Health! Wahahaha!

Finally! I was sick for about three full days, but now I'm feelin' so much bloody better! Yay for the power of awesome!

So, recent events. Last Thursday (the 28th, of October), I dropped by the Walker Art Museum for a neat little ceremony called Mix Tape Exchange. I came prepared, brandishing ten discs of my favorite music, and traded them all off. I bet my neighbors were convinced of my schizophrenia from all the various sorts of music flowing from my room that night!

Friday came and went, and then BAM! SATURDAY, OCTOBER 31ST. BRING ON THE SCARY!

I had only one major set of plans for Halloween, and that was attending Megan's party along with other major members of the Group. The plan was to show up as one character/costume/monster dressed as another. I dawned white tights, white shorts, a white dress shirt, a long white cape, brushed my hair over my face and proclaimed myself Morita Shinobu (from Honey and Clover) in the style of Tima (from Metropolis). I then set out with Travis, Uriah, and Eric to nab Lindsey and hop over to Megan's pad.

However, by the time we got there Lindsey was already beginning to feel under the weather. A few hours in, and she'd already tossed her lunch, so she got taken home (by Uriah). That left Travis, Eric, and myself to deal with the rest of the party. To avoid being hit on by less-than-desirable characters, the more awesome of our group headed downstairs to shoot the shit and play some games. Werewolves was played, I got some more of my homework done, and before I knew it was past midnight. Deciding on better company, Uriah, Travis, Eric and myself decided to bail out and see what was happening at the condo.

By the time we got there, several variations of hell had taken over, and our meager company only added to the fray. DVDs were watched, good times were had, and a battle erupted king-of-the-hill style over who claimed dominance of a local beanbag chair. I was able to finish the lineart for my homework, and we all got together to take a group photo similiar to the one taken last year our Halloween party. We ditched the scene when Uriah started to get tired, and the night ended on a high note with Travis, Grant, and I murdering each other on Super Smash Brothers.

Sunday passed uneventfully. I finished homework, ate a hearty meal, and slept early in preparation for the next day.

Monday morning started oddly. I had showered before class, ate a little bit of breakfast, and was a little sleepy, but something was amiss. My stomach seemed not to enjoy my meal too well, gurgling in menacing manner and protesting my waking world. Slowly, as the hours passed, I realized that there was a problem with my inner workings, and decided I should talk to my illustration teacher about taking my first absence of the semester. This was extremely good judgment on my part, because after talking to her, I returned home and was wracked for hours with the most terrible body aches and stomach pains, my skull threatening to burst from pressure. I did not eat, barely slept, sweat profusely, and writhed in agony for the entire night.

Tuesday morning arrived, and I had important work to do; at 9:30 AM, I was to print a piece of work with a classmate. I was feeling a little odd, but not so much that I couldn't act on my schedule. However, by the time we were underway with the print process I was highly toxic again, unable to think or see clearly. I returned home again, warning my workplace that I would be unable to make it that evening, and settled in for another sleepless night, although I did happen to get a little chicken noodle soup in me.

Wednesday arrived, and I was still under the weather. Popping into my Ideation and Process class, I got the necessary discussion for our collaborative process taken care of, recieved my instructions for the next class, and removed myself from the company of my colleagues for fear of infecting the whole human race with my affliction. Returning home, I proceeded to research the processes of genetic inheritance, DNA transcription, and protein creation before passing out early in the morning.

Now, I sit healthily in my chair at the back of the Digital Illustration class, free of disease and bristling with energy. I once again give blessing for my high constitution stat, for not once in my period of illness did my stomach revolt and churn itself inside out. Having successfully faced this demon and emerged victorious after another year, I feel reborn, rejuvenated, able to face the coming challenges with vigor and determination.

Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

Bring it on.

Fix You

So, much has happened over the last week.

Saturday night, I went dancing with some buddies at a place called Ground Zero.  Beautiful little night club, all goth and vamp.  You see some of the most wonderful people at these things, and some of them know how to dance, which is nice because I don't like being the only one out there (though I'm told cut a rug well enough to make the others seem like amateurs).  Good times were had.

I also got to meet a guy named Tim, a drummer with an excellent setup in his basement for playing music.  More on this guy later.

Sunday, I got a lot of work done; finished up my scythe for 3D, got started on my Illustration project, and was basically preparing for an all-nighter when Travis calls up and says he's stuck outside right next to MCAD with no buses running soon.  It's a good thing he called me, 'cause I love adventure, and getting this guy home is a task worth doing.  Mission accomplished, I finished my homework at about 7.00AM, and was awake enough to survive my class at 1.00PM.

