So, I know it's in the nature of Life that we don't always end up finding a path through the woods that we expect to find, nor always end up where we thought we were going. But it's still funny where my life is going. God called me to be a teacher and role model for teenagers at church via the LifeTeen program, and while I don't question whether or not I should be there, I often wonder if I'm there so I can learn a lesson, or because I am to be an instrument for God to instruct others. Obviously, the answer is both, and yet, I don't feel like either is happening. The other side of my life, my dancing, my increasing level of committment to dance in Houston, the increasing level of "office-type work" I'm doing for it, is also a mystery. I see possibilities of the path that I'm going down, but really, I have no idea where I'm going. Both LifeTeen and Tango Houston feel like stepping stones to me along the path to something else. I look around my computer, and no longer am I surrounded by video game notes and unopened mail, but by directions and fliers, names and email addresses of people I need to add to one of various lists, and books. But are they stepping stones, or are they thresholds? I seem to have lost the perspective on my life that allowed me to assert one or the other with some measure of certainty in my voice. I'm still fully in control of my life, taking my own steps and all, but the path that I seem to be striding down with confidence, about it I have no idea. But for now, I need to make dinner. Laters, blogger.

And so begins another change in my life: I got a second credit card, and I'm putting it in my wallet where [sniff sniff] my student id recently lived. I'm going to take advantage of its 0% APR for a year to help pay off the other one. This one will have a low APR (after this intro), while my old one has a huge credit line, so between the two I'll be set. [sighs] Except I need to get a real job, and a real car, so I can move into a house with Drew this summer... Yah laters, blogger.

Not much new in life, except I ran across an old friend. None of you probably remember a Mindy, with whom i worked at Taco Bell, and for whom I looked up info on wholistic physical therapy (having one at my school my freshman year). She disappeared (quit and moved) while I was at school, sometime during my sophomore year I believe, and I haven't seen or heard from her since, except that my boss had heard she was doing well (at the time). Apparently, her modeling has taken off quite a bit, which is cool. She has a little free time, so she took up belly dancing. Well, a friend of hers went to a friday tango event and was talked into going to Salentos, and who did she bring along but Mindy, also interested in learning tango. I saw her come through the door and said to myself, "Wait, I know her, don't I? What's she doing here?" I was afraid to approach, half-convincing myself it was someone else. But when she saw me a little later while I was dancing, she recognized me as well. It's crazy how in a city of millions of people, I'd run across someone from another walk of life long ago. Anyway, I need to get some email work done. Laters, blogger.

You wanna know how much of a crack-head I am? I was just in the shower, reading images into the water marks and getting more ideas for my story (or at least A story). Yah, I'm that crazy. It takes all kinds, right?

Before going any further, everyone check out Eric Genuis. He's a brilliant composer. Even if you don't like religious messages, his instrumental compositions are some of the most beautiful I've ever heard, and I don't think he'll leave my top 5 for quite some time.

I have been thinking a lot about my life. I am truly blessed, not because God gave me good gifts and abilities, but because of the people he has put into my life. I constantly feel as though the gamepiece that is David is moved by both light and dark hands, but my friends and family, each in their way and to the limits of their ability, help me through, help me to find myself. I am not an easy person to put up with, nor to understand. I have no easy to read signs that say when I want help and when I want solitude. I have moods when I'm a great friend in return, and other moods when I see nothing and no one but things imagined and dreamed. And each step of the way, it is the people I influence and the people that influence me that help me on the path that will define me, that is defining me, more than all the thoughts and dreams and daily activities that make up my life. And so, to all the positive and negative influences (people) in my life, I thank you for helping me along the path you think I should be walking, in the midst of which, I am on the path that I am walking.

If you need anything, ask, and if necessary, ask again. Asking is the hardest thing anyone can ever do, and I do it far less frequently than I should, and probably mistake a friend in need for a friend that doesn't want help far too often as well. I would be a gentleman before a friend, a friend before a love, and anything within my power I would grant whom would value and use it. My words are through for now.

