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peak:

Gone in 60 Seconds was a pretty good movie... good enough to pay a rental fee and watch, at least.


valley:

Apparent trouble in Best Friend Land.


noise:

Rhapsody in Blue.
(Geo. Gershwin)


sustenance:

Burger / Fries.


thoughts:

Jessie....
all about her.


365:

August 12: No entry.


Sunday, august 12th

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Quote Du Jour:
"Um Fletch, it's Jessie. It's... um... I don't know... Saturday night... Sunday morning. I... uh... didn't want to call and wake up your mother by calling your house so late. I thought I might catch you on this. Um... I just wanted to call and apologize for my behavior Saturday evening. Um... I'm sorry. It was uncalled for. So, anyway... I just wanted to say I'm sorry and I apologize." - (Jessie in a voice mail message left on my cell phone)


Jessie called and left the above message on my cell phone's voice mail. I might have answered the phone when it rang, but it was in the other end of the house and I didn't hear it in time to answer. She called to apologize for a night that sort of went sour in a hurry. The thing is... I'm not sure if she had much of anything to apologize for.

I went over to her apartment where we ate pizza and watched Gone in Sixty Seconds. After the movie, we were horsing around on the floor. I slapped her ass and I let out a loud, orgasmic moan. This was a mistake on my part. Shame on me. She has neighbors and, evidentally, doesn't much care for them thinking she's having crazy sex next door to them. The problem was that I was playing around and she kicked into serious without warning. She used to do that a lot and it's always sort of pissed me off. I mean... give me some warning that you are getting pissed. Don't go from happy to pissed in a nanosecond. And when she acts like that, I have been known to turn into an ass. Its as though my subconscious steps on the accelerator instead of the break as it sees the moment heading into a brick wall. Its an opportunity for me to make a bad situation worse. I don't do it often... But I can't even figure out why I do it at all.

The situation is now compounded with her apology. I've got problems with that on an entirely different level. Why is she apologizing? Have I, in some way, guilted her into doing this? I have no problem standing firm in support of my actions at times. Can't she do that, too? It's as though I can't be happy. I don't want her to be weak... but overbearing is too much, too. I want a happy medium... But you can't go and change people for the most part. You can't mold them and shape them exactly how you want them. You've gotta take 'em as you get 'em. Why am I have a problem with that? Why is the grass always greener on the side of the fence? Am I ever gonna be happy with the yard I'm in?


All of this talk about being happy with what I have reminds me of a complex I think I have. I call it my SimCity complex. I think I'll write an article about it one day for a medical journal. That way, I'd earn money from the journal for the article and from the software company for the free advertising. But I digress...

For as long as I've played SimCity on computer, I've built wonderful, large and successful cities. They are gems that any municipal planner would love. And as soon as they are as good as I could possibly get them... I blow them up. Usually, it starts with a plane crash or two... Maybe a few fires... But the process almost always involves an earthquake. Those suckers are sure to trash everything in every neighborhood and with everything tattered, I get the pleasure of putting things back together again.

The thing is... in the 23 years I've been alive, I've always been one to shoot for goals. They come in all sorts of sizes and shapes. Everything from passing one quiz to passing a grade level in school. I set a goal, meet it and then, almost automatically, there is another goal standing in front of me. It's the way I know how to live. When I reach a goal and there is nothing else there... I just don't know how to operate. I can't function. And so just like SimCity, I've been known to blow things up just so I can put the pieces back together again.

This has me worried in a lot of different ways. What is it going to be like when I have a job -- no, make that a career. There won't be any credit hours to earn toward a degree. Will there still be goals that I'll want to meet? Or will it just be me and the job for 30 years? The same goes for the girl that I want to spend the rest of my life with. Dating is fun for me because of all of the little goals. Get her to like you. Get her to want to go out with you. Get her to kiss you. Get her to go out with you again. Will marriage be me settling for a girl just to spend the rest of my life with? Will it be me climbing the steps up the mountain... only to find a plateau at the top?

And if I find that my job or my wife or any other aspect of my life gets dull and boring... will I set off an earthquake just so I can rebuild the pieces? My dad has had a handful of career choices and dozens of jobs mixed in. He's been married three times. He's owned God knows how many cars he's owned. He's the epitome of restlessness in life. If such things as alcoholism can be passed from father to son... can this?

copyright © 2001-02, Thomas Fletcher. all rights reserved.