I wanna get away.

BDIs.

My commute is long. It could be longer.

Each day is the same. Uneventful. Nothing new. Nothing meaningful.

The one meaningful thing done each day is spending time with Babe... assuming his life is being bettered by that.

The most exciting things happen on TV.

And there is the everpresent, overshadowing sense of waiting. Waiting to be out of debt. Waiting to be able to afford more and better. Waiting to be able to get a lower-salary job that is more fulfilling. Waiting to start having a life.

I've forgotten to have a life while waiting to have a life.

Silly me.

Fuck waiting.

In the fall, when trees sprinkle their leaves on the streets, and cars passing over create small gusts of wind that lift the crisp, brown leaves so they flutter furiously and swirl and chase each other in the air, and dance on the pavement like agitated confetti in the car's wake... I love that...

I want who I am, without compromise and pain, to significantly better at least one other person's life. And I want to know about it.

I want to live for more than just myself.

My housing situation was sort of solved today. It looks as if I'll be able to stay at the apartment I'm living in now, with Joe. Elisa is moving out. Joe and I need to find a roommate to replace her.

Somehow, I don't feel all that relieved or happy about staying at the same apartment. I was beginning to warm up to the idea of living somewhere new again. I've been warming up to the idea of moving out of this area, state, and country too. Since I realized how inflexible I was about where I live, I've been working on changing that... not letting the comforts of this place cripple me.

Must manage to experience the whole rest of the world within the next 40 years.

Any of you know if there's a literary term for the verbalization of a verb word instead of the action that is represented by the word, that is appropriate for the immediate situation, in the opinion of the person?

For example, someone tells me something boring, and I say, "yawn," though I don't actually yawn. Or, someone tells about a guy saying something rude to someone else, and I say, "slap!" Or, someone tells me something surprising or ironic or ephiphanic that bursts an imaginary bubble containing an idea or thought about something, and I say, "oh, snap!," or just, "snap!"

I tried to find a term for this online. I didn't find anything. It's hard to believe there isn't already a word for this type of thing.

I need to start trying to think better thoughts.

(The bad dreams are back again.)

Fuck. Just Googled it, and it already exists. Ahhh... it was kinda lame anyway.

Latest band name idea: The Pair o' Dimes (as in, the paradigms)

I got a graham cracker from the break room just now, and while I was walking out of the room, a little piece of the cracker fell on the floor. I didn't pick it up. Normally I would. This time, I just didn't. I resisted the urge. I did glance back at it lying there in the middle of the floor, in a highly foot-trafficked area, but continued walking. I littered. Strangely, or not so strangely, I feel satisfied.

OK. I'll tell you what happened.

Things started this weekend when Elisa refused to let Joe move in his couch into the living room at the time that we all moved upstairs. He's had to keep at his gf's house since he moved in with Elisa a few months before I moved in. "What's this woman paying that allows her to take over the entire living room and kitchen, in addition to the master bedroom?"

So Joe checked with the property people on Monday, and found out from them that our total rent is $1625, which is $70 cheaper than Elisa had intially told him when he moved in. We are month-to-month, not on a lease. Joe and I have been paying $550 for each of our small rooms and a shared bathroom.

$1625 means that Elisa has been paying less than we are! And she'd lied about the total rent from the outset so that we'd think she was paying more! Even if there is a chance that she hadn't lied at the outset, and the rent had been lowered since, she'd been making money off us all this time.

So my hunch that I've been paying more for my room than it's worth was, in fact, correct. And thinking that I had good roommates was, sadly, incorrect.

If Elisa's paying only $525, Joe and I should definitely have our say in what of ours gets to be in the living room and elsewhere in the apartment. Via email, Joe referred to her plethora of stuff that's overflowing into the area outside our front door as an eyesore. So we had a meeting that night to discuss 1) re-adjusting the rent splits so that they're fair, and 2) issues we had with our entitled space.

Even before the meeting, via email, Elisa hinted to Joe that if he's not happy with the way things are now, he could pack his bags. And that set the tone of the rest of the night.

About the rent, Elisa refused to budge. And her reason? "I don't like you, Joe... And I don't want to live with you anymore." That was a sudden revelation to Joe and me. And her supporting reasons were equally preposterous. I won't repeat them here, though they were quite irrational and unsound and therefore somewhat entertaining, because they are also, as Joe says, red herrings.

