~Complete Short Stories by Oscar Wilde

*The Reader, by Bernhard Schlink. This book was wonderful. I originally found out about it from the movie, which I saw with P and ended up pretty much crying in the movie theater. The book is exactly the same but entirely different--all of the same events happen, but our main character approaches them very differently. It's the story of the love between a young man and an older woman. One day she disappears, and ten years later he's attending a Nazi trial for a college class that she's being convicted in. In the movie he's very emotional and cries a lot, even trying to visit her in jail once but failing. In the book, he's cold; he feels not only as if he's betrayed her, but as if she's betrayed him. Throughout the trial he feels cold, seeing old images of her in his mind but feeling nothing. It's almost less of a love story and more of the internal battle of our character with what is right and what is wrong, what we have power of and what we don't, and who should be judged what which things that they do.

It gets a bit dry at times, seemingly going on and on about nothing, but he always draws it to a very thoughtful, deep conclusion that was worth the wait. Out of five stars: three and a half.

Mistaken Identity

It's hard to be "confident" (online definition: sure of oneself, excessively bold) without being or at least coming off as "arrogant" (online definition: insolently proud). 

As we know from my last blog, I'm attacked for this many times. I'm starting to think I'm becoming a menacing public identity. ((Will I follow in the steps of Tila Tequila and get MY own reality show? "Ian-Michael's Pitcher of Vodka"... >>It's just like "Tila Tequila's Shot at Love", except instead of finding love I drink a pitcher full of vodka and roll around on a porch.<<))

Some people think that I'm "attractive" (online definition: providing pleasure or delight; pleasing, charming, alluring). Some people don't. More importantly, many people (spoken or not) find me to be arrogant.

Well, if I am a public figure as I've arrogantly self-proclaimed myself to be, I'm using my online controversy and popularity to say this:

It's not about being attractive, it's about feeling attractive.

If you feel attractive, you'll feel confident in everything you do. If you feel confident, you'll be happy with everything you do. If you think you're attractive, who cares what anyone else thinks? And if you're happy, who gives a damn if people think that you're arrogant? It just makes the relationships in your life with the people who actually take the time to get to know you that much more meaningful.

-Abashed in Abercrombie

A blog I was tagged in by one Christian White.

Dignified Gays?

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Today at 12:34am

Being a dignified homosexual.

There is a reason I do not like women, so don't take their horrible habits (no offense ladies.)

Talk normally, do not talk like a ditzy bitch.

No use of the words oh, my, and god together.

Say "what's up" once in a while.

No pants that cut of circulation to your toes.

Gay or not, there is no such thing as a pedicure for men.

Handbags are for women. Not men. Period.

Take pride, grow some muscle. We are men, nonetheless.

If I see you at the pool in a Speedo, I will puke on you.

Skin cancer-looking leather orange is not attractive, ever. Ever. Ever. Ever.

Women jeans are made for women. Men jeans are made for men. Homo or not, you are a man. Wear men jeans that are made for your body and, finally, you may look presentable.

Abercrombie is for fags.

Fags are not attractive, men are.

You are a faggot. You are not attractive, Ian Bergeron.

PS Your ears make you look like an elf.


Fags: you give gays a bad name. Fuck off.

I Was a Disturbed Child

For some reason, I thought that my writing became dark with the introduction of The Great Gatsby (which I read my senior year) and darker by reading Russian Literature (just this year). However, this is very untrue.

On my way back to WDM for the summer (where, sadly, I will be working at A&F every opportunity I get), I've made a week-long pit stop at my mother's house in Kville. There, I discovered my giant old Mac (remember the ones with the clear colored backs? Yeah. Mine is green,) some stories that I wrote in high school. I was surprised that I actually like them, and some are even worth editing up.

