After late payment, MU dropped me from my classes. No e-mail, or sorry, just "re-register with cash!" The Jesse office lady wasn't nice either, like my hand was blinking in Logan's Run. Fortuantely, my classes weren't full. While small, it was still another of MU's academic cocks in my ass.

I attended church on Sunday with my parents to appease their wishes. This's after a seven-year-long sabbatical. The preacher, while sermoning, mentioned his desire to "wipe out" religious groups like "Islam," "Judaism" and etcetera that didn't believe in Jesus (Christ). This did not shock the congregation, and that shocked me.

So much to write but only 50 words. Here's the best thing yet regarding this holiday trip. As I drove toward my pop's place through the night -- when I always road trip -- I realized I was back home when crossing the McDonald County line on Highway 90. Whatta fun road!

I've lived by many codes. One of which is that we don't always get what we want but we get what we need. "How do we get these things we need that you speak of?" I believe there is something over us, beyond comprehension, that gives us these things if we remain plugged into that overhead presence.

Things are getting pretty tight this year. Each month has been harder than the last to make ends meet. I figured that once this semester ended I'd have more time to make money, but finding a job is tough. True I've played a lot over the break, but that's only because I've got nothing else to do. I've applied to countless places, fruitless (however, my last ditch effort in fast food has remained untapped, I admit). My thanks go to Mr. Jones for securing me some kind of job, though it won't do. It just won't, financially. The only other spare loot I can score is from selling plasma and various items in my possession. And that's not much.

So, I wonder whether I'm getting what I need. I know what Mrs. Smythe would say. "To put your faith in something you can't prove, while conforting, is foolish. Stick with what you can manipulate." I know what Mrs. Palmer would say. "You think too much. It's only money." I know what Mr. Ameling would say. "Stick with what you know."

I haven't presumed to believe I could do this financial rape called college without a little help. I'm afraid, though, that when I finally ask for help it will not be there and I'll be left with the realization that I'll have to do it on my own, God or not. If I'm anything I'm humble enough to know when I need because, after all, even the luckiest of us run out sooner or later (it could be all burgers and fries for me pretty soon).

Hard times get harder before they get easier. That's another code I've come to accept.

Wednesday, I finished a nonschool book, my videogame and I got my first-ever Christmas bonus (of $5 from Eastgate). And all on Winter Solstice! Thank you Satan! ... Just teasing. I know there's much more to paganism than Satan. Sometimes, it's that plant guy and not Satan, ... sometimes. Nevertheless, thanks Lucy.

**Edit**
12/26 @ 8:14 p.m.
To clarify, I've always known the elements of a pagan belief system. I'm aware Satan, or Lucy as I call him, isn't part of one. My theology isn't convoluted, I'm just insensitive to yours; whatever it is, whoever you may be. Still love ya' though.
Feeling violated? Let me know!

I admit, it's a bit unhealthy. I did nothing yesterday but play Resident Evil 4. Here's the kicker. I'm heading to rescue the President's daughter, walking through death-defying traps, climbing this eerie staircase, fighting scores of zombies, and when I finally arrive, they had moved her to an island. BOOOOOOOOOOLOCKS!!!!!

2 for Tuesday

Never mind that student loans'll take a hit, but the UM-System President received a grossly misappropriated raise. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for raises -- plus he's donating his loot back at $5,000 a piece -- but what the fuck! I've no ideas; I'm raw because of my own debt and his needless success.

Hot to Cold in seconds: That's how the bank girl became as I deposited my $20 of plasma money. Hot, with eye-flashing and laughing when she'd seen that I was saving, cold and businesslike when she saw that adding $20 left me with about $7. She's a material girl obviously.

Sentimental Sunday

I am drunk. I'll try to jot thisout as best can. Dk, CJ, CB, and I had a little night of It. I'll try.

So finals are over. fuck yea. This week was pretty fuckin mind blowing. not only did I party with some people way out of my league, but I partied with people I can't type about sober. Mr.K, Rs. Ms. M, Mr. J, Ms. G, I'm the only one with a good head on their shoulders. Waty too drunk to rant on Sunday. Talk Monday, (I can break the rules.)

***EDIT*** 12/19 @ 7 a.m.
Mr. Kravitz was right. If you have a drink the night before you have to do something then you Do wake up earlier. Hell, it's fucking seven in the morning and I'm as awake as ever. I think this morning is a fluke though.

You see the above version of sentimental sunday. Yea, you try operating a keyboard while inebriated. Doesn't work so well.

At any rate, I've an interview at 10 with some organization I applied to on Friday. I don't know which, though; there was a lot of them. This oughta be fun. I've got them on mapquest though.

How about last week. I couldn't ask for more ... well, except to give a little bit better on all those tests I completed. And give in general. I love to give, almost as much as I love to recieve.

I'm stuck in Columbia trying to find a job, which I'll need to afford the simpler items of a normal life, i.e. food, gasoline, guitar strings, etc.