After class, I spend the night making sure everything is perfect for my 3D project, then head down to hang with the Group at Mickey Dee's.  Stay there up to 10.30PM, then we drive out to IHOP for some waffles and french toast.  We get to Cub, and I drive in circles around the parking lot while listening to Daft Punk; the cops are almost called, but the manager says he knows Travis and therefore lets us off easy (which moved me to tears; some people are just really kind).  We head to Lindsey's so she can nab Eurotrip from her room, then we're off to Jordan's place to watch the movie until the wee hours of the morning.  6.00AM comes, I drop off Lindsey at her house, then head home and get two hours of sleep before waking up at 9.00AM for class.

The 3D class rather loved my piece.  It's a scythe with the head of key (complete with knotches) and a rose on the opposite end.  The scythe's design was inspired by a dream I had a while back, making it a weapon of the mind, and therefore had no need for sharpening.  I got my roommate to pose with it so I could document the piece.  It's kinda about the transition between life and death: roses are symbols of mortality, keys are reminiscent of doors, and scythes are weapons of the Grim Reaper.  I was rather happy with it.

After class, I head home and sleep until 2.00AM, catching up on the rest I'd been missing for two days.  I jump into my drawing homework, which involved a planar analysis of my feet, finish that in record time with a nice outcome, then study for a test I had in the coming morning.  Feeling satisfied, I sleep for another four hours and wake up at 9.15AM, rested and ready to rock.

Test goes down smooth, drawing class passes by quickly, and I spend Wednesday night getting a little more work done.  Thursday morning involves Media 2, and I present my little photo booklet to a small group to be critiqued; they love it, as the idea to use obvious line in the photography to transition between the individual pages both fits the concept of the book and is aesthetically pleasing.  I then begin the next project of incorporating the photos from the book into a web page format, getting the message across in a different medium.  My ideas are already beginning to bear fruit.

Friday, I switch out the title to my car, get new license plates, and am delighted to hear that my text messaging is now free because my brother bought a blackberry with benefits for the entire family.  Happiness assured, I call up Tim to see if he wants to jam in his basement.  Several hours later, I arrive to find him and our friend Ashley hangin' out.  The jam session starts, and we get some nice riffs and beats going.  This is my first time playing with a drummer, so being able to go somewhere with it is very inspiring.  I seem to be learning something new about the instrument every time I pick it up.  Gotta love that bass.

The rest of the night is spent looking up songs, vids, and other bollsheet on youtube, hangin' around, having a pillow fight, a quick run for food, and me finally saying my goodbyes.  It's been a wonderful week, and tomorrow I get to hang with the Group at Mickey Dee's again; seems someone set up a formal dinner event, and getting McDonalds food in a tux just sounds hilarious to me.  I will sleep amused tonight.

Whole Lotta Love

Damn, I've been busy lately.

Last Saturday, the Group got together and played a wicked game of Super Carcazonne that lasted about eight hours.  For those who don't know, Carcazonne is a game played by placing tiles on the ground or table.  Each tile has a different stuff on it; sometimes a castle wall is connected on two sides, othertimes a road, sometimes it's just blank with a church or cult or dragon on it.  Either way, the point of the game is to have the most property at the end.  You do this by completing castles, sending dragons to burn down the other players' hopes and dreams, and basically make everyone else miserable while you expand your ever-increasing wealth.

Games like this allow me to utilize what I call the "dirty" method of having fun.  This method is simple.  Think of all the fun that can be had in a game between multiple people as being a pile of dirt.  Normally all of the players will take an equal amount of dirt so that everyone will be kept satisfied and the game is enjoyable by all, but every now and then someone will come along and take that entire pile of dirt for themselves, having a metric shit-ton of fun and watching the others cry themselves into sleep under the oppressive glow of your entertainment.  It's a good way to make sure that you won't be bored, but it also creates intense rivalries and bitterness unless you're in a setting where that's all well and good, aka the Group.  Needless to say, Carcazonne was a load of fun, and the pile of dirt transitioned enough times to make everyone happy.

My 3D project involves making a scythe out of wood, which has sustained my interest long enough that I feel that I'm really able to put a good effort into it.  That's not something I can say all the time; motivation waxes and wanes depending on how bored I get with something.  I kinda wish I was a little more OCD so I could feel mentally obligated to finish something to the best of my ability, but instead it seems my current state of mind, sleepiness and whether or not I have a nice shirt on will decide how much work I put into anything anymore.  But that's fine, it means I can be more judicial with what I do, concentrating my efforts on projects I think will benefit me the most in the long run, and leaving the others on the side like an unwashed whore after Mardi Gras.

