The science of people is odd.
Taught by all and-a-half
To fall on deaf ears like
A Masters’ thesis to an infant.
Some teach it like the alphabet
And some like Shakespeare’s best.
Every person is a test subject, a rat
A sonnet, a limerick, a proton and Higgs.
Some are discovered or inspired
While some slave away fondling
Variables and expressions in the dark
Some smile in the morning & whine at night;
Some write stories: Memento Mori.
And even then, some are spirits
Untainted only to flummox,
If not a million other things.
Spirits whose Mona Lisa is
To wake in the morning
Leaving all unflaunted to guesswork.
The science of people is odd,
And exceptions abound at their best. 

I’ve woken up with a cold on more or less all days of the week in the past seven days. Normally, this is a source of much chagrin for me, but I’ve taken to treating this as a side-effect to a miracle drug, perhaps even as a battle scar from a fight for the greater good. It’s not many a time one finds oneself with worthwhile work followed by immediate reward in a cyclic manner, but the past week has turned me into just that sort of puppy. 

I’m not one for parties, I find that the freedom from control involved pokes fun at a lot of things I do in earnest. I’m one for company, and close to nothing else. There’s not much one can let crimp one’s style and such. However, the past week has seen early mornings and late nights. With engines failing mid-flight followed by late evenings at a light house, life has been catering to my sorta romantic lately, and even though it’s coming to a salty end very soon, I’m glad to have had people prod me reminders that times can be dizzying fun.

Pasta and chicken curry have been consumed before a fulfilling St. Patty’s day has been enjoyed. Walks on the beach I can get warmed up to. Towing a grounded glider around taxiways like its nobody’s business I can apparently be good at. Branden’s 21st was a righteous blast. Lessons learned, absolutely.

Short girls get the most attention, ironic as it may seem. Polish are right champs about things, and Indian guys seem to have all the right moves. I don’t understand why my legs don’t move like J-Raj, but I guess it’s something one is born with.

This is but a record for some sort of capsule to somewhat remind myself of things when I’m senile, but it’s a good time earned and flaunted. I felt like inserting a limerick here, but I’ve lost some ability to rhyme, so I’ll get to that later.

To a night sorta remembered

At the risk of jinxing this, not that I mind either way, I guess Daytona’s finally decided on a season to stick to for the night. It’s a nippy six degrees outside, in the units that make more sense to me, and a set of days spent mostly by myself is coming to an end of sorts. The breeze is cold enough to dry out most thoughts from people’s minds at this time of the night, and the blankets formed from a day’s activities creep over selves and sight. It’s a frigid time to take stock, and so I shall. The stars are out and so is my last odd facet: acceptance.

I’ve queried oftentimes as to whether it’s important enough to necessitate finding worth in every minute that I stay awake. I suppose it’s not, but I’m definitely still in the mood to make sure it’s worth waking up every next morning. There’s not much to go off for the same in this time of lull, but nonetheless things must be done and achieved. Meaning must be found though, meaning must be found.

Where is this meaning then, now that the gating and the loving aren’t around? Their presence isn’t necessary, or else the sun would’ve risen from elsewhere one sudden morning. I’m not gonna lie, I find it odd when left to my own devices: half trusting nothing I do and half believing that it’s just the right time to bum out on a mattress. I’m dependent, against what I want to be, but I’m still largely impressed with my ability to put my clothes on in the morning, so I’m not fussed.

This meaning is found in the food I cook, in the notes I play, and in the people I miss. The baked beans, the Chili Peppers, the people that treaded along enough in my path within the last few months to make me give enough of a damn. Some care about this damn-giving, some don’t. It’s not their job or place to care, so that reciprocation is up to them, but their existence is a reminder enough that there’s people to be prepared for, and laughs to be had, and sorrowful hugs to be given after a crappy test or the leaving of a significant other or the loss of a fight well fought. Caffeine is to be had in copious amounts with officiating cheers from people sharing the air. Awkwardness will be featured with people wished held in different regard. Stares to the sky will be made to admire the clouds and our dreams. People will wonder things, then forget about wondering them. I will remember people, and hope they’re doing well, but remain silent or loud in shame, respect, happiness, and love for the person opposite.

I am a product of all those around me, and I am let loose in the presence and company of the person that fights a battle beside me, the person that gets everything and nothing done, the person that you never know is sad, the person you always know is done, the person I wish found themselves but know they will, the person who just came back, the person that stands in front of me but I can’t put on the radar, the person whose presence is scary and giddily happy at the same time, the person in light and in dark and happy with it for the derivatives.

