Originated from an argument I had with my father that took place only in my imagination.

Two weeks in and I'm already hating this routine. I drive back and forth between La Puente and Fullerton six days of the week. For the last week, my right hamstring has been cramping. Not because of weight training. Not because of spinning, but because my leg isn't used to being in the driving position, pushing on pedals back and forth. There is no greater frustration that looking at traffic moving at literally 0 mph and imagining myself weaving through the unmoving cars on my bicycle.

I'm spending way too much money on food. Deciding to go vegetarian hasn't helped either, since the only veggie options on campus are Juice-It-Up, $6 Paninis, and veggie pizza.

I spend way too much time and money reading productivity stuff while not getting anything productive done.

(Yes, I am just randomly bitching. Fuck you, I won't stop.)

I really wish I could just drop everything and get on my bike and ride away. Fuck this.

I like the rain, though. That helps.

Old Man: When young, we mourn for one woman... as we grow old, for women in general. The tragedy of life is that man is never free yet strives for what he can never be. The thing most ferared in secret always happens. My life, my loves, where are they now? But the more the pain grows, the more this instinct for life somehow asserts itself. The necessary beauty in life is in giving yourself to it completely. Only later will it clarify itself and become coherent.

Something is changing inside of me. I read the most recent entry in my journal (written) and noticed I had used the wrong to/too/two. In all my life, I've always been extra careful about to/too/two. Those who use the wrong to/too/two were condemned in my mind as inferior, without the ability to make one of the simplest distinction between to/too/two. But now, I've written 'to' where I meant 'too.'

It's not the first time this has happened either. I've noticed it over the course of the last few months that I make careless mistakes now. Misspellings have showed up. It's as if my mind has slowed down a bit. Sluggish.

I suspect my diet has something to do with this. I'm in the worst shape of my life. I need to take a puff from my inhaler every few hours, despite the fact I've spent most of the last week reading and sleeping. My sleep itself is irregular. I go to sleep late, only to wake up well before a good night's rest has been taken. Irresistable drowsiness lulls me into a nap at least twice a day. I keep telling myself that I'll change this, but I'm all talk and no walk.

I could once again say "NO MORE! I CAST OFF THE SHACKLES I HAVE PLACED ON MYSELF AND RESOLVE TO..." blah fucking blah, but I'm already a master at that. It's the follow through that kicks me in the face.

I think I'm going to start writing letters. The kind that never get sent out. It will give me something to do.

I feel disconnected from what I've written here. As if I'm using a different tone than the one I normally use. It might be from all this reading I'm doing. Adaptation. Who knows?

Dream from last night just starting to fade.

Involved was Valley Blvd. and a train. One train was going in one direction, then stopped. Meanwhile another train showed up on the tracks heading in the opposite direction, so the train went off the tracks and into the street. It went into the center lane, then across the street to the next set of train tracks on the other side.

There was another guy walking with us who we picked up along the way. He asked what someone has to do to get a job as a train guy and somebody answered, "Well, you have to get good grades," and the guy turned around and smiled.

I am heading to the library in a bit. I need something to read.

I just had the briefest of flashbacks to my early childhood. Seven years old and younger. My mother used to walk us from the apartment we lived in to the Cesar Chavez library at least once a week. As I was looking up book availability in the library catalog, I saw the name of it listed and had a vivid memory of the smell of the place....It's hard to explain, but a combination of gray carpet, children's books with audiocassettes in plastic bags, VHS tapes, and being short. I have a very, very faint memory of what the place looks - or looked - liked, but I can still smell the smell in my head.

I'm starting on a trip down memory lane.


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I believe this was the apartment building we lived in. I know there are baby pictures of my parents and I living in other places, but this is the place where my REAL earliest memories begin. My apartment was the 2nd one to the far end of that driveway.

One of my earliest memories is being in the backseat of the yellow Volkswagen we used to have and my dad driving into that tiny driveway. However, there was another car already stopped in that driveway, so there was no way to get through. I'm not sure what happened, but I guess I fell asleep for a minute or so because for years, I thought my dad had done something amazing like drive over the other car. Completely monster-truck status. I don't know why that "memory" is so vivid to me, but it is. I might ask my dad about it later, but I doubt he'll remember.

Other memories. I learned how to rollerblade going back and forth that driveway. Actually, I remember putting on rollerblades for the first time and not losing my balance at all. I don't think I've ever lost my balance on rollerblades.

My neighbor Misael and I used to play in the garage too. I remember one time we had a club with club meetings and agendas of what we were gonna do. Misael was religious, so he would be sure to schedule prayer time. I'm completely serious. I remember being that young and thinking that my future job would be a teacher.

My dad's job at the glass factory was only a few blocks away from the apartment, so he would just ride his bike to work. He'd come back at lunch time to eat, then go back. I remember that too.

In the 2nd apartment from the entrance lived a friend of mine. I can't remember his name, but I do remember he had a Nintendo. One time, we were both playing Nintendo and his dad came home from work. I don't know why, but I got scared and said goodbye and started crying as soon as I got out the door. Psychological issues with father figures? Not really. Out of all the men I've known in my life, I have so much to be proud of with my dad. That's for a different post, but for now I understand that he was young when I was born and fatherhood takes some time to learn. He's a lot more patient now, but it sucks I had to be the guinea pig. Fatherhood's really a big plunge straight into the deep end, I guess, but my dad's done well.

This was my school!


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I remember those handball courts. I'm looking at this school from the picture and it seems so small now, but i remember it seeming huge when I was little. I'm surprised there is no 2nd story, because I can swear there was one when I went there...perspective, I guess.

In the 2nd grade, I remember I was allowed to be a TA for kindergarten class. I didn't assist much though. I would just go into the corner of the room where the cubbies for the toys and play with those plastic tiles you could create blocks with and make towers out of them.

Also, I really, really miss the food tickets. I'm not sure if I can still get a hold of some of those for memorabilia's sake. I don't even know if they still use them. There were two tickets for each day. Blue with gold numbers for breakfast, gold with blue numbers for lunch. LAUSD!

This is the library there:


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It's exactly as I remember it. Oh man, the memory of those damn plastic bags with cassettes is really strong now. The clips were white and had 7 little parts that would snap when you closed it right. Wow.

I wrote more than I expected. I think I'm gonna look for baby pictures later on. Or write about my adventures in South Gate next.

I hate mathematics. Fuck this.

So unmotivated. I've been officially awake since 7:00 AM (I woke up at 4 in the morning but went back to sleep when I realized how ridiculous it was that I was awake at 4). In the 2.5 hours that I've been up, I've accomplished nothing. Time has never moved so slow. All I really want to do is lie in bed all day. Not even sleep necessarily, just lay on my bed and not do shit for a few days. Blah blah blah.

Midterms and papers and homework and finals. Three more weeks. THREE MORE WEEKS.

I also need to find a roommate.