I still have to paint that scythe ivory white, and possibly add some gold trim.  The color scheme comes from a dream I had a while back, involving a demon and someone slicing him in half on top of an endless sea obscured by mist and fog.  The design is something akin to mixing a key and a rose, which is just perfect for this kind of assignment.  The fact that it's based off a dream means that the sharpness of the blade is irrelevant in the end; it's a weapon of the mind, which is deadly in its own right.  I look forward to seeing how the class takes it, but I don't expect a warm welcome on Tuesday.  It's just the way of things.

I feel as though my social life is interfering with my art.  It could be just a side effect of the fact that I'm spreading myself pretty thin over the different kinds of work I'm doing, and so I don't see the amount of work I'm putting out in the normal places like devArt and Photobucket, but it's still annoying to remember that I'm down in Bloomington for just about ever Group-related event they have.  The problem is, I know that cutting that back will cause me just as much harm as good, with the benefit being that I'll increase artistic output, and the problem being my increased melancholy and loneliness.  Still, artists are meant to suffer for their art.  I've had it pretty good up to this point, so maybe it's time to bring on the torment.

That's not going to stop me from going to Anime Club this Thursday, nor dancing on Saturday.  Tsubasa's playing, and I wanna keep in shape.  Fun fun.

I'm very happy for one of my friends.  She got the courage to leave her boyfriend, who was dragging her down.  She would have done this earlier if not for the fact that she pitied him and his current state of mind, but pity does not a relationship make, so it' s better for both of them in the long run.  Now she's with another guy who she had been falling for, so I think she's gonna be just fine.

Judging from the occurrences at MCAD over the past month, I've come to the decision that art school is not the place to look for a love interest.  Every person here is already in love, and it is that passion that drove them to congregate at this estate of higher learning in the first place.  Trying to add another romance to the artistic pursuit is hard enough, but managing both between two artists can lead to tragedy, broken hearts, and worst of all: faulty work.  I've come to believe myself that, no matter how much of a great lover I can be to someone, the pursuit of literature, music, and imagery will have to take precedence over any torrid tryst or passionate affair I come to have.  Whether this colors the relationship like a successful seventh chord or taints the melody with an off-key interval, the truth of the matter will show in the poetry I make, the songs I write, and the pictures I draw.  If I like it, I'll stick with it.  If I don't, it's over.

I spent a bit of time taping some of my favorite works from last and this semester up on my walls and ceilings.  It looks pretty cool, and I enjoy being able to take a trip back in time by gazing up every once in a while.  I put some of the best sketches next to my bed, where I gaze longingly at what is, what could have been, and therefore what will be.  It's exciting, to say the least.  Also, it's fun to watch the characters of my animation project dance around right above my head before I enter dreamland every night.

Well, due to the fact that I just took a 4-hour nap right before bedtime, and I haven't gotten proper nutrition today, I'm going to go ahead and fix some food and tea for myself and contemplate the coming work I need to do.  Heck, maybe I'll get started on those illustration projects.  That'd be a nice way to end the night.

We'll see.

Bassin' out.

Despite the dreary weather and the murder of crows outside my window, today was pretty damn fun. I forget sometimes how much I like to tune out people when they drone on the monotone. It provides great doodling noise.

Speaking of, I've been filling my sketchbook with sketches. I really need to get scanning them, as they're just sitting in there waiting to be made into something fun. Heck, I could practice coloring them, too...

Oh fack, I'm hungry. I haven't eaten anything since Crispy Rice (the off-brand Rice Krispies you can buy at Cub Foods and is infinitely better) for two days. Oh, and Earl Grey Tea. Mmmm...tea...

That's it! By tonight, I'm going to have stuff scanned so I can post it on this bloody blog. Not like it's been anything radical, but I do enjoy my little sketches.

Pretty sure two of my classmates were laughing at me earlier today. Really makes me want to put my size 9 1/2's up there collective rear ends. Pisses me off.

I really like finding places in the city where no one's visibly around, and then singing my head off. I practice my high voice when other's aren't around. It's fun, therapeutic, and maybe someday someone will overhear and congratulate me on it.

