A friend asked if I was a writer

and I told her that I was a blogger. I almost spat in frustration. How are those things different? Why would I ever call myself a blogger? What is a blogger? What is a blog but a public diary? "Are you a writer?" "I'm a diarist." Get out. I almost spat.

I planned to graduate next year and I planned to apply for grad school for the year after. I planned to go abroad this summer and then write a thesis. I planned to be 20, but here I am. I must have forgotten to ask myself in February if I was ready for March. I'm not panicking, exactly, but I do not feel prepared for this fast track that I set myself on. I did do this to myself. I absolutely said, "Okay, team, I'm going to sprint through life for as long as I can." And I'm in the last lap of the first mile and I can't believe I've been running this fast. I've barely managed to stay in my own lane.

To curb the metaphor-building and head stress, last night I went for a run. I know it doesn't make sense for late-March weather, but I was running in snow last night. I did not sign up for tundra college. I did not move to Canada, or Siberia or Hoth. Regardless, I was pleased to pass pedestrians sporting winter coats. I was wearing shorts and maybe a shirt. Barely a shirt. I wish somebody asked so I could tell them I was from Oregon.

I did mutter a couple times as I was passing, "It's cold, right?"
I thought that was funny.

Oh, and I got that job that I had been striving to get for a year and a half. I'll be an RA next academic year.

Does anyone want to live with me?

I was bullied

There is a fever on the internet about four things, Japan, Libya, Rebecca Black's "Friday" and Casey Heynes. The above video showcases the story of Casey who, after being bullied for apparently years, lost it. He grabbed the bully and threw him to the ground. There have been varied responses to this violent response. The school suspended both students, youtube keeps banning the video for violence and some respondents argue that it should have never gotten to that point, but mostly the response has been outright support.

I am in the latter group.

Some of my friends have noticed that "faggot" rolls off my tongue with relative ease which seems to go against my generally politically correct nature. They don't know that "faggot" was my name for several years to the bullies in my neighborhood.

I stopped walking home at some point in elementary school because there was an older boy that rode around on his bike and told me "go fuck myself" and "die faggot" with regularity. I successfully stopped walking on my street and avoided him completely, but when I started riding the school bus home, I was met with more bullies. One was younger and one was older than me. The called me gay and pulled my hair hard enough to go home with some in their hands. I had anger issues and I'd turn red in the face when I was provoked or embarrassed. I was red in the face every ride home.

One day, when I was in fourth grade and it was early Spring, the older bus bully tripped me on my way to the back of the bus, where I wouldn't be abused. I briefly fell and dropped my books. I don't know what I said, but it got him standing and I punched him in the face. I used to tell people that I broke his nose (I made myself believe it) but I really just gave him a bloody nose and a complex.

I was ordered off the bus and sat smugly in the Principal's office. I had brought up the issue before and it still happened. It always still happens, doesn't it? I'm sure some policies work, but they didn't work for me. I'm not pro-violence, in general, but I would have killed Hitler and I would still have punched that guy in the face.

I'm not pleased that I broke, and I'm not smug anymore, but context and time has helped me forgive everything.

I was in counseling before and a couple times after this happened for many reasons, but one counselor I had, Terry, a wise older man, told me once that "kids are stupid." He's right and it stuck. It isn't just kids who are stupid, though. It's a lot of people. Kids, especially, but definitely not only. People can be insensitive and worthless. It's a fact. I can say that because I watch from my ivory tower and I have never been either of those things to anyone, I'm sure!

We're all infallible and we have to make sure that we aren't bullying anyone every step in the road because some Casey will righteously throw us to the ground.

I support Casey Heynes for being an incredible survivor and giving only one comeuppance when necessary.

"The Long Rain" by Ray Bradbury, is probably my favorite story

I'm developing a nasty habit of making decisions not on practicality or interest, but on adventurism. In about ten minutes, I'll leave my building and walk to a bus stop to board the six-thirty to Philadelphia. I'll hang out with my girlfriend for 48 hours, 24 of them ostensibly sleeping and then I'll go back to New York and sleep.

That's stupid. That's a stupid decision. It's stupid that I haven't slept. It's stupid that my first St. Patrick's Day that I've been willing and able to drink, not legal, but (described below), I won't be hanging with my friends and vomiting. Stupid.

I missed a train to Montreal yesterday at around this time. Scott, Chris and I (these are just names) were planning on having a French-Canadian adventure and it fell slowly to pieces. It was a slow burn, a roast. Chris couldn't find his passport. I found mine but nearly didn't wake up in time. Scott couldn't print his tickets at the station and when he did, we both stood waiting for the other one at different entrances, not willing to travel to Canada alone for four days.

It was pretty silly, but I only really was going to go to Canada because it was an adventure, I was with my friends and I could get drunk legally.

But I don't really want to get drunk. I only want to experience it because I'd be with my friends and it's an adventure.
Reductionism.

It's so late right now that I walked over to my mirror and watched my face change color. I don't know how people accept insomnia. They probably don't accept it, Joel. Fine.

I found out my Dad didn't have cancer yesterday. It was a looming, harsh fear despite the likely ease of removal and low risk, comedy is a based on a rule of threes. We were all pretty sure that he had cancer again, just the mention of the possibility and my family nodded their heads, resigned.
But he doesn't! He's okay for now!

That's exciting isn't it?

Also, Brother Joel (Thanks for reading) responded to my first email after months of postponing the inevitable. Great humor, this guy. I hope we can be brothers and friends.

Good morning.

Post Blog: Have you checked out my second blog? It's called Critique: By Critics. It's at criticlasm.wordpress.com.

I think it's funny. I hope more people write for it, although it's perfect now.