All is well in my niche.

I'm back in the gym most days of the week. I can't lift the heavy waits like before my arm got hurt, but I'm slowly rehabilitating it, and the overall progress is very good.

I'm doing well in all my classes, except for Industrial Organization and Game Theory. We just had our first test, and I got a 70. I would have had a 90, but I reversed my answers on the 4th question. Why that one question dropped me from an A to a C, I'll be asking the teacher that on Thursday. I know I will do better on the next tests, because I know what her (silly) exams are like now.

I started the semester very gung-ho about studying and keeping up with my homework, and I was living in my text books the first two weeks of school. I was definitely over-doing it, though, and I think I've found a good equilibrium between being a good student and doing all of the other things I want to do.

Speaking of which, I have decided NOT to play the new game Aion, that everyone and their mother is trying to get me to on. I know that it would be fun, and the game looks fantastic, but I'm not really interested in going back to that. I'll just get super-addicted again, until I have all of the best things, and then I'll break everyone's e-heart when I sell in six months, but in those six months, I won't be doing anything but playing the game.

What I really want is to do swing dance again, so I'm going to make that happen.

LJ selling out to Microsft? Weak, LJ, real weak.

I've always found, as has anyone I suppose, that the music I'm listening to sets the tone for my writing. In light of the news I just received, of Kathy Patria's husband Bob's passing, I've had one song on repeat for a few cycles now, and I guess I'm just going to write because I feel it's something I can do right now.

After we lost Franky, I realized just how hard of a thing death is to confront and overcome. Never before in my life had I felt such an irreplaceable void inside of me, one that to this day is still an open wound in my chest. It's really hard to think that someone you love and care for just isn't there anymore, and much harder to deal with when that next day comes and they really are gone. I can only imagine how it would feel to lose your husband. Kathy is such a strong woman, but I truly feel for her right now, as she is one of the most benevolent and kind-hearted individuals I've ever met, with countless people who are indebted to her. With all of the good things she's done, I can't imagine the thoughts of "why does this have to happen to me" can't be far from her mind. I've tried talking to her, but I feel like I am coming from the same place as people trying to console me were, and there isn't anything I can say to offer any solace at all. I can only wish that she stays strong.

Time has been one of only two things that have been of any use to me, and the other is good friends who are there for you in times of need. I remember when I heard the news, standing in the bathroom at Cracker Barrel in Titusville, and I just screamed FUCK with everything I had, and then it was just numbness. I stayed at work, finished my shift, and had Ashley pick me up. We drove together to meet Brian, at Franky's house, and went into the room where his life ended. We took something from that room that day, the remaining piece of rope that they didn't cut away. It's one of my biggest regrets in life that I lost that rope along the way, and I have no idea of where it could be. Before we left, I remember standing in front of his house, and feeling this oppressing bitterness, towards the house he lived in, the situation he was confronted with, living in near poverty as he was. I fell to my knees right there in his yard, overwhelmed, with no power other than to mutter or scream 'you motherfucker', over and over. At the time, the worst thing was that I knew it had been some time since we had seen each other, and I had called his house that day on my way to work, to see if he wanted to hang out that night, but he couldn't answer anymore.

That evening, Kelly, Franky's mom, contacted Brian and I, and told us that we two, and Megan, were to be the only ones invited to a family-only viewing of the body itself at 8:00 A.M. on the day of the funeral. It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, and I am eternally grateful of the support I took from Megan and Brian that day. It took a very long time for me to approach the makeshift coffin where he lay, and much longer for me to set my eyes upon his body. It all seemed so surreal then, like Franky wasn't laying there, but some paper-mache doll that was subbing in. I knew that wasn't the case, though, and again I felt the bitterness, the anger, at both the things that he had to deal with throughout his life, and also that he would commit such an act. He was far more worthy than this memory.

The service itself, that afternoon, was much worse. Rather than having to deal with the very real, very dead, Franky before me, we were forced to see countless pictures of him, alive and exuberant, the care-free child we had all come to love so dearly. And the people, so many people! I wish he could have drawn strength from all of us who cared for him, because on that day my heart broke, knowing that we were all here for him, but in the end he was alone. Never before in my life was there such raw emotion inside of me, feelings that I couldn't hold back, couldn't control, and could hardly understand. Sitting on a pew, near the back of the room, I was helpless, except to let tears relentlessly stream down my cheeks, unchecked by any force of will I may have possessed. These were some of the most vivid moments of my life, and choked as I was, I could barely be counted as living during them.

After Megan's dad spoke to everyone with prayers, he asked if anyone would like to say some words about Franky, and my mother stood up to speak kindness about him, as did Kyle Ruckriegle. I will always respect them for having the strength. Lost as I was, I couldn't bear the thought of it, and had nothing to say, though I surely wish I would have. I would have stood up and said that this was a person of unbelievable will, imagination and heart, and if you happened to be blessed enough to share time with him, know that you'll not again find such a person. He had the ability to lighten any mood, and his laughter could spread through a room as quickly as an echo. There were times when he needed us, and we stood by him, and in return, he never let a friend stand alone, and never was one to let someone down. He lived, loved, laughed, and I can only hope that in his final moments he was calm, and performed his actions with clarity, choosing to transcend this world and become part of something greater.

