i was forced to lie to my co-workers by telling them that i was at the kingdome explosion last weekend. yes, i was there, pretty close actually, but far enough away to see the dome wiggling around on its thin concrete legs for a second or two before the sound of the explosions were heard. it lasted 16 seconds, the sound. but much before that, the dust started billowing up. big billowy things tend to sometimes move faster than they appear to in the rear-view mirror. objects are larger than they seem. the dust cloud bloomed up into the sky in lazy slow motion, but only a few seconds later did i realize that this cloud was eating up a city block every few seconds. one two three Jackson, one two three Main, one two three Yesler, one two three James. i was on Cherry. but i was running before that. it was a gleeful run, like in the movies, running terrified but excited with the beautiful but deadly bulls by your side, a sack of tomatoes swinging by your back, and a pulpy fist raised an happiness, little daisies being crushed by the bare soul of your foot.
what this means: i am sporty, i am communal with the city of seattle, i participate in the world, and if the world were a taxi it would not leave with my thumb raised on the corner. no, what the churches say -- living in the world but not of it -- that is what i was not, by watching the kingdome explode.
so you guys read this diary? but i only update every week or so. oh, but you like how i "use words in a rhythmy way". but you also like how i sometimes act bitingly. if i were one for metaphors, and you know i'm not, i would say i'm a sick tiger in a thick cage tied down with aged bones. but you know i really like you. i don't mean it when i say you're boring -- how could i cause i don't know you. any you have told me numerous times that you're only you for your own sake. but not me, apparently. i...
i am me for your sake. see that lie about the kingdome i did all for you. i mean, i lied to the co-workers about my exciting weekend. or did i lie to you about lying to my co-workers. if i was lying then, then how would you know if i was telling the truth now when i am admiting that i'm a liar. oh...
yes, i feel you're tired. these stupid games. why do i spend so much effort and never say anything. where are the answers. why can you relate to me because you were once like me. implying that you grew out of this phase. what if i was once like you as well, acknowledging the existence of problems but only interested in them if they lead to solutions. then, who's going in the right direction. or is it just like the white line on a tennis ball -- circling around, making nice turns, sometimes going in a completely new direction, but then, wait, it's all one line. wake up and smell the futility.
today, i was on the bus, and thinking about how i hate it when i'm forced to sit next to someone cause there are no empty seats (the seats come in twos, and i like to have me and an empty seat). but then i sit down next to someone (always the one reading the book, average looking, male if possible, cause i don't want a girl to think that i'm sitting next to her in order to chat with her). and then, sometime during the busride, people will get off and an empty seat will become available. i've noticed that more often than not, i will continue to sit where i am, unless i'm still far from my stop, and i think the tipping point is at about 4 stops (there are only about 10 stops between my home and my work). if there are more than 4 stops, i'll move to the empty seat, and if there are less, i'll stay where i am (unless i'm by someone annoying of course).
i was talking with K about what worries us on a day to day basis. i'm not a micro-worrier, worrying about specific troubles, but rather a macro-worrier, that will invest in long term worries that manifest themselves in several different... manifestations. my biggest worry: i'm not doing enough. this will make me write in my diary, it will make me stay late at work, it will make me go running, it will make me go to church, it will make me write back to you, it will make me call my friends to go out for a drink. but i'm not particularly worried about my readers forgetting me, or my job not getting done, or my body turning into flab, or my spiritual health, or my e-mail coorespondence, or my friends forgetting about me. i'm worried about not doing enough.
i'm becoming nicer as this entry gets written. that's always nice. if words were water jugs, the word nice would have walls about a foot thick, and only hold three drops of water.
i want to talk about how this diary changes my life. but this entry is getting too long.