So, I have several observations to make:

1) a person with a high alcohol tolerance for beer does not have a high alcohol tolerance for tequila. While I am not immune to drunkenness by a long shot, I managed it far better than the friend with whom I shared the bottle of 1800. It was a very fun dance evening, though it was a lot shorter than expected. We had a designated driver, so don't worry on that account. And I drank water; don't worry, I hate water, but I'm not stupid. But, my observation is that, if you plan on drinking hard liquor in any (in)decent amount, don't expect to be dancing for 6 hours.

2) one of two things is true: my room is too cluttered, or I don't read the Bible enough. I have 6 Bibles in my room, all of which I would recognize on sight (though one is in French and has a twin in English, for fun more than spiritual reading), yet it took me more than 10 seconds to find them. (yes, they were in plain sight) I wanted to look up a passage quoted in a friend's blog (which I will quote in my favorite form after this). I am also reminded that the Bible is in the stack of books I'm reading and/or need to read (there are 4 books sitting around with bookmarks that were put down at some point of progress and forgotten for other books)

3) I make piss-poor use of my time at home. I mean, I know I make piss-poor use of my social time, because I'm driving so much and don't factor it into my conception of what time I use for what, but when I'm at home, I honestly don't use my time as well as I could. I've been home nearly an hour, and I've read 5 emails, responded to 3, left a message on an answering machine, checked my loan payment status, read 4 blog entries, and written what you have now read. In an hour? David, what were you doing in all that time? I mean, I wasn't staring off into space, but really. an hour! [sighs] I simply don't know where it goes.

4) My "call my friends more often" isn't working, mainly because of number 3. I mean, to spend any decent amount of time talking to someone, it has to be at least 15-20 minutes, so that's 3-4 friends in an hour. But I already mentioned how my hours disappear as if the commercials had been cut out and the time that they used along with them, so I end up talking to 1 friend an hour, give or take 1 friend. It would be a crime, but it's not considered a crime when victimizing yourself. Unless it's fatal and/or in public. I never understood that, why it's a crime to commit suicide. Please, send me to jail for attempted suicide, or condemn me to a coffin in the ground for succeeding. what? [laughs] And I'm off topic. So, I need to quote the Bible, so I can call people. yes. Laters, blogger.

p.s. 5) 3 of my 6 bibles are New American Bibles, one is King James, and the twins are New World Translations. I need more variety.

(NAB) I James 2:19-21 "They went out from us, but they were not really of our number; if they had been, they would have remained with us. Their desertion shwos that none of them was of our number. But you have the anointing that comes from the holy one, and you all have knowledge. I write to you not because you do not know the truth but because you do, and because every lie is alien to the truth."

This passage refers to the last hour, the time between the resurrection of Christ and his second coming (yes, the last 200 years have been "the last hour"), and how teachers seemed to come from the christian faith, but because they left the community, rejected the (early) Catholic church, they showed that they were lacking in faith, and therefore lacked in the gift of the Holy Spirit to see the truth. While I won't comment on the truth value of the Catholic church's beliefs (I believe, but have neither time nor inclination to argue my faith here and now), this passage refers to the belief that it is not individuals but the community of believers, lead by teachers from that community, that recieve the light of truth, and that if anyone should leave that community of faith, then they never really saw the light of truth after all.

This passage was quoted and given a meaning such that in our own lives, many people come and go, and those that are not one with us, in union with us (as we are one with Christ), reveal that they are not one with us by leaving us, and so we ought to let them go. However, if you stop at the end of verse 19, you miss the point that we already know the truth, and we know when people are not one with us. I John 2:27, "As for you, the anointing that you recieved from him remains in you, so that you do not need anyone to teach you. But his anointing teaches you about everything and is true and not false; just as it taught you, remain in him." There is a wisdom to allowing people to go, but another wisdom that comes not from the world but from the Holy Spirit that allows us to know those with whom we are in union and those with whom we are not. This is the same gift as that which lets us know that we are in union with Christ or not, and therefore to remain in him or come back to him, rather than live in darkness and uncertainty, fear and doubt, unable to avoid snares or find the way out.