These are people and relations that make a lot worth its salt. These are people that make me forget what time it is, and that remind me of things odd and fathomless. I am a product of all that is around me, but I am still myself, so I suppose this is a choice.

I don’t know which persons should come back, but they all will, and they all must. It’s about that time again, where self-proof is the goal but everyone’s blinded by the more important.

What do I wake up for in the morning, then? I know, mostly, but there’s coffee that must be had first.

I’ve been having a fair amount of nightmares this past few months. These usually aren’t involved dreams that have miles of footage, but they are usually just snippets and scenes that scare me out of sleeping in that moment. There’s nothing wrong with them, but one does wake up with a bad taste in the back of one’s head. In disregard, this is a festive day, so I must be getting on to something jovial, and I will. I guess what I gather from these sleeping musings is that I have something constantly on my mind, and the subconscious does not want to forget it either. My conclusion from all of this is that the subjects at hand are apparently meant to be important to me, or that they are important to me, or that I give them too much importance, but this is not me learning how to fix myself. I’m in great shape. I know this because it’s my first Christmas, and the possibility of imbibing happiness from everything without reason is impressive, and does not need to be infectious for me to latch on to. I guess all that happens is that these things give me something to think about in many an idle day.

Of course, it is the holiday season, and if my still pumped full stomach is anything to go by, it’s going to be a good one. It’s been a while since I’ve stopped with absolutely nothing to do, and it feels alien and good. This whole engineering business is infectious, and it’s hard to remember that I haven’t sat in my room for an entire day doing close to nothing for a while, and as such, it’s a great time to take stock of things.

I’m glad for the things that have happened this past year, and if I’m not expressively glad for ‘em, then I’m glad for the growth that’s happened for them. I’m glad for candles, Italian foods, the studio that showed us we all had a limit of tolerance, conditioner, socks, sunlight, the women’s cross country team, Oompa Loompas, cables that wrap well, and the ability to turn it up to eleven.

I’ll stay away from many things, but I’ll sure as hell bet that you look good on the dancefloor.

The night has proceeded to a point where it normally proceeds: All of us quaintly shouting loud jokes in the offices while all the equipment is piled on the side working its magic. Dan is storytelling of his times growing up in Naples, Al is talking about how he threw chocolate coins out the windows of his grandpa’s Georgia-mobile screaming ‘free money!’, and I’m figuring out the inner workings of our mixer in the dim light of the room. 

It’s a good thing, at times like these, to take stock of the people I’ve come to know in my time here and how they engender their time into my life. From swears in various languages, to getting thrown out of restaurants at a regular pace, to befriending the chillest married couple from Boston, to buying old cymbals from a pawn shop, to finding affection and love in the greatest places and accepting the facts that come with the same, to just walking down to Papa Surf and Johnny Tsunami’s frozen yogurt shoppe for the best meal in town, there’s never REALLY anything incorrect with situations that occur.

The semester is done, time’s are quiet, and life is good. I’ve learnt a fair bit from the last four to eight months, and I’ve grown from it. I’m proud of a few friends for what they’ve achieved despite odds and hardships, and I’m mildly disappointed in my reactions to a few things, but I’m mostly proud.

Most things are fixed by a coffee and frozen yogurt with Graham crackers and cookie dough. It’s the middle of the December, and it’s twenty two degrees outside, in Centigrade. Johnny Tsunami wished us Mahalo! on our entrance, and I just saw a massive banana soft toy.

This room is far too quiet. I suggest we fix that.

Mahalo Bro!

You’re probably important to me, I just refrain from telling you because that changes things and such.

There’s been a definite shift in my demeanour over the last few weeks. My general train of thought in the morning right out of bed is still the same (one that calls on me to be worth my time here), but there’s a sense of purpose that’s been on and off for the last two years that groggily snaps itself into place. For me, oddly enough, this has come with me bringing a sense of apathy towards a larger portion of things I might have atleast feigned enthusiasticnessment.

I’m not used to that last bit, but it’s a different sorta view that right now, has more positive outcomes than not, and as such, it’s what shall happen. It’s not the fact that it’s happening that is of note, it’s the manner and method. This is a constructed and calculated apathy. One that forces temporary categories onto people depending on the time and work of the day. I’m sure it’s something the rest of the world and myself do subconsciously as well, but this time it’s drawn out by the inside of my mush. This is an apathy that allows me thinking of things I don’t want to wear thought out on, but this is also an apathy that drenches in the acquisition of friendship in some avenues. I thoroughly engage myself in abstracting it for a few minutes, and then, it’s time to get back to work.