The first I read I barely remembered writing. It was a very short, tenish page 'murder mystery' written in first person titled "Bed of Roses". This boy is dating one girl, having sex with another, having sex with a boy, and having sex with his female teacher. Then the girl he's having sex with ends up murdered, then the boy, then the teacher. Then the girlfriend is found guilty and serves life in jail. ((So I'm reading this and thinking "What the HELL was I thinking? This isn't a murder mystery at all. It was obvious that the girlfriend did it, and then she did, and now she's in jail. What the fuck.")) So I continue reading it, there's an epilogue, he's talking about how he's found a new boyfriend and he's happy, he's starting over, and nobody ever found out it was him or that he buried the weapon under a bed of roses his mother just planted. ((At which case I was like "OH YEAH! Now I remember. He killed them all along.")) It's really rough, but I think I can edit it up into something very worthwhile.

Then, on a not dark note, I wrote a story my sophomore year that I'd entirely forgotten about. It's more than 100 pages, and it's basically about this gay boy's introduction into popularity. It's FULL of sex, partying, drinking, going to the beach, shopping, clubbing... and it's not entirely awful. Maybe a little over the top, but I like it. I can tell that GossipGirl was definitely an inspiration when I wrote it--I just can't believe that I wrote it my sophomore year of high school, before I had 'seriously' gotten into any of those things!

And on Recent Writings: The first draft of "The Railroad" is coming to an end. Which is fantastic, because then I can really get in there and edit it. It's not a novel, a novella for sure, but I'm okay with that. I write what needs to be written, and this is what came out of it.

Other Projects: I'm working on a novel titled "Snow", and I wish I could explain it but that proves to be a difficult task. With "The Railroad" I don't even explain the plot, just the characters, but there are so many more in this... So the beginning. It begins (as did a story I wrote for my first semester fiction workshop) with a young man discovering his best friend, a young woman, dead in her apartment. Though ruled a suicide, he's convinced that she was murdered and decides that he alone will solve her murder. SOME of the people we meet along the way are Caroline, a high school senior dating two boys, Susan, who's having an affair with her boss, and Cameron, who's sleeping his way to the top of the modeling business. (It's definitely a family story. Heartwarming.)

I'm also working on some short stories; I plan on putting them together into a collaborative book, but how I'm going to do that is still up in the air. Some of the stories include a reporter who falls in love with a prostitute, a lesbian couple of an author and a bookstore owner, a woman who hallucinates that the man she loves is in love with her also and is in her apartment, and a very religious person who tries peyote and has a vision that Jesus calls her on the phone to tell her that God and Heaven don't exist. (Another book to read to your children at bedtime.)

Well, I've rambled about my writing for long enough. I SHOULD be working on writing these stories, not writing about them. 

-Abashed in Abercrombie

Where Is It?

I find myself wondering if this year has changed me.

Some days, I feel very different. I do have different views on things, vastly different, and I handle situations differently. Not always in the "right" way, or in a more mature way, but in a different way. I feel that my writing has matured, and that I'm much more committed to it. I feel that my scheduling has gotten better (through mistakes I have made and situations I've had to resolve, but all the same). I know I've become much more independent.

Other days, I feel exactly the same. I still go out every time I can get a crowd together (not to mention the drunk texts I still send out to everyone). I still get jealous easily, and jealousy leads to immaturity. "I'm sexier than he is, I'm smarter than he is, blah blah blah." It's getting old for me, I'm sure it's getting old for everyone else. But I still do it, drunk or sober. 

Boys get me down easily, much easier than I should let them. The worst part is that they're never TRYING to get me down, or even thinking about me. They still care about me, still love me--as a friend. But I still get down, and it's absolutely ridiculous. No matter where I go, the memories are still there, and I can't seem to get over them. Three boys I've cared about, three boys that don't want anything to do with me further than friends, and I can't get over it.

Will I ever change out of this? Is it a maturity issue, or something more? Is it about love, or obsession, or simply not getting what I want?

Do we change, or do we stay the same until we get what we want?

I don't care if this is immature.

I'm better looking than him.

I'm smarter than him.

I have a much more charismatic personality than him.