I'm still trying to find my singing voice. There's all these methods and tactics and exercises that help you find it, and I know many by heart, but I have a problem with mimicing the vocalist of whatever song I'm singing, and therefore straining my voice out to hell. Ah well, practice practice practice.

I feel like I'm making leaps and bounds with my bass guitar, though. I really need to start composing arrangements for the lyrics and melodies I keep writing.

Ooh, Travis and the others are up to something! I'm coming, party leader!

What Is and What Should Never Be

I've been having some issues lately with things like art, it's meaning to me, and just who the hell I am anyway.

It's come to my attention that I am very hung-up on definitions, genres, and titles for things.  My friends and colleagues are trying to instill in me the idea that my reliance on such things is harming me more than hurting me.

Allow me to give an example.  A while back, I found the "Club Foot" video by Kasabian, and fell in love with the "style" and motifs of the video.  The graffiti, the illegal radio, the Eastern European setting, all done in grainy black-and-white.  It reminded me of Half Life 2, where there seemed to be a sort of "revolutionary" theme in the level design and art style.  I couldn't help but wonder if these ideas, these common motifs and stylistic choices, had a particular name, like how Romanticism and Impressionism are labels for certain decisions made by an artist when creating work.

However, when I tried to bring this up with a good friend of mine, they told me that my hunt for a definition, a genre or style of art, was only hindering me.  They reminded me that if I stayed stuck to styles and genres, I would never break free of them, never find my own paths and make my own decisions in art.  I wouldn't create anything original, and it would only be a hindrance to me.

I suppose I understood, but at the same time this meant that I could not find more works like Half Life 2 or the Club Foot video unless by chance, because I don't know what I'm looking for.  "Graffiti" doesn't quite say it, "Eastern European Art" isn't right, and the term "revolutionary" is far too broad.

However, this brought up an even greater problem.  I have been a fan of definitions since I was very young; I suppose this stems somewhat from a prodigal childhood in the mathematical realm.  The scientific ideas that things could be defined, and therefore made tangible and real, have stuck with me long after I have decided to venture down the path of art.  I suppose sometimes the reason why I chose to become an artist was because everything else bored me to death, and this is more of a challenge.  Now I am faced with one of the many trials I knew I'd face, and it is a harder hurtle than I expected.

I would very much like to break free of my "definitive" mindset.  I feel like there is some impassable wall between me and a vast realm of thought, and I continue to pound against it unknowing of the tools that could easily bring it down.

These ideas of definitions have even invaded everyday life for me.  When I think of a "great artist" I think of someone who has become successful in their field, sometimes long after death, and who's works inspired others around the world.  When I think of a "young artist", I think of how they probably look, what they listen to, what they wear.  All these things I can picture in my head, and that's a problem; I'm stereotyping.  I can't stand stereotypes, and here I am falling prey to them.  What am I to do?

I have noticed that many of my more skilled colleagues, people who go to MCAD right now, have common traits.  Some of them don't much of a life outside of their art.  Many of them are troubled, with dark pasts and/or emotional or mental issues.  A lot of them have fought tooth and nail from a very young age to reach their current position.  And all the while, I stare at them in awe and admiration; the things they do, the way they speak, the clothes they wear, how they act, and I want to emulate them.  Yet this, it seems, is the wrong thing to do, because to emulate them is to move farther from who I really am - but who am I?  I've been emulating my idols from such a young age that I don't know what my actual persona is.  I am a walking contradiction, trying to be unique for the wrong reasons, trying to look like somebody else.

This wasn't a problem before my senior year of high school.  I had enough confidence in myself back then not to care what people thought of me or how I dressed or how I acted.  It was only after the fairytale of a romance that I had been nursing in my mind went sour on me that I began to dress differently and act like a desirable person.  Yet another romance has gone sour on me since, and I once again find myself attempting to play a role I'm not comfortable with in the hopes of being noticed.

Ah, there it is: being noticed.  I have very little shame; I'm shy around certain people I admire now, but I didn't used to be because I didn't care if people hated me.  All my life, I have loved to be the center of attention, the lead role in any given situation.  I love acknowledgement and compliments, and have only recently been able to handle criticisms, and still get peeved when my friends make fun of me.  This is probably due to a spoiled childhood, where I very often got what I wanted; sometimes by hard work, most of the time by finding easy ways out.  Impatience, arrogance, and general assholery are trademarks of my personality, and I rather despise these character traits.  "Love thy enemy, for they will show you your weaknesses."  Very true words.

