According to an online survey, the pinnacle of science and reason, I know, I will not die until August 2066. I'll be 83 years old. And it says I'll die of cancer. That might be a bummer. But I think I'd prefer to just die of old age. 83 seems like a pretty good time to kick off. I'd get to see and do a bunch of things, learn a lot. Write a lot. Make a lot. See children and grandchildren and perhaps even great-grandchildren. I won't hold out specifically for that, but it might be neat.

Jeremy is afraid of growing old. He is afraid of not being as physically capable as he is now. He's afraid of having to rely on people. He's afraid of being feeble or weak. I wouldn't say that I look forward to old-age. But I will welcome it when it comes. It is a time to be revered, I think. I respect a lot of older people. They know and see and have seen. True, some grow senile or get Alzheimer's, but it's just a matter of not living on extremes to avoid that, I think. That doesn't mean you can't ever be on the edge, just keep it in moderation. Do something crazy, like a beer-fueled Vegas binge, then chill for a week in the sun.

Anyway, 83'd be fine.

So, I was completely over-reacting on that post where I was terrified about her and my future. It turns out a really big part of it was that we were right there with her roommates. Another is that she feels we can't be just happy and having fun out with each other. So, that was that. I've talked to her more since then and we're all cheery and whatnot, so things seem to be pretty good.

Disregard previous sarcasm.

The 4-Variable IQ Test. A fun diversion. I'm better at math than that would have you believe. I just severly dislike it.

All right, so my last post might be a little bit weird. And I don't feel so bad about us right now. But when you're caught up in it right there, it's difficult to tell what's going on.

On a lighter note. I was sceduled for a Sportszone shoot, it got cancelled, but I got to put in for the hours anyway. So that was five hours of money for doing nothing. Then, today, there was another one. It also got cancelled. Four more hours. That's nine hours of pay for doing no hours of work. That's 67 dollars and fifty cents. I love Sportszone.

Also, Patrick's father gonna take us out for dinner. Macaroni Grill. Sweet.

Sometimes when I see her I leave and think, "Great! We're still both in love with each other and she'll take me back no problem." I float out to my car and drive, grinning, to where-the-fuck-ever it is I have to go.

And then there are the times I leave feeling like this. I'm worried, I'm shaking. What if she doesn't take me back and leaves me a quivering jello mold of a man. What if I melt into a puddle and she walks through me. Jesus, what if I'm completely dumped in a month.

It's times like this that I don't understand why so many people react with anger first. I've just got this big empty sadness. A sort of hole. And it sucks. I'm sunk. I'm down.

The hardest part about seeing her is saying goodbye. It can't be a normal friend goodbye. Not right now. Maybe some day, if we don't work it out, maybe some day a couple of months down the line our "See you laters" will stick and we won't have to hold each other and comfort each other. But tonight was hard even for that. She was so unresponsive and sad, and I felt like she'd made up her mind on dumping me right then. She'd made up her mind and I wasn't catching on. What a downer. What a bummer. What a kick in the nuts.

Or maybe it was just really awkward because we were in her apartment saying goodbye. Maybe she wanted to say these things and couldn't because she was crippled with fear that her roommates would walk out and see us and be judgemental and make things ugly. Maybe she wanted to comfort me but couldn't risk looking weak in front of them.

And maybe we'll wake up and find all the people who died of cancer are alive and waiting for us to come out and play. Christ, Krister, get a grip. Occam's fucking razor.

God damn it.

I am worth $2,175,776.00 on HumanForSale.com

I want to get my MFA in Bear. Not in Ursine(fancy talk for bear) studies, but in being a bear.

Mom would be so proud.

It'd be useful for peak oil and it's myriad consequences, though.

I'm normally not a doomsayer, but this all makes so much sense. Whatever, I only worry about it when it's fresh on my mind.

What's your dominant intelligence, huh? Punk.

Mine's linguistic, apparently. I can dig it. I think I'm fairly good with words. I like to write, I considered focusing on screenwriting here at school. I didn't do it, I like having actual things to watch too much to not do that. I'm often proud of the things I write. I wrote most of a confessional sort of thing that I need to finish and post somewhere. I was also thinking about publishing it on my own. Going to Kinkos and making cheap, bound copies at 2:30 in the AM and cranking out fifty or a hundred copies and giving them to people.

It could be fun.

I don't necessarily like writing for class so much. I don't abhor it, in general, but I usually feel like I could be doing something better with my time. I should be writing something instead of doing this right now.

But instead I'm doing this.

Still feel weird about Tristyn. Thought about her a lot. I miss her. She comes up in conversations and it takes the steam out of me. I might have been making jokes and comments left and right, then she comes up and I'm left like a sock on a clothesline. I don't know what sort of a state I need to be in, but this one is hard. I get to see her in a month, so I don't want closure on her. Do I? What if I've moved on when we try again. That thought kind of scares me. From where I am right now I can't see that happening.