I've known you longer.

I've talked to you longer.

I'm better. And I don't care if that sounds immature or cocky.

((The secret of this blog? I know that none of it is true. I just like to pretend that it is.))

Don't make it harder for me than it is.

That Guy.

I always told myself that I would not become "that guy".

In highschool, that guy was J, the infamous homosexual at K High School. He was an over-the-top fag, referred to himself as "the top fag of K High", wore expensive and tight clothes, and was popular. Within a year of not wanting to be "that guy", J and I had become best friends, and I was his right-hand man. 

Becoming "that guy" and getting to know J deeper, I decided that "that guy" was the guy that slept around. Now, I'm not saying that I sleep around, but at that time I was a virgin and J couldn't even remember everyone he'd had sex with. I remember everyone, but I'm certainly not a virgin anymore.

Then "that guy" was the guy that was the 'other man' in a relationship. I mean, I'm amazing, why would I be involved or into anyone who wasn't 100% involved with me? ...I've been the other man, whether it's sexual or just going out for a dinner-and-movie date, four times.

Next, "that guy" was the guy that drank and partied all the time. You know, the guy who goes to the clubs and bars every week, sometimes a few times a week, drinks like crazy, gets driven home by friends who, ever-faithful, makes sure he doesn't go home with someone he normally wouldn't because the guy is buying him drinks and telling him how cute he is. Recently, I had four (or possibly five) guys buying me drinks at the bar, and it was my third time that week, and I had to stay over at my friend J's house.

There have been many stages in between these and some that I'm not comfortable mentioning. I find myself running out of what I see in my mind as "that guy" because I'm probably going to become "that guy" anyway. Is it a matter of growing up and getting away from my "that guy" ideal, is it about accepting that many people are "that guy" and that it's not that big a deal, or have I become the "that guy" that I've so dreaded time and time before?

Diamonds are a Gay's Best Friend.

Though we are all vastly different, I have found that there are only three types of relationships in the homosexual community.

The first is a sexual relationship. This is the most common, since most of the homosexuals I've encountered don't value sex as much as heterosexuals (not saying that this is kudos to heterosexuals, by the way) because the fear of getting pregnant isn't there. Sex can, in fact, get you anything you want--don't deny it or try to be the righteous protestor, because it's damn true. I've seen it, you've seen it, we've all seen it. Yes, it's bullshit. But it's still there.

The second is a non-sexual relationship with sexual tension. This is how enemies are created and the quintessential "bitch fight" results. We're all sexual creatures, I'm not about to deny that. But sometimes one homosexual is attracted to another homosexual who isn't attracted to him and, as a result, the relationship fails and enemies and choosing sides and all that goes along with that stems. This is the most common relationship. Yes, this is also bullshit. But don't deny it's there.

The third is a non-sexual, non-tension relationship. This is very rare. VERY rare. Sometimes the second relationship has weak enough sexual tension that it works, but it's rare that two men attracted to men will have NO sexual attraction to each other. I myself have very few of the third nature, but I must say that they are the best. Just VERY rare. If you deny that number three relationship does not exist, I'm not even sure I'd have a strong argument against you.

I have a friend, J. Previously there was sexual tension, more when we were still getting to know each other. First, he was dating someone (much older than himself) and I was attracted to him. The attraction faded completely, and then he and his boyfriend broke up and he'd be dancing closer to me at clubs and (only when drunk, of course) suggesting that he wouldn't be mad if I kissed him.

However, my attraction was gone. I thought we'd end up having a relationship of the third nature, but it turned out to be of the second. Last night, he got upset about God knows what (Perhaps me kissing B, a different story), and left me, alone and lost, not knowing ANYONE, at a club in Iowa City. 

As I said, relationship two is the most common of the three.

