:: a.whisper.in.water ::

:: Tuesday, June 01, 2004 ::

[ she’s a sad tomato / she’s three miles of bad road ]

It’s amazing how insensitive I can be when, internally, I know I’m doing the right thing. Case in point: Sunday night, Jenn’s mention of the old trend of folks gaining weight when they find a significant other inspired a thoughtless reply that, while I sincerely apologized for it, I know I could have displayed more patience in her recovery from it. While I certainly didn’t snap or speak rudely, I did expect Jenny to be okay after treading across uncomfortable ground, since I walk the good side of the line: I expected immediate trust, since we’d spoken about perception and image and superficiality ad nauseum prior. I suppose some things really will never change, that I always need watch my step when talking about image. I’m genuinely sorry that I acted any other way, with any impatience, with respect to tonight’s point of contention.

Speaking of which, Jenn and I aren’t “together,” per se, as of about a month ago. I neglected to mention that when it happened on account of being too busy preparing for exams, drinking myself sick, and smoking myself black. Mercifully, after a nasty transition period, we decided to be warm and supportive, rather than big uncaring sluts. It’s a tough line to walk, but decidedly the correct one. The problem with remaining best friends and intending to get back together someday is that the precedent relationship doesn’t go anywhere. For instance, Keith regards us as in an open relationship, rather than truly split, which, while somewhat closer to the truth, demonstrates the persistence of the “old relationship” (ignoring the fact that there’s somewhere between 3-5 “old relationships” between Jenn and I) in spite of our newfound eligibility. The truth is that no girl really wants to get between a 44-month ghost relationship and a pair of Kittens, which has plagued both Jenn AND I in our search for new partners. To all interested in either of us: look, it’s not easy, but with a bit of maturity and open-mindedness, everyone can have a good time without getting sorely scorched in the end.

I suspect I’d get lynched if I went around calling today “Victims of Foreign Policy Day.” I mean no disrespect to the hundreds of thousands dead, but you many simply shouldn’t have died in the first place; barring an ideology shift, I doggedly claim that war simply should not happen.

For some reason, DC residents see fit to celebrate Memorial Day by driving around in their motorcycles, though the link isn’t immediately apparent to me. The proud biker traditions of bad hair, obesity, and gratuitous leather were, as a result, in full effect when the family took a trip to the museum to see an overrated exhibit on Muslim-Spanish confluence. Dad also took unwarranted fascination in a rather fluffy exhibit featuring the microevolution of the portrayal of Buddha during some-or-other Chinese dynasty. While I should have bothered to make a mental note of it, I can’t honestly convince myself it matters. Oh well. Knowledge is power, and all that.

My teeth are still in a state of disrepair; it would seem dentists and insurance-convenience are today’s analogues to oil and water. My cavity in my upper-left wisdom tooth remains unchecked, and makes eating, drinking cold water, and brushing teeth a brand new ordeal. As of recent, I suspect my root nerves may have simply given up screaming at me about how everything in its life wrong, and just gone numb. At least I can eat again, though that particular facet needs sharper regulation: I always put on a good 5 pounds while at home, since mom expresses love through food, as opposed to being understanding about grades and such. Some things never change, and consequently, aren’t really worth complaining about.

Dad proposed a trip around southern Europe (Italy, south France) which flat-out didn’t appeal to me; my refusal was, immaturely enough, taken as an insult. His proposal to go to Nova Scotia, however, is far more appealing to me, and hopefully I’ll spend a few days in unreasonably cold weather gawking at seals and shit. Something about the entire family being together brings out the worst in me, though, and as a result, I simply cannot remember a vacation that went off flawlessly; the idea of yet-another miserable time spent taking verbal potshots at unreasonable parents in an exotic location quells wanderlust like no tomorrow.

Oh well. As much as I could ramble on, it’s 3 a.m., and work mandates that I sleep.

Music: Spiritualized – Lazer Guided Melodies. In my estimation, their finest work. While it isn’t nearly as successful at wringing tears from a sentimental heart (see: Ladies And Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space), it features a wondrous, chill blend of atmosphere and instrumentation, and about the finest space-rock sound this side of Pink Floyd. I’d deem it essential, as it probably rests within my top 20 albums.

:: Aziz 3:03 AM [+] ::
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