The Obscure

God said to Abraham, kill me a son...

I have a bad sunburn. The occasions when I have any sunburn at all are few and far between, so all you honkies should relish them.
Honkies.

I got the urge to write something, while I was trying to sleep just now. I don't know what exactly there is to write about, though. I have nothing of personal interest to discuss, except that I went to see a neurologist today, and, like all neurologists, he decided (without giving heed to anything I had to say on the subject) that I should go off of all painkillers immediately and start taking some obscure medicine that I've already tried, and that should SURELY fix me right up.
Prick.
For the twenty minutes that I was in philosophy class before I got kicked out for no good reason at all, I was told that to discuss or argue something philosophically, one must search not for truth but for logic. That makes perfect sense, if you think about it. What the fuck are they? Aphorisisms? Whatever. The point is: say I wanted to walk towards the lamp in the corner, and I walked halfway, and then walked halfway, and then halfway again, and again, and again, forever... In theory I'd never reach it, I'd always be halfway there. In practice, even on a molecular level, we are just too damn big. Eventually my molecules would come into contact with those of the lamp, even if I couldn't feel it.
Then that brings up other questions, like, if everything is composed of atoms, and atoms kind of float alone in clumps and stuff like that, how can we know that anything is really actually touching anything? I mean, maybe everything is just kind of floating there, imprisoned by gravity and equilibrium. Cool to think about, eh?
I guess I am done here, goodnight folks.

I was sleeping very fitfully when the thunder woke me up. I don't know how one could sleep fitfully with a double dose of sleeping medication in their system, and I don't know how one could be as awake and as lucid as I appear to be right now with that amount of pills running through their blood. Yet, here I am, typing away seemingly pointlessly, seeing as I think that the power is going to go out again soon.
I don't have much to type. I think tomorrow is the anniversary of my uncle's death. No one in the family is taking it well, least of all my father. Then again, he should be the one taking it the worst.

Horseflies have invaded my house. I suppose since the ghost of my uncle is sucking away at the soul of my family, it is only fitting that we should have some physical manifestation sucking away at our blood.
The realization that the anniversary of the death of my namesake is tommorrow has taken it's toll on me. I was trying to figure out why I was feeling so depressed and angry and... forsaken, all at the same time. Now I know.
My uncle used to use a salt-water fishing rod every time we went fishing. It was a very small one, if you actually used it to fish in salt water and you caught a striper or something, you'd be really hard-put to bring that fucker in. But he would go bass fishing and trout fishing in lakes with that thing, and I tell you, if he got a bite, one good yank and the fish was his, no matter how big it was. Lake-fish just don't have the same pull as ocean-fish.
I noticed the other day that his rod was no longer in it's place. It is gone. Gone where? I do not know, and I will not ask.

I wrote about my last experiences with John briefly, soon after the last time I saw him alive. He told me that I looked cool. It was the only thing he said to me. He said, "Is that Johnny?" and my father told him I was, and he looked at me and said, "You look cool."
Fuck me, if he thought I looked cool it was only because I had a hat and sunglasses on to block out the light because my head hurt like a fucking bastard, and I was wearing a leather jacket I think, because whenever I have a bad headache I get really cold.
I remember his funeral. I couldn't look at him, he looked less real then when I saw him on his hospital bed. I had to pop three or four perks just to remain lucid throughout the whole thing, and four or five klonopins to keep myself from shaking out of my chair. My cousin Tom had to drive me to the burial. That was the day I took up smoking. He had a pack of Newports, and I kept asking for them, and he kept giving them. The next day I bought a pack for myself, eventually I switched to Reds, but all that is inconsequential. Where the irony lies is in the fact that I have hurled myself head-first into all of the things that took my beloved uncle's life; and what did it take for me to hurl myself several furlongs into the sea of Self-Destruction by way of Poor Maintanence of the Body? Why my uncle's drowning himself to death in that very sea, of course.
I suppose I am going to visit his grave tomorrow, with or without my family. I don't even know where it is, exactly. But I will find it, and I will say a little prayer for the dead man who could have been a great man, the man who held the bottle for a short while, until the bottle held him; and I will say a little prayer for myself: That I should never be a slave to a substance, and that I will not fear the terror that comes by night, nor the arrow that flies by day.

For those of you sick of hearing about my uncle who died, well, you could've gotten a third of the way through this post and quit reading. For those of you who think I am making a mountain out of a molehill, you can fuck off. You weren't there, you didn't see it. One of the best of us, the best of us, murdered by a drink and a lack of the will to stop the drink from being poured.
Goodnight.