So, I had a dream this morning which I don't have time to fully relate, but the highlights were: it was today, and the swing band wasn't that great, so we went to a movie before meeting people, then we met people at some weird bar, and we saw 3 more movies in 2 hours and got to Havok at 2am, at which point we proceeded to sneak through some back passage that took us out on the balcony/catwalk between the two rooms, and the dancing sucked, and the music was stupid because Mikael had one of the other djs working who I don't know, but he was playing crappy music in a cdplayer, and then I was cooking enchiladas and casseroles (4 different ones) for the employees, in a non-existant kitchen, and then I saw Grace there dancing a little, and she said she'd decided where she wants to live, and I wondered if it was Houston, and she was giving John Kimmell a hug (he stole a girl I liked in high school, and then later that year showed up to dance with another of my girlfriends, my response being to turn around and walk away) and he slowly pushed her hair aside and kissed her neck (she didn't seem to want it), so I walked forward and punched him in the face and upper body repeatedly, he pushed me away and said we'd fight the next day at noon. Then I couldn't talk to Grace because the casseroles would burn, and then everyone left while I was working in the kitchen, so I woke up, leaving the caseroles for whoever came back for them. hmmm... well off to the shower then work and craziness as always.

"Treat people as if they were what they ought to be, and you help them to become what they are capable of being." ~Goethe

So the big question of my life, the one many people ask me and the one I ask myself, is not, "why am I still a cook?" or, "how can I live with so little sleep?" but, "Why am I not in San Diego with the girl I profess to love and with whom I want to spend the rest of my life?" There are multiple answers to this question, all of which are true and correct on some level or to some degree.

The easiest answer, for me to say and defend, is that if I lived in San Diego, Grace and I would likely be living together. And that's something that, desirable as it may be, I'm not ready for, and our relationship is not ready for. Too many of my friends have ruined relationships by taking steps that were not right for them to make, like living together especially. It's hard for me to feel ready for marriage and the steps that lead up to it when I have so many friends that are divorced. I am not shying away from committment; I am trying to avoid making committments that I will be unable to keep (and I wasn't sure it was so until just now when I worded it that way). I love you, bro, but good luck; I'll pray for you and your upcoming marriage.

The simplest answer, for which I have very little ability to defend and generally state as a truth and not an argument, is that I am still trying to figure out who I am, and if I moved to San Diego, I'd be in a situation that allowed for little self-discovery (or so I feel). Here, I have the ability to actualize many of my desires, and so in the process of making decisions, good or bad, I actualize myself, learning what I want in myself and what I need to change in myself. The argument against this is, "hello, David! You're making the Choice of not moving to San Diego. Isn't that a big actualizing choice?" The answer to that is yes, it is. And yet I feel that there are other choices to be made that necessitate this one now. I can't explain it more than to say that I feel as though I need to be here now, that my path, and the choices along that path that will be formative to me in the most important ways, are centered, for now, in Houston.

I hang on to my relationship with Grace because I want that relationship. It is my choice to hold on, and means a lot to me. Dumping Grace would be, to me, the equivalent of giving up on myself, staining my sense of honor and loyalty. Let her go if she wanted to go, I could painfully but graciously do, because she has to live her life too (I'm not so sick of mind that I cannot admit a future without her), but I don't want to. She's one of the most beautiful people I have ever known, and as a peasant stands straighter in the presence of royalty, so too do I know virtue in myself because she deserves it. So few can I attribute that.

The complex answer, then, I suppose you wish to hear? Of course, dear reader. I pander to the lowest and posture before the great. May you find pleasure in reading this, though you care about me little or naught. I don't know how. Confounding, isn't it? People ask me, "Why don't you move to San Diego?" and I want to ask them, "How?" and if I do, they give unsatisfactory answers such as, "Just take your stuff and go," or, "Buy a one-way ticket, then you're stuck and you have to make the best of it." But I don't understand how this is done. I look at my friends such as Charles, whose family was forced to move because they went bankrupt as farmers and needed to start a new life with a new family-supporting career, and Drew, whose family was just never one to settle down anywhere for any long period of time. There was a girl I spoke with in the post office one day, who had just moved here from New Jersey, taking a road trip until she decided to stop and get a job. Lara just went to Spain, living in a bank for two weeks when she was kicked out of her host house. Both Irina and Raph, with med school and military respectively ahead of them, had to figure out where to live and how to get there and how to get around, because they had responsibilities that were not going to wait for them. Kat and Grace both just up and moved out of state to stay with fiancé and best friend respectively, with the roughest of plans, just making sure a roof would be overhead with a bed to sleep in, trying to figure out the rest upon arrival.