I want this pumpkin, you see, and it won’t roll over because it’s been carved so darn well.

This is me being glad of the butt-end of a semester, and this is me glad to have a pulse right now.

Many a day in Daytona Beach is spent with the ocean breeze deciding its way into town or the daily currents forming eager clouds that honestly remind me of an undecided woman at just the wrong time of the day. In addition to these days, my cohorts and I find days when there’s nothing to be noticed: not because her majesty Nature doesn’t present us with stuffin’, but because the land in sight has its own bustle for us to observe.

By all necessary means, Homecoming 2011 seemed to come at a time where it should have, and where it shouldn’t have: I might just be on a rise from a lackadaisical start to the semester, I’ve taught myself a fair amount of grounding, I’m probably getting evicted from my oh-so-conveniently located house, there’s MORE mice in the garage, I have two tests this coming Wednesday, and I’m running out of my Green Tea shampoo. In any disregard, this list was forgotten, swallowed and gotten out of the way, or passed on to willing hands.

Things one should be prepared for about Homecoming with Touch-N-Go Productions include a host of conveniences and inconveniences.

- Sleep isn’t around, but it isn’t missed either
- All of a sudden, you’re best friends with everyone, and you won’t stop         being so anytime soon
- Your body decides that it’s going to lift that speaker or that bit of stage         you’ve never really had the ability to lift before. 
- You forget about eating until someone forces you to eat or until you’re        sitting around with nothing to do.
- Everything is funny at all times
- Nothing is Funny when Sound Crew is serious
 - Everything is drop-down hilarious when John C. is annoyed at something     he can’t do anything about.

This is what I do at my best, and this is the family that has adopted me. Just remember to lift with your back, in a jerking/twisting motion, taking your knees completely out of the equation.

Best coordinated photobomb ever.

For all of my remembered past, I can’t honestly say that I’ve flown in for dinner before, but that’s the odd bit of being here doing what I’m supposed to be doing that fulfills things to a point where it’s completely understandable and straightforward to not want to give up and pack bags away to the middle of butt-flip nowhere. Brunswick, GA and its delectable dining at the Southern Soul BBQ was well worth the money, time and years spent toward the same.

Of course, it wasn’t particularly about the food as much as it was about the ponderous journey through the clouds at sunset and night. I have a stark feeling that this might be one of the few ways that slaps you in the face and calls you out to tell you that a lot of that waking up in the morning and sleeping in the morning again is worth it.

In a semester such as this, where time and things are flying by tremendously fast, it’s inconvenient, if not downright hard, to remember that there is a bigger, brighter picture that we’re all working towards. As a person that’s decided to go on a serious emotional vacation for a bit because I’m reassessing my worth, it’s a staunch enough reminder that I slip pleasantly back into minor moments of care for the rest.

Reassessing my worth. It’s been a solid number of years since I’ve done the same, and it usually comes about due to a reminder or pointing finger that shows me something about myself that I can’t wrench back to working condition. It’s odd, not being my natural self, but time will show me something in the short and the longer run. I’m hoping to be ready when the time is right.

I will abscond, but only because I don’t know if the self is worth fighting for or if it runs right back to my soul.

As is the case with every person, I tend to have times when motivation for most things are a suggestion. The stars don’t align every single day and night, and that is acceptable to me. Shit hits the fan all the time, and I’m either standing there in the dirt for a bit before I start cleaning, or I’m where I am most comfortable: mopping up for/with someone else.

It’s not the best feeling, being helpless about the greater variables in life. It’s even worse feeling helpless for the variables you want to be stiff constants you can rely on, and hoping for the best is the best I can do.

I’ll always hope the most ridiculous amount of happiness for the people I care about, and it is a weakness of mine that I sometimes let the same trample my own. But that’s a large part of what’s important to me. I’ll twist the ends of the planet to make one person happy because within that time, it’s all that needs to matter. It’s why I probably make a great lover and a shite boyfriend. I wouldn’t know, however, seeing as it’s not for me to decide.

In this full moon night, when everything within my head was eclipsed by everything in front of my eyes, when I felt hearty congratulations coming, but couldn’t adequately transmit the same, when enough things are confusing to the point where it’s possible they genuinely hurt, I was happy of my own accord.

I might have slow-danced with myself and shed a tear at the sight of the beautiful lady that is above us, but in the midst of working today’s show, I was myself through and through. This is me, running about loquaciously trying to make sure microphones are in the correct position, lending my time to music so it’ll give back with the beautiful interest that it does.

This is me, and I am yours.

One hundred and twenty percent.