And now, onto a different topic while still on the subject of sex, whatever happened to the old dating ways of yore? Sure, boys weren't dating boys way back when, but they actually DATED. Dinner, a milkshake, a movie. Walk her to the door. Maybe kiss her on the cheek. And many dates would go like that. People didn't have sex, or even do any type of sexual act, when they first met. Boys who didn't even KNOW a boy in person didn't drive three hours to spend the night. Boys didn't expect more than just dinner and a movie.

Now, I'm not denying that I'm a sexual being. I'm hugely sexual--that's what pornotube is for. The boy I find that asks me out, takes me out, and can have weeks of fun with me without doing anything sexual--and not just not doing anything, but even insinuating or mentioning doing anything sexual--will be the boy I'll fall in love with. 

Homosexuals can get married in Iowa. Perhaps that doesn't seem like a huge deal to some, but it changes everything to me. It changes my plans for the future, my ideas about how my life is, and my views on how I'm living my life now. I don't want to go out and get married anytime soon. But meeting someone who's good for more than sex would be fantastic.

This week has been hectic.

AND. It's only Wednesday.

First, Professor H calls me out on slacking off for work study. Whoops. He asked me if I still wanted to do it, and I said yes... Blah.

Then, somehow (laziness probably) I've fallen behind in Russian Lit... by like two weeks.

THEN I realized that I only had a month before school was over and only half of The Railroad written.

THENNN I realized that I haven't even LOOKED at courses for next year yet.

So, what have I done this week:

Made up with Professor H and done his work study stuff.

Made up TWO WEEKS of readings and postings for Russian Lit (which is a lot).

Written... a lot.

Put together my classes, had my advisory meeting with Prof R, and even figured out some of my Sophomore Spring Term.

Wrote a forty-page play that's due Thursday.

Completed both tomorrow AND Friday's homework so that I'm AHEAD for once.

Worked ungodly hours for both A&F and Pizza Ranch.

I think that I may be... Jesus himself.

And now, Jesus is going out with his bestie C and J to Studio. Ballin'.

Whining.

I understand that this blog is primarily composed of my complaining and whining. 

Writing this story is killing me. When I first wrote it as a short story with two characters, something about it came so easily. Not that this isn't spilling out of me easily--it's just so hard.

I've become attached to my characters, and I think that's what's killing me. The Boy, an alcoholic who just wants to have fun and passes up what is probably his only chance at love because of fear. The middle-aged woman who just wants someone to love her and ends up marrying a man who's using her for her money. The man who leaves his wife for a boy who doesn't want him. The heroin addict who has big dreams but no motivation, and ends up overdosing. The boy who just wants to figure out who he is, who is broken-hearted from a boy who keeps his distance and finds the heroin addict dead.

I know what happens to them, but something about them has become a part of me. I know that the heroin addict dies, but as I'm writing about her I still feel an overwhelming sadness, and even suspense at whether or not she will die even though I know that she does.

So what do I do to try and get a LITTLE distance from this story? I write another one. About? A boy who thinks his friend, who committed suicide, was murdered. A woman who has an affair with her employer. The employer who's killed by his wife. The two homosexuals whose path keeps almost crossing but not, until one finally accidentally runs the other over, making him paralyzed from the waist down. A boy who loves a girl, the girl who's seeing another boy behind his back and ends up with the other boy. 

I've become too attached to these characters as well.

My friend T, who recently inquired about my recent writing, asked me if I was depressed. And it's not really that; in fact, the only time I feel sad is after I've written about these people's lives. I'm not depressed, I'm usually a rather happy person. But when I write, when my brain, heart, and fingers connect pen to paper, this is the kind of story that comes out. 

It's wearing at me, and often I feel my personality. I want these characters to be happy, but I know that they can't. And what's even worse, my readers are missing the POINT of my stories. Every story has a sick, twisted happy ending. The Railroad ends with a boy who's had his heart broken, lost his innocence, et cetera--and yet, in the process, he's discovered who he is and what his purpose in life is, what he wanted all along. Snow, ending with a man hitting a boy with his car and paralyzing him from the waist down: and yet, they've finally met, and the man vows to stay with the boy and help him forever.