I didn't say any of that though, at least not at his service. At the time, I was just too sad, and too angry. It took me such a long time to finally forgive Franky for what he did. I know, in regards to his condition, there were few options laid out before him, especially considering his viewpoints on medicine. Nonetheless, it just was so uncharacteristic of him to give up like that, to leave all of his dreams unfulfilled, to leave a wake of sorrow behind, so great that I don't even think he could have imagined it. I can't say that I had a better path for him to walk, or wouldn't have stepped on the same one in the same circumstances, but what I knew was that I had lost a friend, someone I loved, cherished, and will miss for as long as I draw breath.

I know this was all very selfish of me to say and feel, but I couldn't see it any other way. I wanted nothing more than to read the note he left behind and find that he mentions his friends, and from that I thought I would take comfort. There wasn't a message for us, though, and in light of what he wrote to his mother, I'm glad there wasn't. Such a thing wasn't meant for us. For a long time it was hard for me to even recall the memories I had of him, bitter as I was, but when I finally found peace with what he decided, and that he was gone, I began to feel so much better. I truly believe that he lives on inside of us, and there have been times when I have sought his guidance, and I have met with him in my dreams. It doesn't matter if there is a heaven or a hell, or if he has simply returned to the life cycle, but what does matter is that he exists within us, and when it's quiet, and we're alone and in need, he's there, inside, and no force can take that away.

It's almost been two years since this tragic incident, and it's unfortunate that it took the loss of someone else to finally give me to courage to type this out. Mrs. Patria was there that day at the service, and I intend to be there for her as best I can, because it's love that will pull us through. That's all for now.

Rest in Peace, Franky.

It's pretty funny how you made a huge deal about me talking to some obscure friend you have, when you fucked one of my closest ones and lied about it. I'm glad I finally got verification of the truth, but damn that's hypocritical of you.

Sometime soon I'll stop being lazy and post all of the things on my mind. Maybe

Brian
i feel that way too
man i have grown as a cook 500 times since ive been here

5:19pmJeffery
awesome
i've been trying to hone my skills, too
so i can be your sous chef when you take on morimoto
we can win if the ingredient is spam

5:20pmBrian
ive got my eye on that m otherfucker. either him for a challenge or bobby flay so we can whoop his ass

5:20pmJeffery
we'll still beat him up after the show

What a strange change of perspective I had tonight. Strange and very lame. I know it's good to have standards, but seriously, where the fuck was my head at tonight?

At least I can mull it over with an oversize portion of cookie dough ice cream.

I had another dream last night that involved my father dieing and the space shuttle blowing up. What the fuck.

12 days until we move into our new place. I absolutely cannot wait.

I still need to:
-start training at Amigos
-go to a specialist and see if I absolutely have to get surgery on my shoulder
-bring all these unused clothes to good will
-fix the light on my fan
-figure out how I'm getting all my shit from point A to B
-take my ex-girlfriend to donate blood for the first time

There's probably some other things, too, but so far I'm feeling pretty good about all of it.

The best part about the new place is, I chose the room which has a window that gives me access to the roof. I've wanted that all my life. It's going to be so nice to burn trees and read books up there, fuck yes.

I find it especially comical saying this, considering the last post I made. I was having a really bad couple of weeks, and, as is common, after a period when I feel down, I'm on top of the world.

So, anyway, a particular lady has piqued my interest recently, and this is super exciting. It's been such a long time since I've been curious about someone. Unfortunately, my schedule lately has been very restrictive on quality times I can spend with, well, anyone really, but I'm certainly not in any rush.

Other than that, I'm feeling and looking great, since I've finally hammered out a decent routine of going to the gym, and I have a model's physique...lol. I've also been doing this whole "waking up" thing, to try and lead a more productive life. It's working out alright, and I'm liking it.

mmm beach tomorrow. I sure hope the weather holds.

What a lonely day. What a lonely week. I'm not entirely certain what's been going on with me for the last seven days, and even more confused by this other, underlying problem, that's been on my mind for the last six months.

It's not like I'm alone, or without good friends. Recently, I've just been feeling this huge void inside me, that I seem to think requires female companionship to fill. A month of celibacy, and I have to deal with this bullshit? I love being independent...so what the fuck?

was a day of firsts. I met the first grade class I will be teaching for the Junior Achievement program. They were awesome, and super enthusiastic. At one point, I had each child introduce themselves and tell me one thing about them.