I don't think anyone reads this anymore, surprisingly that thought does little to suppress my urges to write here.
I am now much of an openly emotional person. I discuss my emotions with people ("Hey buddy, I've been thinking of killing myself lately, I was wondering, gun or knife? Whattayasay?") but I don't really show much emotion. If I am happy and pain-free then I get excitable and act kind of crazy, although I've beeen in that kind of state fewer and fewer times over the past year.
Being the kind of person who's only real noticeable emotion is sadness (you don't really see it, but I suppose my family does.) makes me also the kind of person who doesn't usually put much stock in holidays, I forget birthdays all the time, if I have money I buy my friends christmas presents and if I don't have money I... don't. I say, "Hey, I don't have money but I'll draw you a christmas/sometimes birthday-comic sometime." and I never draw them, because I am always too depressed to work on my drawing skills, so then when I try to draw a comic it comes out like a piece of shit.
The only notable exceptions to this are if I end up have some influx of cash that happens to coincide with someone's birthday, christmas, and, of course, Mother's and Father's day. I used to be bad with these holidays, but then my respect for my parents grew. I think it was Mark Twain who at one point wrote, "Sometime between my ages of 11 and 21 my father turned from an ignorant fool into a wise man." or something like that. I read it in the health-room door in high school. I have never thought that my parents were either ignorant or fools, actually when you grow up with parents that have these dizzyingly high IQ's and hyper-powered intellects and stuff, you realize that they are an anomaly, and it is you who feel like the ignorant fool (if you are wise enough to see it objectively) and rightfully so, because parents, be they parents with super-powered intellects or just regular old Joes (who might know a lot about engines that you could learn from them if you tried) and Janes (who might know how to paint a great landscape, or may have a secret to cooking the perfect cake, and you could learn those things from them if you tried) always know a little bit more than you think, they always understand just a little bit more than you think, and, a few stragglers aside, they can show you the road to "happiness later in life" be it through mistakes or experience, if you are wise to try to learn from them, of course.
That being said, and me having parents with dizzying intellects and so on, I would like to thank my parents, especially, on this day, my Father; it is his day, after all. It was they who showed me the way, the path I must walk. I know I haven't been appreciative of that fact for most of my life, but remember, I am an ignorant fool.
So, a big thank-you to my parents (I'm sure my mother will read this, she always reads these), and a Happy Father's Day to my dad. Since I don't have much money and I've run out of skill with ink and pen, it's a cheap DVD and a "Happy Father's Day" that I have to give; and I am giving it, a thousand times over. Being raised by parents with dizzying intellects may not be all it's cracked up to be, but it is certainly interesting, and, as I said, they can help you find the path. So I will say it again:
Happy Father's Day, Pop.

So I applied for disability today. Fuck me, it feels like I lost some kind of a war. But I have come to the realization that, if my headaches are bad enough now to warrant (at least) monthly trips to the emergency room, and they suck away enough energy that I have about half an hour a day in which I can do anything besides lie in my bed and watch that mind-sucking thing I love so much that they call a television, it would be damn near impossible for me to hold any kind of job. I don't know how I lasted as long as I did with the job I had.
At least I will have some money coming in (god-willing, there is a good chance that I won't get accepted. I could always appeal though.) if this follows through. It just makes me feel really weak, you know? I had to swallow quite a bit of pride to make that phone call, and I am going to have to swallow a great deal more when they call me back to get all the information on my disability. Luckily, I'm pretty sure my mind will be completely wiped out by pain when they call back, my phone appointment is two days before my percocet refill, and they way my headaches have been, I have me running out of percocet some 6 days before my refill. Of course, after I "run-out" I will still have the 5 percocets I gave to my mom to dole out to me one at a time, but I am going to avoid using those as much as possible. But the point of the matter is, if my mind is wiped out by pain, I will just be rattling off the information they want without much thought for what I am doing, hence I won't be thinking of pride, at the time.
It's a hard fucking thing to swallow though, that I am so physically weak now that I couldn't even sit on a stool and say, "How may I help you?" and "Thank you, have a nice day."
For those of you who are reading this, my close friends and family and all, that is the reason I have been so isolated lately. It's not that I don't want to see anybody, or that I am too depressed to go out of the house, it's the headaches. Recently they have hit a peak that I couldn't even fathom before. I thought they were bad before, right now the pain is so bad that I could take ten percocets and three phenergans and I'd still have a bright flare of pain behind my left eye. I just can't do anything except lie in bed, and occasionally come out of my room (out of sheer boredom) and have conversations with my family. I see Tim and Erin on Sundays after church, but half (actually, almost all) the time I can't sit all the way through church, they lights are too bright and the sounds are too loud. Then they come over, and that half an hour of energy I have is quickly spent and then I just kind of lie there like a slug, and then Tim leaves, and Erin usually stays late, and I don't have the strength to do anything but make small conversation.
So, friends and countrymen, please don't take offense at my frequent absence. I am sorry I couldn't go to your party, Darcy. I am just in a very bad way right now. Only physically, too. Mentally I'm alright, occasional suicidal thoughts aside. I'm on this new drug that seems to be doing a job on that. But physically I just can't fucking do anything.
Which brings me back to my original point, I finally realized that I just can't do anything, and now I am trying to get disability. Apparently since I live with my parents, if they accept me then I'll only get two thirds of what I would normally get, federally. Which means I will get about 401 dollars a month from the federal government. I don't know what I would get from the state government. If I lived on my own they'd give me something like 109 dollars, but it doesn't say what they'd give me (if anything) living in my parents home. A hundred dollars a week, essentially. Well, 50 dollars a week, after I pay car insurance.
I think I might trade in my truck for a motorcycle, or maye just a smaller, more fuel efficient car (that is legal to drive). I'd like a motorcycle, though, I'd like that very much. Keith brought up the point about what I'd do with it in the winter. I guess maybe I'd drive my parents car in the winter or something, I don't know. That's why I was thinking about getting a smaller car instead. Ah well, who cares, I have a car now, and it kind of runs. I need to change the oil and the transmission fluid though (it's a standard, but it has a hydraulic clutch, so it still needs transmission fluid).
That's all I have to write right now, I suppose. All that I want to write on a public place, anyway. Good morning, America, "The Land of the Free," heh.