Elisa would not adjust Joe's rent because she doesn't like him. And she would not adjust my rent because she doesn't like Joe. How fair is that?! I never openly took his side! I'm on my own side! And she's a wacko woman!

Nothing else to do but give my 30-day notice yesterday. Can't live there under these types of conditions. Jacked up rent splits. Super highly sensitive, dishonest, unreasonable woman. Fueding roommates. Eyesores and red herrings and a black pot and the not-as-black tea kettle.

I'll miss the puppies.

It's a pity when taking care of the logistics of life becomes one's life.

All of this is going to make a better person out of me. I know it.

It did not go well.

Our meeting last night was similar yet unlike any other roommate meeting I've ever had before. It was unbelievable. It was like sitting in on a badly scripted divorce speech in a made-for-TV drama or soap opera episode.

I had knots in my chest and throat the whole time, the feeling I get right before I get on the Drop Zone at Great America... as my housing situation came crumbling down before my very eyes. I witnessed blatant chicanery turn into... well, worse.

The best two lines were probably... Elisa: "I don't like you, Joe." Joe: "You don't have to like me to love me."

So now I've climbed into Babe's boat... looking for a new roommates/new place to live. I mean, now that I know that I've been unmercifully jacked in the area of rent for all of the months I've lived with Elisa, I'd just be jacking myself if I continued to live with her and her irrational, belligerent, bitchyass attitude. Sorry Elisa, I'm not currently in the business of jacking myself.

And I do believe that those who jack others end up jacking themselves most of all in the end.

Bloody hell, I wish I worked in a metropolitan city so I could have myself a happy hour in 6...

I still think it's cool and amazing how you can write a whole history of feelings within music.

Instead of writing your feelings out on paper or even making your own music about them, you can imprint them quite permanently on the music you happen to be listening to at the time you feel them.

Music has been a most reliable medium for complete and accurate recording of feelings. For many people, I guess. Definitely for me.

Now, if I wanted to access feelings from a specific time last year, all I'd have to do is put on a CD that I was listening to heavily around that time of year... and BAM! It's like being at a live concert with my own feelings on stage.

I imagine that if, suddenly, my life was devoid of music for a period of time, I'd forget so much of my feelings history during that time in the days that follow. I must never be without music, then.

Elisa and Joe, my roommates, are at war... or at the beginning of one. I feel as if I'm caught in the crossfire.

The three of us moved to the upstairs apartment over the weekend. It took me only an hour and a half to move my stuff. And I could've moved faster, if I wasn't being so mopey about the fact that my room is so small.

I realized that I have to cram everything I own into my tiny room because there is no room to put any of it in any of the common areas because Elisa's taken up all that space. I feel like my 9'x9' room alone is not worth how much I pay for it. Until today, I figured that having good roommates made up the difference.

Some harsh words have been exchanged between Elisa and Joe. Joe discovered a few unsavory details about our rent since he started corresponding directly with the property people. Us roommies are having a meeting tonite to discuss...

My car turned 80k miles old today.

Next month is the last month I'll have to own it. It'll be mine, all mine. My own black '98 Acura Integra GS-R.

I still remember the night I got it... how ecstatic and relieved and guilty and sick to my stomach I felt about it. I remember rueing the fact that my dad put up the 5k downpayment for it. There was no other way I could have the car. I hated feeling like I owed him. I remember fighting him and mom about getting a manual car, a black car... how my mom said black is of the devil and I'm associating with him and all things dark and evil... how this was just another thing they were using to denigrate me.

I remember how slowly and carefully I drove it the first couple of days. I remember how I said to myself that if my boyfriend at that time drove my car and crashed it, that'd mark the immediate end of our relationship, even though I really did love him. I remember how breaking up flitted across my mind when he scraped my rims while parallel parking it a couple of times.

I remember resisiting temptation to modify (er, fob-ify) my car and void my warranty, though I seriously considered saving up to install a killer sound system. And all I ended up doing was tinting the three back windows.

So much has happened in my car. So many good conversations, bad conversations, good trysts, bad trysts, good music, more good music. Lots of crying. A ton of singing.

Five years later, my car is still #1 in my life!

Or is it?

Good god! I've had at least one paradigm shift within the past 18 months!