I don't know how to do that. Sure, I went to college a thousand miles away and kept in contact with home very little. But did I mention that I lived in dorms all 4 years, that housing and food were part of tuition, that my "work grant" was money straight into my pocket that wasn't already promised for rent, water, food, electricity, car payment, phone payment, anything except my normal credit card payment? If I up and went to San Diego, right now with no car of my own, no phone of my own, no place to live, credit card bills and student loans, no concept of "money-already-spent-before-it-was-earned", it would be like putting on pads and a helmet and walking out onto a football field, not knowing the rules, looking at the guy beside me and imitating his stance, trying to figure out what's going on. I can't take all those steps all at once, so I need to work on them a couple at a time, slowly ease my way into it, get up to speed. That or get walked through the process by a close friend, and who can do that, I mean really? I have friends that are remarkably well-off right now, have their feet under them and a goal ahead of them they're driving straight toward, but that's not something I could ask of anyone, even if I were in the position to do so.

And here's where the complex part comes in. Remember how I'm being formative right now? Every choice denies other choices? Well, I'm busy right now choosing to focus on other things. I have been for a good long time. I won't be for much longer, because I can't afford to for much longer. My parents are wonderful, and I couldn't ask for more love or a better upbringing, but they don't deserve for me to take advantage of their generosity like this. I have momentum in the direction I've chosen; I can feel the stagnation of my economic maturation, but my spiritual maturation is plowing onward, making progress almost every day. That part of myself that I have always deemed most important is determining itself through joy and depression, admiration and contempt, pain and resolve. It is hard to feel, harder still to see, but it is there and it is growing strong, has grown strong. I do not wallow in a pit of formlessness, uncertain of what I want, who I am, what things must happen for me to get there. The only uncertainty standing before me is how to go about doing all this. Advise, advise, advise, I have much of it from many people I respect, most of it good advise, but it isn't getting through to me, it isn't penetrating me and making me dance, like the music to which I am learning to feel in ways I thought I never would. I don't know how, blogger. Waiting isn't the answer. I didn't learn to let the music move me by staying home; I learned by going out all the time until I found the music that reached me. I need to do the same for this, but how? What is the equivalent?

So, that is where I am. I'm glad you read through this whole blog, because it was actually informative to me, as well. Sometimes you don't realize something until you've put it into words, and such was the case here. Having said all that, I have more to think about. Also, if you'd like, I never know who reads my blog, and I'd appreciate if you would drop me a line at ashe.david@gmail.com to give me comments or just to say you read it. Not that it really matters, but I want to believe my friends care enough to read my blog, since this reveals more of myself than I ever really do in person. and though I think it's impossible most of the time, I'd like more than anything in the world to be understood. It closely beats lovingly-sliced bell peppers on which to snack. Barely.

I think I may have become extroverted without realizing it. I'm exhausted, blogger. Exhausted to the point of pain and apathy, burning eyes and aching muscles and a strong desire to sleep. And yet I want to be social, talk or something. I called Grace, I emailed people, and now I'm even blogging. How pathetic am I? I don't know; I'm too tired to answer questions. All I know is that the hum of the computer is as unsatisfying as the whir of the fridge or my anticipated running water. I'm happy for Vanessa, really, but all I can help thinking is "Another one bites the dust!" in expectation of the sudden drop of time spent with me, as happens whenever a friend gets a new relationship, whether it be a new significant other or just a frient with similar interests. But I'm a good friend, if not a gentleman, and so here, blogger, is the only place I will complain. In the "real" world, I'm as flaky as the rest of us.

So, I'm casting a play for LifeTeen. I should have started two weeks ago. But it's a mystery dinner theater, so it'll be fun. I also practiced cello today. And yesterday I got a lot of work done in terms of collecting dance info, but not enough to be useful today. c'est la vie. I am changing directions. I think I'm tacking into the wind now. It's nice to feel the wind in my face rather than at my back. Perhaps I'll keep it up a pace.