New things: Final Fantasy XI sucks. Really, Charles needs to be rescued from this game, before he actually get into the freakin' thing. Apparently Bubble Tea, or Tappioca Tea, whatever you know it as, has a Shaved Ice varient; if you find one, get it with red beans, peanuts and green apple jelly. I have no idea either, but it was pretty good. At the very least, get the red beans, because red beans soaked soft in sugar water are really freakin' good. I may have to try doing it at home. I read and wrote a little at tango last night, which was not a bad thing. I just wish the words would come faster, but sometimes half a paragraph is still half a paragraph forward! Everyone seems to be having a troubled time right now. I have a face twitch I think is related to stress, but I'm not sure what stressors are causing it. Other people have more defined problems. Monetary hardship. Work complications. Emotionally unstabling people. If you're reading this, you're old enough to know that these times pass, that problems are resolved for better or worse, that joys and delights return (or regain the ability to reach you). I like bananas. Nothing is truly non-sequitor; we often just don't have the perspective that allows us to understand the interconnections. Laugh, you fool, before you run out of breath! [laughs] Feel free to call. I won't be home, but mom takes really good messages. But not too late; she needs her sleep. "Never underestimate the power of the masses. Though often unfocused, the direction of its gaze determines the future." "Where one lone knight may succeed, a hundred would falter." Damn you, words, and your refusal to be brought forth into the light of day! You're all there, behind my eyes, but you struggle and flee in circles, round and round, like the tigers that turned into butter. One day, I will be your master, or you will devour me, either better than this stalemate.

So, for anyone with whom I don't speak on a regular basis, here is a recap of my life right now (with, as always, commentary):

1) I'm in a "reading and writing" mood, as opposed to a "dancing and socializing" mood. advantages: I'm getting things read and written. disadvantages: I'm irritable and distant.

2) I love stringed instruments. If someone were interested in seducing me, learning to play the cello well would get you halfway there.

3) I'm interested in learning to dance. Western Style was fun and easy to pick up. Tango was fun and easy to pick up at first, but the complexities are the reason I like it, and I'm getting out of practice dancing With Skill. Swing is easy to fall back into old habits, but learning the new stuff just isn't happening, and it's Very Very Frustrating. I need the basics in some ways, but I already have so much swing under my belt that people assume I'm already intermediate/advanced. I'm not. My lindy sucks, and my west coast sucks, and my east coast is stunted, and I want to fix that.

4) I really am inspired in my writing by books more than real life. I wrote a wonderful poem the other day that I'm not going to share with anyone, because I deleted the original for my own good. And I'm writing a fantabulous story for Grace, that will never be as good as I'd like it to be. And I still have that dream to finish typing up on livejournal. And I have several wonderful talks that I'd like to give for LifeNights, but the nights that would have those topics are being shunted aside in favor of something or other that I don't care enough to know about.

5) It's Valentine's Day. And my girlfriend is far away from me, which is mostly my own fault. My brother is getting married soon (luckily he doesn't remind me too often, but it's not like I forget or something). I'm full of words that I can't say, for a variety of reasons, and it's driving me slightly insane. And there's not enough chocolate in the world, or at least within reach, to make me feel an iota better.

6) If I say I'm better, I'm not lying. If I say I'm not sick, I am.

7) I have a number seven, but it, too, is words I can't say. I'm being faithful, a gentleman and a friend, all at once. Boy it's hard. Good thing I'm up for the challenge.

8) I need sleep, though I've gotten more than usual lately, and so I'm going to bed. Look forward to more exciting episodes, like "Why David isn't Dancing" and "What David Did in Austin". Goodnight, blogger. Dream a good dream, for your own sake, because dreams are necessary.

The inherent contradiction of poetry is the attempt of the poet to capture his feelings without revealing that he feels them, to portray emotion without being emotional, and yet, he does not succeed if his poetry is not able to evoke a sympathetic reaction to that emotion within the reader or listener. In short, he must create that emotion and yet separate it from himself, himself from it.

So, it's late. I'm up because I've been making my new email account (news@tangohouston.net) work, but my gmail is now screwed up. At least the page won't load [sighs]. Hopefully it will work tomorrow. But, I need to send a business email before I go to bed, with my new account. After creating the mailing lists. [sighs and shrugs]

