This is what it is like to be busy; this is how you have no time:

Thursday-Saturday, we were in Seattle for Ben's wedding. Pictures will follow, but the wedding was fun, though it seemed I got the surprise of having to help set-up and break down everything. That was the groomsmen's job. Saturday was spent with Chris Davis and Manijeh, wandering around Capitol Hill and then watching the Blue Angels perform while sitting on the roof of his friends' house. Random, but a lot of fun.

Yesterday, R started packing, so I took the time to finally do a tiny bit of home improvement — I bought fabric for our dining room chairs and recovered them, bought a little throw rug and hung curtains in the den*. Whew. Oh and repotted some plants. And helped R.

She's going to need a bigger bag.

Everyone also (understandably) wants to see her before she goes — it looks like the entire week is full already, leaving little time to actually get ready. She's going to be a stress-case in no time. I will follow; I imagine this week is going to be pretty turrible.

I'm hanging in, mostly. Everyone's reaction to all of this is pretty much on a spectrum — from 'you'll be fine' to 'wow, that will be tough.' (And for the record — I need far less sympathy and more just that you keep an eye on me in the coming weeks/months. Promising me trips to strip clubs and shady bars will be far more helpful than trying to make me feel better about futures that haven't arrived.) The reality is that I will be a mess and that it is going to be one of the toughest things I've gotten to wallow through. It's ok though; time doesn't stop and a change in circumstance is just a reason to find new ways of being content and happy.

But I'm so proud of R — for getting in, yes, but really for going. For doing something most other people never would consider. It's badass and something I haven't given her full props for until recently. When I moved to LA, I had her around. This is far tougher. It's totally amazing and I've got one more thing to throw back at her when she makes excuses for doing other shit. If you can do this, you can do anything.

And this morning, I realized a bunch of things I'll miss about having her around. Yes, the company, the sex, the goofiness. But shit like zipping up her dress or watching her put on makeup. Or sitting on the sofa and eating dinner while watching Daily Show. Or watching her sleep. It's going to be all these little moments that I won't get to store up anymore. Though I've got several years of them now, so maybe they can tide me over.

Nothing stays the same forever; so all-in-all, this is thrilling. The dress zipping and TV watching will be replaced with something new and different for a little while.

Yet another reason to treasure every moment.

* I'm convinced the apt manager will somehow find a way to fuss over this improvement, though I'm pretty sure she can't actually do anything. Except raise our rent. It's a shame 1. that I don't trust her and 2. that she's such an annoying control freak. I shouldn't be worried about hanging curtains, but I am. (Just as I shouldn't have been concerned about storing a bike on the balcony or a vacuum — for a couple of days — or suggesting a mixer for the complex; she acted like I was totally insane for suggesting that I might want to meet my neighbors.) The curtains make our window look different than everyone else's. Goodness knows that might be taboo.

i'm hard-pressed to convey how intense this week has been.  production in CA - i don't think i have ever worked so hard in my entire life.  but it was so fucking fun…  i'm sitting in my rapidly-emptying greenroom with that pit-in-my-stomach, end of summer-camp feeling.  i will exchange email addresses and promise to write and do so with fervor for a little while, until that newness wears off and this week will stand alone in my memory as one solitary time.  i didn't expect to feel melancholy at this point.

i surprised myself this week - proved to myself a lot about what i can accomplish when i bust my ass.  by october 1, there will be 17 professionally-shot and produced videos of me available on the internet, teaching the writing section of the SAT test.  i worked as the "talent" for silicon valley-funded start-up company, and had a camera crew following me around.  i shot footage on the street, and had onlookers applaud at the end of a take.  it's pretty cool to stand back and marvel that this is my life.

So my last post was silly; this is because I was totally and completely wasted when throwing it up. (Also, not worth going back and looking, it's just a link. A useless one really.)

I didn't mean to get drunk the other night, but boy howdy, did I. I'm terrible with stress and anxiety — I magically hold it in, letting it take root in me in various ways — the end of last week and through Wednesday I managed to dream about work*, managed to feel the tension (again) in my jaw, managed to totally be a walking timebomb.

Drinking on Wed fixed that, sadly. It's a terrible solution to a stupid problem. But today, right now, I feel good. I felt good yesterday. I drew on Tuesday; I made a terrific leap with a project last night. This morning, I wrote.

That's the biggie, the one that matters right now. I've been at this job for a year now and have never gotten into a schedule or pattern that made me happy. But the last few weeks have been course correction on that.

I'm actually unsure how many words I've thrown down; it isn't enough, but I was also doing some tedious editing. I've got a plan for the next 8 or 10 weeks and it's pretty badass.

* I think I dreamed about work last night too. This time it didn't seem to have anxiety attached to it, which is nice. But honestly and seriously: I do not believe, not for one moment, that is acceptable, in any fashion, to have entire dreams about SQL tables. In fact, there are terms that should never appear in a dream. I'm not exactly sure what the list entails yet, but I think I know what I'll be trying to compile today.

I'm rocking the Burial album "Untrue" this morning for the 100th time. It might not be your cup of tea (let's say its downtempo ambient dubstep, as if such a thing exists [hint: it doesn't]), but it feels right this morning. The sun is hazy, the sky is filled with smoke. The fires all around here keep burning. Outside smells like smoke.

I'm sad this morning and I don't really know why. I was sad last night, too, so I'm sure some of it is residual.

I spoke to Petunia the other day about her trip out here. Then we deviated a bit and spoke about Rachael heading off to Harvard in August. She said that I hadn't posted much about it on here, which I suppose is semi-true. But the whole topic isn't one I have been super thrilled with typing about and it's not something I feel like is anyone else's business.