Oh yeah, I did my assessment test thing at school, and I got a course book. I think I shall major in English and minor in Russian Studies. The Russian Studies minor is all the Russian courses I would want to take, anyway. So that is cool, and the English Department is fucking HUGE. I got very excited when I saw some of the classes, I really can't wait to take them, which is a new feeling for me, because usually I hate classes and things of that sort. But the campus is beautiful, the courses look amazing (some of the capstone ones are like... the entire reason I wanted to go to college in the first place, but I thought I'd have to learn that shit on my own while taking classes to improve my knowledge of authors and writing and stuff), and as far as I can tell, everyone there appears to be nice, which is strange. I'm sure that notion will implode as soon as I step foot on campus as a freshman, but who cares, really? It looks like it'll be a fun time.
Anyway, goodbye.

It's morning-time in the Colón house. Which means coffee, bleary eyes, and morning jazz which, this being our house, I don't have to keep on a low volume.
I'm on this new psych med, it makes me feel a little funny right after I take it, but I took it last night, and right now I feel pretty good. I'm so unused to feeling good that I didn't notice it until I tried to describe how I was feeling and realized that it wasn't it's usual "bad". It took me a little while to remember what there was to feel besides "bad," but in the end I figured it out.
Apparently Katie and Tim might be coming by my place today, that'd be cool. I finally actually cleaned my room, which I'd been putting off for like half a year.

Man, I really can't believe I'm going to college. I mean, actually going! Up until now some part of me has been sure that something would go horribly awry and it would end up being an impossibility, but I even have the finance part of it almost worked out, because my father got a raise that puts my parents just over being able to pay for my schooling and their mortgage and utilities at the same time; according to my mother, anyway. So now what I have to do is try to take some of the pressure off of them by getting some scholarships or something.
You know,they actually accepted me before they got my high-school transcript? Yeah, they said I was accepted "conditionally" until they got an official copy of my transcript, and the condition was my GPA had to be at least 2.0 (which it wasn't) or I wouldn't be accepted (which I was. We deduced after a short phone call that they must actually want me quite a bit because they still accepted me even after they looked over my transcript, which looks more like a prison record than a transcript to even the most gentle eye; and it definitely does not contain a 2.0 GPA, if memory serves it should have been something like a 0.8).

I don't have much more on my mind right now. I'm writing more in notebooks lately than on here, I'm trying to actually write things instead of just waxing whiny on a website every day. I'm not doing very well, but I am trying. Goodbye ladies and gents, and have a wonderful (if strangely cold) day!

An Astounding Turn of Events!

My my, hey hey. Rock and Roll is here to stay!
Man, here's how it went down. The day before yesterday, I go to the doctor (to see what he could give me) and this time, unlike any prior times, I went to see him entirely unmedicated. Not even tylenol. I haven't done this before because I primarily really dislike being seen when I am in my worst headache state, but in this case it was necessary.
Being entirely unmedicated and also being in the particularly bad way I have been in lately, I was unable to drive myself or really talk that much. So my mother drove me and told the doctor about all my worsening symptoms and he gave me a neurological exam and finally bit the bullet and gave me enough medicine so that I can actually function for about 14 hours out of each day.
So that was cool.

And Then!
I got accepted into UMass Boston today! They accepted me before they even saw my high-school transcript, I later found out. I guess I must have made an impression or something.
I'm a lot more excited about this than I thought I would be.

So, as far as John's life is concerned, I am physically well, emotionally great (but still depressed, somehow), a little mentally daunted by the "actually going to school" thing, but all in all, I am feeling fine like wine m'ladies. Fine like wine.