So Mr. Sandalow took off and left me his playstation for the break. That's pretty cool. I don't really play that many videogames, so when I rented Resident Evil 4 it was a big step for me. But you know what, that fucking videogame really kicks ass. I like it so damn much I accidentally played it for five hours yesterday, and three hours the day before. I'm about to go play some more now. It's really cool, in that I, me, get to save the president's daughter. How about that! That'd be something to put on the resume (I'm still aware that it's a videogame, by the way).

All my favorites are leaving town. I've no one to pass the time with. Some are leaving forever, some for the break, some for a while, and some just leaving. I developed a crush on one in particular, which was a bad idea considering I knew she was leaving forever and never coming back. I wonder how others are passing the time, and how much fun they're having with their people. I certainly had too much fun last night; I can tell from my headache.

I've no metaphor this week. I'm still living off that guitar stringy thing. For as much shit as Mr. Blank, Mr. Jones and Mr. Kravitz gave me last night regarding it, I still believe it applies to ... something.

Sincerely,

Phillip A.

I long to feel your warmth. My skin would feel brand new living heat against yours. As you trace your way across me I'd hold you to my lips; this is more than an urge. Your kiss's gravity paralyzes me to drift, passing the event horizon. I am doomed, smiling.

As I picked up application after application, each time after completing them hearing succinct rejection of employment, I broke. I believe we are not always supplied what we want, but we are given what we need. Maybe I don't need a roof, car, phone, etc. I'm getting desperate and tired.

The coffee production made me feel a little fancy. Being a working laborer, I'm not used to shiny things. Bro, if you'd seen me you might've slugged me. The coffee, though, was excellent. It was so potent, delicious and packed with fortitude I've missed in Hills Bros. I've gone Turkish.

Last evening was fun. Apparently, I played guitar at the Blue Fugue. The memory's fairly hazy, though. I remember talking inbetween songs and playing them, but it's not solid. I do, however, clearly remember someone commenting the quality of my "guitar work." Take that ... (insert name of your favorate slinger)!"

Mr. Sandalow and I have decided to quit smoking Monday of last week instead of Jan. 2. It's amazing how much more stamina I have for running around in circles at the Student Recreation Conglomerate. I've enough to kill myself impressing, ... excuse me, trying to impress other runners or stretchers.

Sentimental Sunday

I'm thankful for good friends. In case you are one of the people that did attend The Maneater Christmas party and did not see MY private award ceremony, you should know I have better hair than you. That statement's backed on paper by MU's independent student newspaper. Take that Stamos!

Seriously, I heart J.Y., D.K. and all the rest. You guys fucked 'em up! (and I mean that you did a really swell job)

But speaking of fucking things up in the bad sense, I played a couple songs at the Artisan Thursday. It fucking blew. If you saw it or heard it you should know, I'm usually much better than that. There's another story there about Artisan Thursday night but that sentimentality must be squashed before it gets too big, I've resolved.

I've two essay finals Monday, the thought of which almost led me to vomit yesterday. But somehow, I'm absolutely fine today. I conclude it must've been my off-brand soda.

Yesterday, I put some new strings on by guitar after my G string broke while playing one of my favorite songs. This leads me to my metaphor of the week.

I've had bad luck with strings in the past month. Guitar strings that is. I broke my D string three weeks ago, my A string two Thursdays ago, and my G string this past Friday. Here's the thing with every new set of strings: At first it's kind of awkward. See, they have a lot of room to stretch across the fretboard to get into pitch. Once they do find some equilibrium then it is absolutely beautiful. The sound is sharp, the tones are radiant and the pitches in the chords melt together. Those first few weeks are magic because you know brand new strings won't break. Eventually you do remember, though, strings always break. It's a matter of time. You will keep playing, maybe for weeks/months/years through holidays, always wondering when that first string will have had enough.
Sometimes you see it coming. You can tell when a string is about to break before it does sometimes. Sometimes -- as it has in the past month for me -- it's a total surprise and you find yourself going through three or four packs of strings before you know it.
When you see it coming, you're left with a choice. Do you make the first move and change the strings -- never knowing how long they would've lasted? Or do you keep playing your favorite songs knowing you can't control how used that breaking string will become?
Either way, breaking a string is always a terrible, terrible drag; one which I can never fully explain to someone who has never had one break in their hands. I think you're better off for playing until they break.

xoxo

Phillip A.

I loved bananas when I was small. My tastes've changed somewhat over the years. I do enjoy the banana-flavored version of popice; what they want you do think bananas taste like. I'd like a banana tree someday, one that did not cause the deaths of between 200,000 and 300,000 Guatemalans.

As for me, I've never been completely liked. Even with the closest friends, I am distant. Tonight, someone said to me, 'You're detached.' I met and spoke with him for a total of 1 minute and 47 onerous seconds, but he's right. You can't get to me, even with consent.

I've my gloves, hat, glasses and coat to make my way out there in the snow. I've also got my broad-boot bases to keep me from spilling on the street as I go. What do I do? I don't really know. But if it won't rhyme, I'm going back home.