The dancing was good tonight. at Swing, the lesson was musicality. Anna, the teacher, again asked for a critique of the lesson. Having never had a musicality class, being a musician first and a dancer second, my critique felt to me as helpful as my critique last week of her jazz moves, which I also have never learned. [sighs] I wish people would stop seeing me as a pro or something, since I still consider myself a dance student, especially faced most dance days with things that I don't know. Then, at tango, my connection was good with all the people I danced with. I need to remember Cynthia's name, since I've already forgotten it two weeks in a row now. I'm typing this so I'll see it and hopefully remember it. [laughs and shrugs] And Stacey invited a creative writer friend, Ruth I believe it was. The only reason I know that Ruth was a creative writer friend was because Ruth told me; it is frustrating that Stacey (and Ashley) refuse to talk about their lives outside tango (if they aren't outright lying). Vanessa showed up, despite her busy schedule, because tango is her favorite thing to prevent her from going insane with all the work [laughs]. This week, Amy came on her own because she had band until 7, and I wanted to be at the lesson at 7, but Michelle came along because she wants to see this tango thing I like so much. She learned a little, I don't know how much she liked it, since she was too asleep to comment on the drive home. None of that really matters. I'm just talking about it to dodge the reason I got on to blog tonight in the first place. I depressed myself thinking again. I don't know how to value the important things (people, abilities, opportunities, events, etc.) in my life. I don't know how to treat them as though they're important, much less special. I stretch myself thin trying to cover everything, and it's like coating a wall in a thin watered-down paint. It may cover the wall, but it doesn't cover any designs underneath, which show through clearly. I do a slap-dash job that misses the corners, because I'm so eager to make sure I get to it all. I think it's a travesty that Troy, who makes 35,000 after taxes on military disability and so doesn't work, sleeps 10-12 hours a day. Do you know what I would do with all that time?(I'm not adding extra question marks, but the emphasis I would give is about three question marks worth). I miss my cello. I miss my books. I miss dance classes. I miss writing things and being proud of them, of having time to edit them. I miss talking to people on time that isn't borrowed from something else. The simple answer is to give up a lot of things, but that's not the answer that I can be satisfied with. I would come right along and fill it up again. I need to learn to value the time I have, to value the things that I do in that time, to make sure I fill that time with things that I value. I don't like feeling discontented at things because they "take up too much of my time". Sleep, Work, Driving are the big three that are unavoidable, and I doubt I could dispel the way their existence offends me. But I get irritable when people call, when family stick their heads in, when I am trapped in committments to go here and do this, pay attention to this person or that, sleep particular hours because I won't get a chance later...and I don't like feeling this way. I mean, I don't like the feeling of being Gulliver tied down by the Lilliputins (don't quote me on spelling), but I like even less my reactions and feelings to things that ought to be filling me with joy, happiness, things like friends, good music, good dancing, good food, eye candy even. All I can feel right now is the rope cutting into my skin, and my heart aches in sorrow that my soul should be so stupid.

Ah, evenings at home followed by mornings at home. I'm being productive. I sorted papers and business letters, I sorted my books, I got some writing done, and I'm getting some more writing done. Look for a livejournal story soon. It's a good one.

On another note, coughing sucks because it interrupts the thought process. runny noses suck because they dehydrate you and make your nose sore. computers suck because of the sound they make, similar to televisions, the high pitched whine of electricity running through and over and around. Paper sucks because it's so fragile and the pages curl up when I write on it (combination weight of my hand and slight bit of heat/moisture?) Family sucks because they always interrupt on accident or for your own good. Writers suck because we never appreciate the efforts of family/friends/etc. to do things for us, having already been irritated by the interruption. [laughs] sorry, mom. And lastly, tea sucks because I have to make it. Why can't hot tea come in a can or bottle or something? (Don't answer that).

Isn't it funny, the belief that un-saying something is possible? Say a thing isn't, and it isn't? I'm sorry, call me old-fashioned, but I believe in the permanence of the past. We may not know what it is, but it doesn't go away, it doesn't really change and become something else entirely. If you can fool yourself, then good for you. I can sometimes, but not often. If it matters enough to affect the present, then it matters enough to not be mis-remembered.

I bring up this subject because people delete blog entries. One friend deleted her most recent post. Another (a few weeks ago) deleted all her blog entries back to september. Why did you write it in the first place? Either you no longer want to believe it happened, or you no longer want people to read it. If the first, then you're walking in the dark down the wrong path, and if the second, you shouldn't have written it in the first place, or you should have used a paper journal at home.

I'm reminded of two things. In Faulkner's The Sound and The Fury, Quentin so wanted his sister to be different, virtuous and his, that he told lies about the past, tried to believe lies about the past. He told his father that they had been together, and his father brushed aside the lie, saying that even if they had, it wouldn't have changed anything. Quentin ended up tying stones to his feet and jumping off a bridge. It was just impossible to believe away the discrepancies, especially her illegitimate daughter whom she abandoned to the family before running away. Then, Orwell's famous protagonist has the government job of altering past news documents, so that everyone will get used to a lack of permanence in their lives. Something happened in the past, but the past is only in relation to the present, rather than the present being in relation to the past. So all the government had to do was create a present, corroborated by an invented past, to put the people on a particular path into the future. It was meant to be horrifying.

On the radio today, I heard that recruiting for the military was a record high in December. Everyone wants to be a part of the national guard. Plus, they're now exporting the national guard, i.e. making them an international guard (though not in those words). grrr. The thought that went through my head was, "How soon till we are Rome?" Better Rome than 1984, but barely.