A month and I see her. A month and we know what we're doing.

The story of Tristyn and my going on break:

The Forward.
I know that Tristyn has already written about this in her LJ, but I want to write about it as well. Call it catharsis.

The Text
Tristyn invited me over to her place Monday afternoon after my spanish class. She'd been animating a lot and I figured she just wanted some company while she continued to truck on. I checked homework and stuff, gave her a call to see if she wanted me to bring any movies to watch or anything (she sounded sad), grabbed some stuff to do while I was there and headed over.

When I entered her room she was sitting slouch-backed in the chair. She looked depressed. It wasn't too long before she was crying. I was a bit confused, but thought it might have something to do with her work load and how she wants a break from constant animating. I asked and that didn't seem to be it. So I asked if it involved me.

It did. She didn't say anything, but I could tell.

I thought maybe I'd done something boneheaded on accident, said something stupid or offended her somehow. She didn't come right out and say anything immediately. So I let her cry on me for a while. Then she started talking. Scary talking. Talking about how she's not sure we should be dating each other any more.

I suggested that maybe we could see a bit less of each other and focus more on work. But she wept and shook her head and said, "In my heart of hearts, I think I have to let you go."

And then I started crying.

We were trying to hold and comfort each other, which was difficult with her in her arm chair, so we moved to the floor. We were comforting each other because we're in love. But she only wants what is best for her now, and is not sure that I am it. So we cried for a while. We fell into old habits and kissed. And that itself brought it's own hurt. 'This might be our last kiss,' I thought. Everything seems so permanent. It hurts. It sucks.

The first thing I said after she said, "In my heart of hearts, I think I have to let you go," was "I don't have nearly enough rum for this." And more tears. It was a wet and upsetting afternoon.

It was even more upsetting for me because it seemed so out of the blue. I brought over some stuff to study and my guitar to tool around with for when that got boring. The afternoon was bright and sunny. The night before we had watched Bound and some discovery channel in what seemed like utter happiness. In the morning when I talked to her everything was fine. I showed up and got dumped. It's like going to your favorite restaurant and getting a root canal.

It's worse.

And then I tried to leave. And she wouldn't let me. I didn't want to anyway. I couldn't imagine walking out the door knowing I would never walk in it again. At least not as a boyfriend. I couldn't just leave. And that's what she said. She said, in the most hurt voice I have ever heard, "You can't just leave." And I couldn't.

And the screen is getting blurry, excuse me.

So we held each other for a while longer. And she suggested that we try going on a break. She'd asked if it turns out she'd made a mistake if I would take her back. And I said of course I would. And I would. I'm nuts about her. So she suggested we try a break. So she can focus on her work and we can get some real perspective on the relationship and on each other. And that sounded fine. It's so much easier than a straight break-up. So much less permanent. We will try it again at the end of the quarter. We will. It's in stone right there that for better or worse, no matter the outcome when it happens we will at least try. And that is better then nothing. It has hope, it has possibility. It brightened the afternoon. I left feeling happy. She can still be my girl, and I can still be her guy.

As the night progressed I realized that happiness might not be the correct reaction. I miss her. I will for the duration of the break, I think, but there's always hope there, too. It could be worse. It is true that it could be better, but maybe it will be better than before when we try each other out again. And that is what I hold on to.

We're on a break. It is mandatory that it go until the end of the quarter, so she's not leaving me every week. She's focusing on her work, I guess I'll focus on mine. We're allowed to see other people, but I don't know that it will happen.

I've told her that I will understand no matter what the outcome, and I think I will. But if it's negative I'm going to hurt for a while, if this is any indication.

I've also told her that I will love her no matter what the outcome, and I think I will.

This is what I've got with Tristyn right now. Hope and love. Love and hope. Hope that it works out. Love her anyway.

Soon everyone'll be callin' me K Rol because of the Amazing Meganame Generator. The high school I went to wasn't Unity anything, it was Lake Region High School. But "Otter Lake Region" is way lamer sounding than "Otter Unity."

Sin City is brilliant. It's like a giant erection that ejaculates cool. Even people disturbed by the violence or questionable nature of it acknowledge it's supreme awesomeness. It is by far one of the best movies I've ever seen. I was nearly moved to tears by the sheer awesomeness of it.

It's beautiful.

Also, my thesis idea is more concrete. It isn't going to be an outright comedy like my previous ventures, but it will still be over-the-top, as perhaps only a zombie-noir can be. I'm quite happy with it right now, Johannes, my advisor, and I nailed down an ending that I think will really make it cool and worthwhile. It's going to be shot in High-Contrast black and white. In all fairness, it's been my idea to do that since before Sin City, but it'll inevitably draw comparisons. Also because it'll be dark and noiry. Anyway, I'm pumped.