Babe hasn't yet found someone to move into the room that will be available at his place as soon as this coming Monday. I'm stressing out about it.

Here's the listing. Please pass the information on to anyone you know who might be looking for a great place to live.

I have this huge bug bite on my arm. It kept me up for an hour or two early this morning 'cuz it was so itchy. I haven't scratched at it. I first noticed it yesterday morning, when it was smaller than a penny. Thank goodness it's not on my face.

I heard this joke on the radio today:

Q: How do you make an Asian woman blind?

A: Put a windshield in front of her.

So sad but so true! Though I dare to say this joke does not apply to me.

Watch me go crash my car now...

I ate so much junk food today, you'd be appalled.

It's all on me. I know. I must take the next steps. Must or bust.

I've reached a point at which not doing what I want to do and not getting what I want out of life is really starting to erode me.

I should've just asked for it.

What are the chances that there is someone out there thinking exactly what I'm thinking right now?

Work sure does waste the day.

Texas. I didn't like it much. Not just because it's a church state.

It rained all three days we were there, and the downpour was rather heavy. I'd wanted to experience "too hot." It wasn't. I probably wouldn't have minded the mugginess if I didn't know that at the same time it was bright, warm, and dry over here in California.

I asked myself, if I was offered a million dollars to live in Dallas for the rest of my life (for at least 6 months out of every year), would I take it? BIG NO. I wouldn't. What if I was offered 10 million? Still definitely no. I'd asked myself the same thing while I was in Alaska. I'd think I'd rather have 10 less years than live in Alaska for the rest of my life for any amount of money.

The freedom to live wherever I feel like living is too valuable. I need to work on actually being able to exercise that freedom... being able to live outside of the Bay Area. I don't think there's any other place in the world, besides California, that you could pay me 10 million to live in for the rest of my life. You'd have to give me much more than that, and maybe, just maybe, I'd live in Vancouver or New York.

Anyhow, the wedding happened. It wasn't particularly fun, but didn't feel like a waste of time. Being at a wedding in a new state isn't a regular experience, so I considered it a small adventure. It was kind of like watching a movie I haven't watched before - predictable in ways, yet still unique in ways.

I got an overload of Vietnamese at the reception. I didn't get enough to drink. Babe's friends were interesting to listen to. I felt more comfortable than uncomfortable. I didn't feel overdressed or underdressed, but my $200 dress remained half-hidden underneath a black sweater because it was so damn cold since the AC was cranked up super high. The food was alright. The best dishes contained beef, unsurprisingly.

On Sunday, we saw a little more of Dallas. It's sprawling and boring, and the large amount of green, open space between everything creates an aura of loneliness. We checked out the newly married couple's relatively new house. The aura of loneliness was in that house as well. Then we went to a mall that was a spitting image of the Great Mall in Milpitas. Then we went downtown, and everything was closed because it was Sunday. Stupid church state. Again, the aura of loneliness. I imagine, even when the city is noisy and bustling with a diversity of people and open shops and restaurants and office buildings, I'd feel lonely there.

OK. There is one good thing about Dallas. The steak. We went to a restaurant named Saltgrass. The beef was awesome.

I felt like I had my foot in my mouth all weekend. I kept on saying things... and a moment or two later thinking oh fuck, I should not have said that. Started out with "oh, you mean, the two white people?," rather loudly admidst an all white crowd at the McDonalds near the hotel the night we got in. Then "this is our first time in Dallas, and probably our last time too," without making sure that our friends and other residents of Texas weren't within an earshot. "Oh look, it's a Bible outlet store! And there are a lot of people in it! How funny," with an obvious sneer while walking right behind the married couple, who I'd just learned are Christians. And "Look. Bibles," with a scoff while pointing out window of the shuttle that was taking us and a bunch of other people from a church convention that took place at the hotel. I won't mention the rest of my verbal faux pas...

On the plane ride back, had an onslaught of the sort of mood that I get when I'm high up in the air. That sort of loftiness. The everyday activities that I was returning to seemed trivial and insignificant. We are all spoiled and rich. And I've got a savior-complex.

If only my plane was headed for the heart of a third world country where I could help the orphans in some way. Imagine how fulfilling it would be if I was an electronic musician travelling all over the world in search of unique sounds... helping the less priviledged in exchange for their sounds and my own meaning. Now wouldn't that be living wonderfully!