There was this one kid, Trent, who was a little heavier, and bigger than the rest of the kids. I later found out he was 8, which was a year older than most of the other kids. The thing he told me about himself is that he likes to box, every day. I immediately thought to myself: he already is, or will one day be, a bully. So, I said to him the only appropriate thing I could think of. "With great power, comes great responsibility."

I'm not entirely sure he understood the gravity of my words, since he just looked strange and I think he was about to cry. Pussy.

I also went and saw DJ Dubfire at Firestone last night, and it was a pretty awesome show. Way better than Paul Van Dyk, who I now understand sucks, and not just because of the venue. The only bad thing about the entire evening, was right when we got there, my shoe like fell apart, so I couldn't really walk, much less dance like the madman I happen to be.

After failing in my attempts to find super glue, I left my shoes at the entrance, and ventured into the club wearing nothing but my socks. It was the first, and, I swear to god, the last, time I go clubbing in my socks. My feet were instantly wet and I kept getting shit stuck to them. Regardless, I didn't step in any glass, had only a few people step on my feet, and had an awesome time, with only a few blisters to remind me. All-in-all, it was a great day and a great night.

I'm such a sucker for a good story.

Gurren Lagann

The other night, drunk at Waffle House, I was having a late night conversation with a friend. This girl and I had a fling, I don't even think it was a month before I broke it off with her, seeing as how she was immature, and not pretty enough for that to be ok. When I did, though, she got incredibly upset, and tried (unsuccessfully) to be a bitch to me, and have her friends do the same. Intelligence is not their strong suit.

Well, she calmed down after a few weeks, and we're friends now. Last night, however, she let slip that while we were talking, she had slept with an ex boyfriend. Let me get this fucking straight. You act like a prissy whore when I tell you I'm not interested because, quite frankly, you suck, and then the whole time, you had fucked around. Harlot. Wench. Witch! haha.

Really, I thought this was very entertaining. Since we weren't anything, I brushed it off, and instead of getting mad (like she may have hoped, I don't really know what her aim was), I chose to just make fun of her for being an idiot. We laughed, and I had her even the score by paying for my chocolate chip waffle and hash browns.

My waist size shrunk from 32, to 28. I didn't even take notice that I was notching my belt one extra. It wasn't until I was buying new pants that this realization came to me.

I guess I can thank ab ripper x for this, but I liked being a 32.

This one goes out to my two friends who didn't get a Christmas this year.

Franky Phan, may you rest in peace.

Mikey O'shell, stay strong, and one day you will be released from your hell.

You've never left my heart, or my head, and you never will. Merry Christmas.

I dare say that I am finding a great measure of solace in these late, quiet hours of the past few evenings.

yari yari

i haven't slept in two days

i'm so frazzled and strung out right now

i love a good story

yep

I lost the internet for three days, and now I have it again.

It was nice. I finally went back to the gym after my injury and I would say that I am at about 80%, which is fine, I can still exercise, just not with anything incredibly heavy.

In other news, tomorrow is the Thanksgiving holiday, and I wish you all well. I will be working, unfortunately. BUT::: my mother, brothers and I have decided Saturday is the day for the dinner at my house in Titusville, and, my dear friends, if you would like to come and have some food and good times, you are welcome.

Just call me in advance. 321 536 6068

So Friday night I ate some mushrooms. The psychedelic kind. It was good.

I sang a song about the news from Africa, to an improvised beat made by Will, Jack and Aaron.

I danced like a zombie to an unknown song featuring a robotic voice. And not just any zombie-like dancing, I was fucking zombie grooving.

I fought Jack, club versus bo staff, in an epic trippy battle complete with music, unbelievable counterattacks, and a point where I was writhing on the floor laughing, trying to explain how the whack ass shit I had just done was "supposed" to be a badass breakdance kick to disarm Jack. This amazing battle was continued, without weapons, on a pitch black basketball court beneath a canopy of perfectly patterned stars, cheering us on as we kicked and punched.

This could be my best trip yet. Looking back on my past trips, I spent a majority of the time completely disassociated from my friends, and reality, really. Lost in a world of strange storyline hallucinations that never make sense, I was pretty much useless, able to walk if necessary, and break a smile, somehow thinking the gesture would reassure my friends that I am okay, even though I haven't spoken in 6 hours.

Now, it could be that this time I didn't dose up like a pro, considering I somehow always find myself taking way more of any hallucinogen than is recommended, but, it could also be, I've finally done it enough times to have a measure of control over myself. Whatever the case, it was great to be active and feel alive and energetic, and able to have conversations that range from sweet baby ray's bbq sauce sales pitch, to the existence and possibilities of alternate universes.

Whew, the only thing that could have made the night more incredible was more gummies. You see, we ran out so early, and we just couldn't justify a drive to gummy town in our condition. Alas, perhaps if this happens again, we'll plan ahead, and bring MOUNTAINS AND MOUNTAINS OF SWEET GUMMIES....but not gummy spiders..not fucking with the gummy spiders