I wonder sometimes if someone who is so used to instant-gratification, who hates to spend more than a few minutes in one place at any given time, always on the move and wanting change, could be very good at a profession that required long hours of hard work and toil, usually while sitting in the same position for long periods of time.  I wonder if a person who is generally happy with his life, who has things pretty well off with no major troubles in his past, brooding dark secrets, or horrible mental or emotional weaknesses besides loneliness could be a good artist.  Of 'course, "good" is a relative term, but there's nothing worse than a piece of work that is reaching but isn't quite getting there, and I believe that is what just about all my art up to this point has been - whether due to lack of technical skill or creative thought is up to the masses.

I only know two solid things about myself: that I am a selfish and childish being who loves the limelight, and that the only God-given talent I have is the ability to learn things very quickly if I put my mind to them.  

And behold, I am once again defining and labeling things.

Bloody hell.

All That You Can't Leave Behind

"Seems I'm a free man..." -Unknown

I really can't figure out why I've got such a thing for U2 lately. I just can't stop listening to their music, and I'm constantly teaching myself the guitar riffs and bass grooves for their songs.

When I came to the Police's music, it was due to my first real encounter with love, and those songs got me through rather hard times. Each song seemed to somehow describe me in different ways. "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic", my favorite song, is about a boy who has been in love with this girl for such a long time, yet never had the courage to tell her. That was exactly the case with the Third. Other songs, like "King of Pain" and "Walking On The Moon", are more self explanatory to describe how I was feeling, but the fun-filled and reggae-tinged "So Lonely" (which is a song about loneliness sung in a happy-go-lucky way) pushed me to continue being my usual hyper energetic self.

So I fell in love again, and it seemed there was another band to raise to the challenge; U2. I really began to pay attention to them after watching their Live Aid Concert performance from 1985, which featured "Sunday Bloody Sunday" and "Bad". "Bad" really melded with me for some reason, especially the way Bono was so emotionally attached to ever word he sang. I pulled out the old Best Of albums I had gotten for Christmas a few years back, and started to understand why they were so popular. They were simple, but they were good! "Beautiful Day", "Mysterious Ways", "I Will Follow", "Walk On". Especially "Walk On". All of these began to describe my feelings, and it was refreshing to find new old music.

Now I'm on my own again. I wonder what band I'll find next? ^.^

"And if your glass heart should crack, and for a second you turn back...oh no...be strong. Oh, oh, walk on!" -U2

-dL

The Arms Race

So Thursday night I went to my friend Dave's house due to the fact that both he and Eric were going to be making wantons, and my friend Will was gonna be there too. We ate, we BSed, played a some Brawl and got some Team Fortress 2 goodness in. It's all good.

So I arrive at about 11 PM to good ol' McVey Hall 2nd Floor, and I set up all my stuff to hang with Bungle, Mike, and Dreu (all of whom are WoW addicts, which I'm not). Laptop set up, sketchpad out, slowly making progress on the current portrait of Sting, and who should walk by but my roommate Pete.

Allow me to give you some background on this guy. I met him at the beginning of the semester, and quickly realized that he wasn't the kind of person I wanted to know. From day one he got on my nerves, from his constant drinking both in and out of the room, his bringing of loud and obnoxious hammered people to my room late in the night, his refusal to allow me to rearrange things on MY side of the room, and the fact that he basically believes that he owns the place. He's supposed to be entering the Marines after this semester, which is hilarious to me considering that he's been spending all his time at UND drinking and watching TV (which he has silently claimed, even though I'm borrowing it from Will).

Right then. Thursday night, roommate waltzes by and announces to me that he'll be having three of his buddies from home up here the entire weekend for some drinking and partying. They'll be staying in our room, blah blah blah. I like how he just kind of proclaims this to me, instead of actually asking me, seeing as how I have to agree for them to be able to stay.

But, I'm reasonable, I don't mind too bad, but I bring up a critical condition; things have to quiet down to whispers by 2:00 AM every night, so that I can get some sleep. I mentioned to him that the beer pong party they had directly outside my room kept me the entire night, and that I really need to sleep at some point in the night. I continue to press this fact; I need my sleep, it needs to be quiet at 2:00 AM, please keep this in mind, kthxbai.

Well, I suppose I pushed him a little too far, because he begins to say that I've now succeeded in making things louder for myself. At this point he's beginning to raise his voice, and he proclaims that I'm inconsiderate, that I'm basically scum, and every other sentence becomes "I want to fucking kick your ass". Well, I've seen this before; he's threatened my life plenty of times over the course of the semester when I'm not doing exactly what he wants, and it's usually (though not always) when he's drunk. Which he also is tonight.