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	5.5
Mind:	5.5
Body:	6.7
Spirit:	7.5
Friends/Family:	2.9
Love:	2.1
Finance:	5.5
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

Bored and happy to distill my life into this easy-to-read graphic table, I am.

When I close my eyes, sometimes I see a bizarre world of bizarre things. Only after interacting with a bizarre person my bizarre imagination go to bizarre heights. What can I say, I'm a bizarre man. In my bizarre life and my bizarre tasks, connections I make are quite ... something.

I've traded one easy job or another. Only this time, I've no bitchin' golf cart to waste the day in; I'm behind a counter surrounded by tobacco and alcohol. Don't get me wrong. It's pretty bitchin' too. I do miss the warm sunshine on my skin, and the pro-shop girls.

I thought Mr. Jones said I was "too clean-cut" to be hired at Eastgate Liquors. In preparation for meeting the manager, I didn't shower or shave. I wore dirty clothes and drank a beer. It wasn't until after I was hired Jones told me he'd said, "wasn't clean-cut enough." Nevertheless ...

Sentimental Sunday

First off, announcement: The artisan is doing another open mic this Thursday at 8. I'm gonna fuck that one up too. If you're reading then come down and throw things at me.

I've had a long standing tradition in my own mind that the Christmas season does not start until I hear Nat King Cole's "The Christmas Song." I just heard it on the radio, and on a country station! Take that pop music!

So I finished up my fem research paper in that little part of the library with the computers. Not the larger labs to the east and west of the main floor, but to that secluded one in the middle. As I returned from the water fountain I walked right by just about every book I'd ever need when writing a fem research paper. I nearly cried. There are tons just sitting right by the computer I spent so much time fretting about my lack of resources. Ironic aye!

I ran into a work-related friend at the Berg the other night. He's over at the baseball diamond, which is just over the trees from Nickell. We talked briefly about what's going on at Cosmo. It made me remember how much I miss Nickell, and working.

Friday was one long and humbling experience. I must've applied to at least 20 places. Hotels, restaurants, outlets stores, glasses confectioners. That is, 20 places that were still hiring. I got to hear a lot of, "We've already hired our seasonal staff." All you kids make it look so easy, getting by with seemingly no work done. What's your secret? How do you do it?

And of course here comes the holiday season. How about this one folks. Capitalism, international "foquismo"-inspired aggression, modern-day reproducive items on the docket, greedy impulses at our fingertips, forbidden intrigue, oppression and prayers; sometimes I see a music video -- such as the one about the Hump, you know what I'm talking about -- and that's all the evidence I need to conclude that there's something wrong with the world. It's in our hearts and the only time we unconsiously acknowledge this to any extent is the holiday season. It's a time when collective goodwill says were supposed to be better than we are the rest of the year, inadvertantly implying a year-round tragedy otherwise.
It's when people are charitable because it's that time of year. And without knowing why, a spirit of happiness is hotwired to turn our eyes away from the grimed fingernails of the hands of power working so dilligently for an unwritten purpose. Peace on Earth is not a dream, I swear to God. It is impossible because your peace is different than mine. To some, it's a huge explosion, or ordering the decimation of a town at the gunpoint of several marines/mercenaries, or pure control, or pure apathy. My peace will be with my hands in the dirt and that won't come until the weather clears up and the soil is unfrostbitten.

So until next time, keep your eyes open and your mouth shut; you and I just might make it through this Christmas alive ...

Phillip A.

Why can't I work on at least one research paper in the weeks of time I have before it's due? Why is it always the day before? I've a disconnected dedication demeanor draped down my dastardly devil-like dharma. Don't dispense dejection. Dilute the distainful dialogue. Despite disorganization, I'll distill D-chords.

My thoughts are public domain, and this one IS for you, baby
You know, too-weird-to-be-charming messagries are not just for you, my dear, sweet pessimist. Besides, you're too weird Not to be charming. So, I've some less weird and optomisticsal topics for you: Hankerchieffs, sleding, newspaper hats, off-track betting, uneven table legs, #7 and breaking rocks (ok, maybe that one's for me).

If I was in my career, unemployment would be more tragic. The only tragedy I face now is whether I'll be ejected from my apartment - which's called 'Application City' today. Still, I'd like to buy the things I want; food, gas, guitar strings, etc.
I miss Nickell sooooooooooo much. Bollocks!

Every little thing is shocking; not in the jump-out-of-the-cake shocking but the every-time-I-touch-that-piece-of-shit-doorhandle-to-my-Latin-class-I-get-shocked shocking (say it out loud once). Kinetic? Potential? Excess? Chemical induced? Whichever brand of energy I'm stockpiling in my body needs to come out some other way. And to those whose answer is, "STUDY!" I'm already studying.

I crush a lot. It puts me in awkward social situations, which I don't really strive for. I do like kissing and hugging and being naked, preferably with a woman. Sometimes a crush leads to that. Sometimes it leads to too-weird-to-be-charming messagry. It's not you, it's me ... as always. Crushed.