I think I'm going insane working on the computer. Solution: I'm going to read my book. I might even sleep.

I stand erect, facing forward with courage, sweat dripping from my brow beneath the harsh sun. My feet press against the hard-packed dirt; I am unmoved by the prairie winds gusting now and again then stopping, listening, waiting. My eyes are closed slightly against the glare, my shoulders tense but straight, arms at my sides, my hand on the too-cold metal, my finger a hair's breadth from the trigger. In the holster, the gun sits waiting, ready for its only purpose, the rusty exterior a mask for the bright death inside. One round in the chamber, a single shot and it is over, whether I hit or miss, am hit or missed. Riveted to that place in that moment, a moment which has gone on forever and will end suddenly and painfully, I face bright eyes, pained eyes. We wait, ignoring catcalls and jeers and jibes and encouragements, wondering who will first pull forth thunder and end this stalemate, wondering if it's possible to move a hand away from death and walk away or come together, both determined not to fire unless being fired upon, both determined to draw second and face death rather than gun down something once beautiful. Once, laughing, we dodged bullets, pretending they weren't death, pretending they were a game. Now, we are but a flick of the wrist, a rise of the arm and a contraction of the finger away from meaning it. I can feel it already. Standing here, in the heat and wavering light, I don't know whether I will draw and fire, or whether I will make a sharp movement of the body but of the hand intentionally slow, or whether I am already dead. The sweat beads and flows into my eyes, clouding my vision; all I can see is red and brown and grey, and green, from long ago, and sometime soon again. One way or another, life continues.

So my life is a literal list of conflicts. I am sleepy and exhausted because I barely slept last night, but I'm in the mood to get work done, despite the poorness of quality that would result from anything I might put my mind to at this stage of sleeplessness. Mentally/emotionally I feel peaceful, but I am not at peace. The metaphor I came up with earlier is I am a body of water with a placid surface and swirling undercurrents (tumultuous is a bit stronger than I feel). I have a lot of work that needs to get done, and a lot of friends I want to hang out with, and a lot of dance venues to go to/check out, and not enough time for half of it. I want to email people, but I'm also waiting to get responses from several people, and right now, I can't type more because I'm falling asleep. goodnight, blogger. kisses, love.

So, unfortunately, I am not the type of person who can magically create time to do everything that needs to get done. (I have known people of this persuasion, and it is freakin' amazing to see it in action). Therefore, I am finding myself with too many people (mostly friends) with whom I'd like to spend quality time, and too many dance venues I'd like to attend, and a lot of work that needs to get done, and I simply have no idea how to make it fit into a weekly schedule. I suppose I could create a monthly schedule, but that feels like surrender. You may as well tie a stone to my foot and push me in the drink, if I'm going to belly-up and only attend things or see people once or twice a month. The only other real option is for me to prioritize away a couple things, let slip the acquaintences that feel awkward or pointless, and schedule my work a little better. Unfortunately, that doesn't solve the problem of spending time with my friends. I think that I've given the impression (and perhaps I do feel this way too often) that my friends are much lower on the priority list than any sort of dancing I may be doing. After all, dance venues, and the people I see at them, are scheduled very far in advance, i.e. they are weekly, and so I can expect to go to them. My friends rarely make plans with me a week in advance (barring a couple very organized exceptions), and are liable to change plans a little or a lot. While I'm fine making plans last minute, I don't like breaking plans last minute. Blah blah, the point is, oh friend who may actually be reading this, if it isn't work, ask me to cancel it for you. Because you are important to me, and I'm a big shithead. Now, I must get ready for more working. I'm serving wine and helping with a wheelchaired guest at a dance event hosted by my aunt, and I need to go put on my tux and go. So, au revoir, blogger, until again.