The rest of the guys who are sitting there are just kind of awestruck at just how far he's going with this; he's laying into me about just how much he wants to beat the shit out of me. This loud behavior brings several more people out to see what's going on, including the Resident Assistant, Greg. He quickly stops me from attempting to defend myself, in a hope that the drunken Pete will stop on his own. Even my Christian friends Cory and David come out of their room, and begin asking him to stop, that Pete's not only keeping them up but that they don't appreciate him laying into me. Pete turns on them, telling them it's not their fucking business, that they need to go back to their rooms, and basically attempting to be dictator of McVey Hall 2nd Floor.

After a while Bob, the "voice of reason" who also happens to be a campus enforcer of some sort (I believe it's an official position), attempts to calm him down, and also makes sure that Pete doesn't just lunge over the tables and takes my head. Things slowly die down, Pete goes to his room in rage, and the rest of us begin to wonder what the hell just happened. We discuss this for a while, and Pete walks out again to berate us for talking smack about him behind his back...which we really weren't doing.

The night ends with me exiled from my own room for fear of his wrath in the night, and I stay with Cory and David. Greg, Mike, Bungle and I all go down to the office to write a report of the incident, and then we all go to bed.

I wake up Friday morning and proceed to into my room to find that everything that my shoes, clothes basket, the clothes I had on my bed, and just about anything else that could have been on the floor has been stuffed into my closet. We're talking nicely folded clothes now stuffed between doors, a pair of dirty shoes lodged in my underwear drawer...and that's not all. My Disgaea 2 game has a bunch of new scratches in it, and my Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas disc is MIA.

Oh, I forgot to mention; he woke up up Friday morning at 9:30 AM to tell me "sorry for yelling at you". Which would have been very well and good, but I find it ironic that this entire thing started with the fact that I couldn't sleep, and now here he trying to make amends by waking me up. Way to go, Pete.

It's obvious he's not sorry, though, as I continue to find more and more things either missing or wrecked in my room over the course of Friday. The Disgaea 2 disc goes MIA around this time, and I'm beginning to worry about the rest of my stuff.

Friday night arrives, and Pete's friends have taken up residence in my room, along with a bunch other drunk guys and girls from this and other dorms. I really don't know how, but my room became party central over the course of half a semester. There's all sorts of commotion coming from the room, including the fact that someone evidently shit themselves. Great. All I need to know -.-

Meanwhile, I'm out in the common area with Bungle, Mike, and Dreu, and have engrossed myself in coloring a sketch of Chester Fritz, a new character I designed. This is good, because I'm having a lot of fun with this picture, and it ends up becoming something amazing. Here it is, by the way:




Finishing this and being insanely happy, I decide it'd be a good idea to hit they hay. I go and brush my teeth and such, and proceed into my room; Pete and the rest are gone for now. The place is a mess; there's a beer bong on the floor, my desk has become a collection of beer cans, there's a huge bottle of something alcoholic on the window sill, and there's something very wet soaked through both of my pillows and my bed.

I quickly borrow Dreu's camera, photograph the entire area, and get my blanket out before it too succumbs to whatever wrath Pete can inflict. Which reminds me; I need to get those. ::mental note::

They soon returned from wherever they were, and I decided to take a shower. That went without incident, and I went back into the room to get the rest of the stuff I need. All the while, one of Pete's buddies is sitting there in a drunken stupor throwing Ritz crackers at me, and further contributing to the mess in the room. I can't believe how bad things have gotten. I finish getting all my important documents out; birth certificate, debit card, everything that could be dangerous in someone else's hands. I then vacate the area, and leave the documents, my CD binder, and my clothes bin with Dreu, who was more than happy to house it for me right now. We stayed up until 5:40 AM discussing the events of the last two days, along with anything else that comes to mind, and then I head to bed.

I've found out this morning that the stuff on my pillows and bed is water dumped by one of Pete's drunk girl friends. My room still looks like a mess. I need to make some phone calls, and pick up some stuff for the coming Anime Detour convention (IT'S THIS FRIDAY, YEAH!).

As for my state of mind, I'm in a mode of cautious optimism. On the one hand, a lot of my stuff is wrecked, and I'm an exile from my own room while Pete is still there. On the other, due to all that he's done, there may be a chance that in two weeks or less, I'll have that entire room to myself. Here's to hoping.

-dL