But I realized yesterday that I haven't typed up many personal stories in a while. All of my drama with R happens between us now and I don't often feel the need to type it up as a way of working through it.

Most of my feelings these days revolve around my relationship with her and the future, which is a terrible place to be. I've heard everyone's assurances and condolences. Which is all the more reason not to discuss it — I don't believe anyone can add much to the dialogue in my head. I don't believe she and I are approaching this all in an optimal way; there are days where things are perfect, followed by days of stress and tenseness that totally freak me out. Neither of us are standing on firm enough ground to be able to offer the other the perfect support we would like. Which just ends up freaking each of us out in other ways. The fun never stops!

So yeah, I'm trying not to think too much about the future, trying not to let it crush me or wear me down. And that's going pretty well mostly. But just juggling the day-to-day has become more difficult. I didn't realize the amount of stress this would cause — we are still 8 weeks off.

It'll work out, everything always does. But at the moment I'm not enjoying the journey quite so much.

You know what I realized the other day?

No year of my life has been like any other year of my life since maybe 7th grade.*

7th grade was my last year in elementary school.
8th grade was at Stonewall Jackson.
9th grade was in trailers at Lee-Davis.
10th grade was dating Karen.
11th was fighting with Karen.
12th was spent hanging with Matt D, Eric and Ben. (Plus others.)
Then 4 years of college. All different.**
1999 was spent working.
2000 was spent at a different job.
2001 was spent in college, again. As was 2002.
2003 I was in LA, getting my Master's.
2004 I spent being sick.
2005 was spent finishing school and not finding a job. And the Sopranos videogame.
2006 was moving up to Mountain View and working.
2007 was about startup and moving to Cisco.
2008 has been about R moving mostly.

The point here is that nothing ever stays the same. Day-to-day, sure. The changes happen so slowly, so naturally in most cases, we don't notice the difference between the starting point and where we are.

There are certainly days I can wake up and ask myself, "How the hell did I get here?" And you know what? There isn't a single answer, a sole reason. The decisions compound and there is no going back.

But for everyone (including myself), what old days do you long for? You're recalling a single memory, not a time when things were better. Run towards the new and stop lamenting for days that never existed.

There is no reason in the world to thing you can stop change. And no reason in the world you should want to. Instead, let's have a party. Those are more fun anyway.

* That's a slight, slight lie — I believe that an argument could be made for me that 2001/2002 were similar. Though given 9/11, it's prob more fair to say that they weren't.

** Ok, we might be able to say that sophomore and junior years were a bit alike — I was dating Petunia both years and there was nothing too different about them, other than my roommate situation.

tomorrow night is my valentine's date with todd - the sox game up in baltimore. funny how i don't think of it as the orioles game. i'm way psyched and there has been so much stressy shit going on in the past weeks that i am going to throw myself into forgetting everything else except baseball. at least for 3 hours.

i have the cutest outfit to wear, too, courtesy of michelle - a pink ribbon sox shirt and pink ribbon sox cap - how perfect is that.

yoooooooooooooooooooooooooook!

On the train, rocking KMFDM. It was a busy, off-line holiday weekend — John, Kurt, Keren, Rachael and I all loaded in Kurt's car for a drive up to Bend, Oregon. 9 hours. 2 full days there, then we loaded up and headed back.

It was a great, wonderful time even if it lacked some of the traditional 'relaxation' that holiday weekends are supposed to inspire.

(Secret, I just fell in love again on the train. Don't tell. She also has on a wedding ring. Bastard.)

Work is also busy; my role has shifted within the group, leading me to spend the majority of my hours away from my desk. And away from code. It's a good and welcome change, though it has led to my schedule becoming more erratic — I enjoy the change, but it doesn't lend itself to leaving at a regular time or anything like that. Lunch is snuck in, sometimes I get to enjoy it; sometimes it means nibbling for an hour during a meeting.

But I'm happy.

Here's a rub:
I'm a motivated guy. I know this; I always have projects; I'm producing so much stuff that I can't keep up with myself. (Which is a problem.) I have a notion of success. The rub? I don't think I have a good notion of what success is. What it means.

In many ways, I have programmed myself for meeting a set of expectations. I set them up for myself; I use them to push myself. My biggest problem here is my inflexibility. It seems I can't help but absorb expectations from others, by others, to define my own. Education is a prime example.

Sure, sure, I was the guy with all sorts of haircuts; I'm the wacky guy who had platform wingtip shoes and I hung out with all the freaks in high school. Great. But I'm the kid who pushed himself academically, the one who has a bunch of papers from a bunch of schools. The one who actually has a difficult time letting himself actually relax and try new things. You know — the one who didn't drink for years, who doesn't touch illegal substances, all that jazz. I have a tough time defining my own rules, though I'm getting there.

There are a few blogs I read for alternate perspectives on the world. I don't read enough of them, honestly. But they have helped me realize that there is a very wide and very forgiving definition of success. And happiness can (and does) come from many places.

I don't yet know what that means for me. I no longer know what it means to feel like my life is complete. But I know there isn't one path, one set of directions that solves it. It isn't a fixed and set path.

Hi, I'm 32 and still learning way too much about the world.

There are days, times, where I feel like the solution is right on the edge of my tongue. That there must be a puzzle piece or two that finishes it. And, as if I am swimming under ice, I can't quite find that hole to climb through.

p.s. I do know that right now, the answer, the puzzle piece, is not a baby. Just beating the peanut gallery to the punch.