So, soon, I will be creating a mailing list and weekly newsletter for dancing in houston, focusing on (in this order) tango, swing, ballroom, western style dancing, performance art dancing, other genres of social dancing. Because as far as I know, there is no such information collected into any single place. I will need to do a lot of work to get this information. If you want to help me by giving me information about dancing in Houston, that would be appreciated. and contact info for the person or website that gave you this information, if you did not scrounge it for yourself in person from the venue. Blah blah. I'm going to hang out with Kat, then see Memoires of a Geisha (alas, I let mom read the book, so I haven't read it yet...but I will!) then swing dancing! and tomorrow, golf with the youth minister, because I can take people for free! wish me luck. Au revoir, until again, blogger.

Hello blogger. Excuse any spelling or grammar mistakes, as I'm typing this with my eyes closed. As I sometimes do. I...don't want it to be stream of consciousness, but it may end up being that later. For now, it's just...resting my eyes. Anyway, I'm not quite sure what I want to say, except that something needs to be said. I have the compulsions inside, as I often do, to write something, but not what particularly. It sucks. There is a lot of nose here. Mom is talking to dad, telling him about the water leak, the bad hot water heater. someone is vacuuming, damn that has two c's doesn't it? I forget, and I can't look to tell for sure. Anyway, and I have some music playing, don't recognize it, though I should. I'm just terrible like that. There is the sound of my keys typing. I love that sound. It makes me feel calm. LIke O'm doing something, even if I'm not doing anything. For example, right now, I'm doing nothing except journaling, but I feel better somehow. [laughs] You can think I'm an idiot, but you're reading, aren't you? Or you're not. Who knows if anyone will read this. I do need to fix the background and setup and whatnot, make all this wrap around the right hand enu. Change the picture. Change the color. [laughs]. Blah blah. There are so many pictures jumping aroudn in my head. a man, standing by a lake, looking out, feeling the wind, chin stlightly up, dark blue sky, evening maybe, there's a storm a couple hours away. the waves are a little choppy, the trees are almost to the water's edge. A girl, dancing, on a log raft, on a wide brown river. she is barefoot, wearing a white tank top, tan shorts, no, pants rolled up avoce her knees. She has a wide smile, as she dances on the water, under the sun. A fish, no a bird, just watching. The sun falling like leaden, exhausted, seeking solace in the hills of the horizon. It falls as though it will never rise again. But it knows it will. It will rise again in the morning, as it always has and always will, until it beats it's last solar pulse, breathes its last cosmic breath, and dies. taking us all with it. There is a white cloud, haning motionless in the sky, a light blue sky, a blue the color of skies, no I can't think of a good way of putting that. the color it's known for. [laughs] Anyway, the cloud is full, changes a little on the dges but stays the same in the center. The wind dances with the cloud, who stands still, and the wind plays a bout himn. I picture Grace walking in heels, a formal dress, a sad look in her eyes. I picture timmy from helios dancing, stomping, while I hold his cute pet rat. the bluegrass beat makes the building sway. I see lara looking on with interest, trying to be emotionally detached, or so her face seems, but she can't, and she bursts into laughter. I picture grace dancing jive, laughing when I can't keep up, smiling and touching my face with her cold hand. I picture Cahrles, sullen, working. I picture Drew, smiling shyly, at midnight rodeo. I see thousands of people go marching across the stage in front of me, like a wheel of fortune, a roulette wheel, and where will I stop, which person will be the winner? It slows, slows, but I don't know where it will stop. I don't want to look, I close my eyes, afraid of the answer. I leap out of my chair and rush to the back of the auidtorium, but they all give chase, saying, Pick me, Pick me! I flail with the door handle, partially opening my eyes. it drives them even more frantic, but I push past them all and run, run to the front doors, out the glass doors, and I'm leaving one of the buildings on the science quad, the red bricks in front of me, around and around, but I rush straight acrsos them, headed toward Hannah and safety. The clear sky thunders and says David, where are you going? The future is not that way. The prize is not that way. The price is not that way. I stop and shudder, huddle into myself. It grows coldI turn and look, and they are all standing there, a great mass of people, and I am afraid of them, crushing me betneath waves of dancing forms, crush me in a press of friendliness, trambple me in a wave of frustration. I put my head downa nd close my eyes and find a shield of peace, force it outward, like the eye of a storm, a force field bubble in the