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All Your Base Are Belong to Us
Today was the first day of winter here in North Texas. I could tell because the sky is Parish blue, my windshield is frosted, and the water is finally losing its autumnal bitterness. Not that we truly have autumns here; it's either summer or winter, and nothing between. I live in a bipolar state.
Representatives from a soft drink company have set up shop just outside my classroom, and whenever I pass them they thrust a free sample into my hand. As a result, I have been hopped up on ginseng today, and God knows what else. The last time I was test subject for a new beverage was back in the hallowed halls of Arts Magnet. I was paranoid and hallucinating for days. The drink was called Josta, and remarkably similar. You'd think I'd learn.
I'm vibing again. Strongly. People stare at me and then shake their heads to try to clear them. They try to buy me off with gifts; they engage me in conversation but know better than to ask for my number. I am different from them somehow. E-mails are getting lost, but only the long ones. Perhaps I am out of phase.
Strange how that makes me content and frustrated at the same time.
I don't want power, really. Everyone seems to think that I do just because I am powerful. If I wanted power, I'd go into politics, I'd study law and engineering, medicine and science; I'd work 9 to 5, I'd invest in the stock market, I would make friends in high places. I'd take Wu Chi Chuan and kill with a thought.
I could do it. Easily.
Power is exhausting. I'd rather be an observer. Writer, economist, analyst, philosopher, social psychologist. I had a crisis when I learned to manipulate people; how would I know they liked me and not my machinations? I never do spells; I rarely give orders.
I am a teacher, but only when people are ready to recognize the lesson. Anybody could do it.
Val says that I am the good guy. The hero. My ridiculous moral dillemas prove that I have morals. It's not anything to do with me; people just want one and I love them enough to be used in that way. I don't have control; I was born with it.
This is what I mean when I say Fate is in love with me. Or God, or the Tao, or Chance. When beneficial coincidences occur, my friends call them "pulling a Romie."
There is no good way to conclude this entry. It took me three hours of talking to Val on the balcony just to get this far.
Representatives from a soft drink company have set up shop just outside my classroom, and whenever I pass them they thrust a free sample into my hand. As a result, I have been hopped up on ginseng today, and God knows what else. The last time I was test subject for a new beverage was back in the hallowed halls of Arts Magnet. I was paranoid and hallucinating for days. The drink was called Josta, and remarkably similar. You'd think I'd learn.
I'm vibing again. Strongly. People stare at me and then shake their heads to try to clear them. They try to buy me off with gifts; they engage me in conversation but know better than to ask for my number. I am different from them somehow. E-mails are getting lost, but only the long ones. Perhaps I am out of phase.
Strange how that makes me content and frustrated at the same time.
I don't want power, really. Everyone seems to think that I do just because I am powerful. If I wanted power, I'd go into politics, I'd study law and engineering, medicine and science; I'd work 9 to 5, I'd invest in the stock market, I would make friends in high places. I'd take Wu Chi Chuan and kill with a thought.
I could do it. Easily.
Power is exhausting. I'd rather be an observer. Writer, economist, analyst, philosopher, social psychologist. I had a crisis when I learned to manipulate people; how would I know they liked me and not my machinations? I never do spells; I rarely give orders.
I am a teacher, but only when people are ready to recognize the lesson. Anybody could do it.
Val says that I am the good guy. The hero. My ridiculous moral dillemas prove that I have morals. It's not anything to do with me; people just want one and I love them enough to be used in that way. I don't have control; I was born with it.
This is what I mean when I say Fate is in love with me. Or God, or the Tao, or Chance. When beneficial coincidences occur, my friends call them "pulling a Romie."
There is no good way to conclude this entry. It took me three hours of talking to Val on the balcony just to get this far.