I woke up and the hard part was over

I always dream about the same thing now, over and over. My subconscious is stuck on this and won’t let go, which makes for very upsetting dreams. It’s frustrating to go to sleep and dream about someone cheating on me, in graphic detail. I’m not really sure why this is happening. I guess I’m still holding out hope for some sort of happy end to our story, which is obviously not going to happen. I must be dreaming about it because I’m under a lot of stress, and the subject just lends itself to that sort of thing. It’s painful enough to think about it when I’m awake, but when I dreamt about it, I felt trapped. This isn’t a dream that makes you think it was a memory, it was a dream that put me there, wherever I was, and I couldn’t get out.

On the other hand, I’m taking a more positive outlook on my situation. This is the first time in several years that I’m not moving anywhere, not stressed about finding a place to live or money, and frankly, now that I think about it, I like this. For a couple of years now I’ve been super ambitious and motivated and always looking forward to the next goal, but I think it’s a good time to sit around and do nothing.

I’m going to work harder at finding a job.

I’m stuck in my memory

I hate blogging. Whenever I think of something to write, I sit down to write it here and instantly forget what I was going to say. Some blog posts stay unwritten, while others are written over the span of three to five hours.

I came dangerously close to calling JJ the other night. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve decided to do something and then gone back on my decision a couple of days later. Only this time it’s been three weeks. At least I think it’s been three weeks. Each day has blurred into the next.

I don’t have anything interesting to say today, except that I’ve found a place to live, and hopefully this whole thing works out. I’m still deciding on a day to fly out, but it will most likely be the 25th, and I’ll be flying to Raleigh and taking the Greyhound to Roanoke. Flying to Roanoke isn’t possible because every airline that flies there charges for bags.

I’ve been practicing my southern accent. Hopefully I’ll be able to impress some of you in the future.


I dreamt about JJ a couple of days ago, woke up and thought I’d actually seen her. Then I realized it had been a dream. The subconscious is a powerful element. How else do you explain a vivid dream where everything she says sounds perfectly logical, where I hear her laugh and see her smile and feel her hugs. I don’t even know how many weeks it has been since we’ve spoken. Like X said, I’m in the moment of remembering the good moments now.

Dreaming reminds me of Murakami. More importantly, dreaming reminds me of the DREAM Act and immigration reform, which I’ve mistakenly stopped mentioning on this blog. Please do some research on immigration reform and support the DREAM Act. For many undocumented students such as myself, it’s the only chance for a better life. At the rate my immigration petition is moving through the system, I’ll be 30 years old by the time I get a green card. I’d have been in the US for 20 years; two-thirds of my life would have been spent in California.

A couple of my Bay Area friends stopped by on the way home from the San Diego Comic Con. It’s been several months since we’ve seen each other. The last time was the Tuesday before I left Berkeley. I’d gone to San Francisco to see them and we ended up going to a Ramen restaurant in Japantown, on Post and Laguna, then drove to the Sunset to go to a Japanese dessert cafe. Today, we went to Subway and had a good hour all together before they left to drive the five hours to SF. It’s a shame Richard went to Japan and didn’t come to SDCC. Chris and Luke more than made up for his absence though. They’re wonderful people and they make me realize how lucky I’ve been to meet them.

What I talk about when I talk about love

I’m quiet and unfunny. I often break things. I tend to eat less than I should and when I was younger I weighed much less than I should have. When I moved to Berkeley, living in a house full of drug addicts and slackers, I gained weight from eating nothing but fried chicken and ice cream. As an aside, when you’re living with a cocaine user, you should never do laundry after midnight, because said roommate might come out of his room, high and scared shitless because you were doing laundry and he heard some weird sounds. Don’t get me started on the landlord who told us that we should pray for sunny days because our roof had been blown off.

I’m tall and awkward. My hair has grown long and I need a haircut, but I’m going to try and grow it out for 130 more days. As a kid, I had long, platinum blonde hair, especially when I lived in the Bahamas. I miss having bright blonde hair. It’s just another reason I’m not considered Nordic. That and my lack of blue eyes.

Some people may not agree with my goals or the ways in which I go about achieving them. I believe I’m asking not out of a sense of entitlement, but out of desperation. I’ve tried everything else, and I feel as if this is my opportunity to continue growing as a person. I’m not against the negative things that have been said of me. I understand that people have their own ways of looking at the world, and I have mine. We can disagree. I do need some help though.

I’m currently listening to Pandora after a six month hiatus. I used to spend hours listening to a carefully crafted station, started with “City and Colour.” When I was writing essays for a Russian lit class in Berkeley, I was told to stop using prepositional phrases. My professor’s suggestion was the best bit of criticism I had ever received as far as critical writing goes. He was an amazing professor who made Nabokov into a heroic figure for me, always elaborating on Nabokov’s life and interesting facts as they related to his novels.

I am nearly thirty years old. This is an inescapable fact. Here’s to hoping that these last twenty five years have been only a small part of my future life.

I’m avoiding any thoughts of JJ. We haven’t spoken in five days, and I’ve finally figured out that I haven’t seen her since December 26th. At least that is what remember now, after a few moments of trying to recall the day she came over for the last time. I’d been home alone after coming back from Berkeley for ten days to work on MFA applications. My parents had gone north to visit my sister in Arcata, but I decided to come to southern california alone. I saw only JJ and X during my vacation. JJ had come down to see her family for a few days before leaving for England. I can still vividly recall her room for the last time, and her crying after her sister took a number of photographs of the two of us. She said she didn’t want to go.

It’s funny how I remember only the bad times during our time together. The only good time I can remember wasn’t considered a good time when I was going through it, but now, it’s the only good time I can remember with JJ. We had just started seeing each other and I asked her to come with me to a friend’s place for dinner. On the train, she wouldn’t look at me. We sat in the front car, facing the front. She sat next to the window, and I sat next to her.

When we got to the party, I remember drinking and talking about music with my friend. JJ kept her hand on my leg under the table throughout dinner. On the way home, we got a ride from my friend, and JJ fell asleep across the car from me while holding my hand.

I’m always wondering how long it will take for me to stop thinking about her. This is just a first step.