midst of the rocking earth. I sit down and look for myself, but where am I? Somewhere, but I can't find it. The battle is being lost, outside a battle is being waged, everyone fighting everyone else. Stop, I cry, but no one listens. They are all blank eyes, glazed, foaming slightly at the mouths, they are no longer humans but mndless zombies. As they tear each other limb from limb, and the blood soaks into the green grass, slicks the red bricks, stains the grey cement, I cry. Lara crawls toward me You don't need to be afraid, Drew sits rocking himslef saying, "It's not like this matters, it's just a dream. Charles holds a torn arm blood from his mouth tThis is your dream, DAvid. What monsters do you think we are? I don't know, I reply. It's too much for me. I don't even know you. I used to, but I don't anymore. The last plane dropped its bomb, and the world I knew disappeared. I am building it on the ashes of the ones I love, on the love I once had for them. Everyone left is just ashes and shadows, but with my eyes closed, they are almost real. Where did my dream go? Where di the path before me go? Grace is just a memory of flowers on this dusty breeze, but she represents what I want, what I long for, who I need to be, where I need to go. I feel as though once I reach where she is, I can kiss her, and we can go on where we need to go, together or apart? I don't know, but I have to reach that place first. Or I'll be trapped here, dragged down in the the mud. Why aren't you swimming, then? Move your arms, David, says Charles. My shoulders hurt, I reply. I feel a great weight on them. I just want to lie in the grass, looking up at the bleeding skyes, the rain in this world is not clenasing, but it still feels nice and chill on my skin. So do something abotu it, says Grace, now in front of me. I reach for herand she steps back, out of reach. You have to come to me, she says. I can't, I reply. It's too hard. You once told me to live, when I said it was too hard. Why are you allowed to say it now, DAvid? Come on, stand up and be a man, be a person, be someone I can love. Right now you're just a fallen angel, a worm in the dirt. Where is the man who told me that life is worth living, dreams are worth chasing, hope is possible and real and not a lie. wher edid he go? I cry, I don't know. that was a long time ago, I still believe in hope, I still believe in dreams. Yes, says Grace, you were always good at believin gin things you could not see, things for which you had no proof. Do you know what I see? I see someone in the process of failing. I see someone who doesn't want to stand back up. I don't know how much longer I can waith for you, David. Because right now I can't believe in you. That's it, I say, that's why it's so hard. Is love possible if it always has to have an object worth loving, or is it possible to make something worth loving by loving it? Dreamser are fools, and fools are dreamers. But my purpose is not and never has been to be someone that you can see , but to be someone worth being. I sometimes think they are the same thing, but I don't know. I lose the direction sometimes, I lose the purpose except to know myslef. I don't know anymore if I want a vision of me to strive for. I want a path upon which each step feels right, like walking in the dark. You don't know if it's right until you've taken it, and you turn and go ardoun if you hit something. Or perhas I just want a dream that doesn't require me to be so...solid. Ineed a dream I can't grab. I need a me that can go and do anthing. I was right, and I'm still right, in saying that to give up freedom is a beautiful thing, when you know you want to, when you know it's worth it. Being forced to give up freedom is a crime. I'm lost, I've lost the meaning of this sentence. Dres stands up, so get going again. Stop looking for yourself and just startr going, start moving. You sit there in your bubble and claim you see the world, claim that you're actually living life. All I see is a pitiful fool who wants to talk about life that he hasn't lived, who wants to live a life he hasn't built, who wants to build a life without building materials or a foundation or a plan. What is your plan? You can't just float, david. Even the clouds have a purpose and a direction. I cry again. Why are you so cruel? Because I have to be. Don't you understand, you're going to sink into the mire if you don't get moving. Why do you think everyone tells you to go to San Diego? Because you need to go there, or if not, go som ewhere, do something. You're a stagnant pool, you don't even look like a pool anymore, so vergrown with weeds, so buried under mud and garbage. DAvid, you aren't worth anything anymore. You need to be. Because you're not meant for the grime like the rest of us. You're meant for the fire, over and over again, continuously burnt clean, melted and reformed, flowing into a new shape. But never a rusted shape, never a grimy useless shape. Now get out of my sight. That was Drew, but it wasn't, it was me, wasn't it? I look up, it's night now, the stars are out. The sun is in pain. The night waits for my move. I stand up and open my eyes.