My stories are about finding the joys in and of misery. Perhaps when I finally finish writing them I can feel satisfaction about the characters.

Fear.

It's amazing how much people can surprise you.

The boy who seemed like a total badass, but ended up have a cute little crush on one of his friends.

The total flirt who turned out to be a virgin.

The girl who acted like a small child, but is certainly NOT a virgin.

The totally upbeat guy who writes totally dark stories. 

The Christian boy who's had more sex than ME.

The bitch who's not so bitchy.

I could go on and on. Don't think that any of you aren't putting on a facade, and don't think that you're fooling anyone. And yet... can I really judge myself to any other standard? I act like a child sometimes, and I know that. "Please, I, you're NOT a boy anymore," my friend S told me one night. 

It's totally true. And I know this. Yet I'm still stuck in this little boy, look at me, I'm adorable, blah blah blah. 

Why do we do the things that we do? Why do we act like a badass, or a flirt, or a small child, or upbeat, or super innocent Christian, or a bitch, or a little boy? Why aren't we just upfront about who we are, what we want, what we have? 

The the hell are we so afraid of?

-abashed in abercrombie

Revelations

Back to normal. Or whatever I can consider 'normal.' I'm back in Cedar Rapids, which is just a I'd left it. Back at working at A&F, at which I have more than thirty hours this week because all of the employees are from Iowa and they're ALL on Spring Break. Back to my classes, my professors, and my friends.

It feels amazing to be back, but I needed that week off. Sure, the first few nights weren't the best--I was pathetic and reminiscent, as you can all tell from "Attende De Toi", or (loosely translated) "Waiting For You", and I couldn't sleep the first night back and instead stayed up drinking cocktails. (Which lead to me falling asleep in the pew of my church the next day when I went to visit.) However, after I stopped feeling sorry for myself, I took a step back and examined every part of my life.

I know I've made mistakes, which I guess is the ever-famous first step. The hard part was really examining those mistakes, discovering the root of those mistakes, and finding ways to stop them from continuing and prevent them from starting again.

My biggest mistake, along with the only one I'm really comfortable sharing, is of course relationships. I looked at where I've been since I came to Coe: Four boyfriends, four week-long relationships. My two best friends, though they have had their fun, haven't been in any. My friend W told me that I just want a boyfriend really badly, and I think he's right. I'm not saying that I don't have feelings for any of these guys, I definitely do. But to the degree of a relationship, I'm not sure.

My friend B thinks that I just like suffering. This, to a degree, is also true. If I didn't, I wouldn't be ATTACHED to Facebook every night, wondering why B's relationship status changed to "It's Complicated", wondering who the boy with the braces was in S's new profile pic, and why A seemed to have deleted me entirely.

J thinks that I fall in love too easily, but that's not true. I'm not in love with these boys, I'm in love with the idea that I would have someone that liked me and only wanted to be with me. Solution: stop getting so carried away. Dating is fine, and even more, and if I really really like someone then fantastic for me. But just because two people get along for a month and both have the same sexual orientation does not mean that they're meant to be together.

And the particular obsession with B that I've had is something I especially need to get a grip on. He's a great friend, and hilarious to hang out with. But, facing facts. It's been two years. If he ever wanted to date me, even for a second, he would have asked me out already. People don't change, a wonderful revelation given to me by M, and the only thing you can do in such a situation is accept the current situation for what it is and stop trying to change it--because chances are, the change I've built up in my head would be NOTHING like the change that could actually occur.

So my life is back on track. No more getting drunk, bashing boys with their ex-boyfriends on Facebook, getting more drunk, and crying on the floor of the shower stall for me. 

But don't worry, there will still be the whole getting drunk thing. Today is Saint Patrick's Day, after all.

Attende De Toi

Two years ago, I was sitting here, and it was raining.

It was a little later in the year than it was now--I remember going outside and sitting in the grass in just my boxers and a shirt. Right below my window (referring to my house in Knoxville, Iowa) is a small garden, or at least a garden I tried to make that now consists of a few lilies and lots of weeds. 

I had that feeling--you know the feeling when you've just had the most wonderful idea, and the idea makes you so happy, but at the same time your stomach is churning and tightening because you know that your wonderful idea is impossible. It's kind of what I refer to when I talk about having the mean reds.

So I had this feeling, and it had just stopped raining, so I went outside and sat in the grass. I remember it was wet and smelled fresh. I had this idea, this most wonderful idea, this genius life-altering idea--but I knew that it was impossible.

We all know the feeling. Some of us accept the impossibility, it's the logical thing to do and makes life much easier. However, something in me couldn't accept it, and I held onto the idea like a growing child holds onto a stuffed animal that they know they're getting FAR too old for, but can't seem to give it up. And the wave of possibility for this idea, the up and down and close and never, went on and on. 

Today is March 8, and it's early in the morning. Of all the places to go for Spring Break, I chose to come back to my humble abode in Knoxville, Iowa. You think you've left something entirely behind (or someone...), but once you're back, and you see it (them...)... everything comes back. Sometimes it's so harsh that it's not a rush of memories as just... mush.

It's been raining. It rained the night of the sixth, drizzled the day of the seventh, and rained that night and into this morning. Then it stopped; I knew it would only be a moment before it started again, so (in my underwear and a polo, no less) I ran outside, under my window, and sat in the grass.

It's strange how much changes in two years and how much stays the same. I'm taller, my writing has become much better, I'm more worldly (or at least I like to pretend so), and I like to consider myself, overall, much more mature.

But I'm still that scared little boy, sitting in his yard after the rainfall, thinking about an idea that he knows can never happen. Maybe I'm stubborn. Maybe I think it still has a chance. Maybe I'm just plain dumb.

What I do know is that I'm back here, once again. Wishing for things that aren't and under-appreciating all of the things that are. I'd like to think that people can change. Do change. But that's really not something I can believe in.

-abashed in abercrombie

In The Beginning

I'm not really sure who's going to read this, if anybody. I'm not really even sure why I'm writing it--I got tired of my other blogging site, I got tired of myspace posts, I got tired of a journal, I got tired of writing in a Microsoft document, and I got tired of my iMovie video journals. And I doubt I'll be as personal with this as I would with my video journals because this is open and the videos were private. 

But. If everything has an end, it might as well have a beginning. 

So, what's going on in my life right now? New job--at Pizza Ranch. Classy, I know. I'm still working at Abercrombie&Fitch (since I might cease to exist if I left), but to pick up some extra monies I've joined the pizza business. It's super easy, and they're willing to work around my A&F schedule, so I shouldn't complain.

I shouldn't complain about my new hair either, but I will--black with blue tint and dark brown are two very different colors, but Garnier seems to think that they're the same. I wanted dark brown. I'm never dying my hair myself again.

 

Today I have OFFICIALLY dropped my morning lass, Sociology of Religion. It sucked balls, hardcore, and the professor wrote on my first test (which was less than satisfactory, obviously): "Ian, you don't seem to understand ANY of the material we've been going over. Unless you plan on REALLY turning things around, you should drop." So I did. I mean seriously, he only teaches about Presbyterians, since he is one, and I grew up Presbyterian--which I guess should mean I should have done really well on the test, but I didn't.

So with my remaining four classes, I only have four more days until Spring Break. And what crazy things does this alcoholic have planned? ... I'm retreating to Knoxville for the week. I think of it as a time for self-reflection. We all know (or, at least those who are in close contact with me) that Ian hasn't necessarily made the BEST choices in life lately, so this is a chance for me to look back upon some of those choices, fix what needs to be fixed, move on from what can't be fixed or undone, and kind of start over when I return to Coe. Sorting out ones life is ALWAYS a good thing.

Let's make this a good weekend--self reflection starts next week. This weekend is about having fun.

-Abashed in Abercrombie